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Prelude:
It’s a rainy day in the Chicago area—the loud claps of thunder shake the broken, run down home. Boards cover a lot of the broken windows. Water trickles down the green and white striped wallpaper. There’s dirty, dingy water spots from the previous storms. Hail clashes against the boards, echoing loudly throughout the house. The lights flicker on and off with each flash of lightning.
It’s been a long day for the young Darin Zion. After dealing with a lot of problems with his teachers and school kids—he saunters through the door, completely drenched. His shoulders droop down towards the ground. He tosses his backpack on the ground, dragging feet across the wet, orange shag carpet. His eyes sag with black rings around them.
The small, zestful Zion lets out a giant sigh before plopping down on the couch. He rolls his eyes into the back of his head as he tries to close his eyes for a little rest. Darin spent hours playing his Nintendo 64 all night trying to finish his Perfect Dark game. Zion adjusts his body, wiggling around to find the perfect spot. His eye lids get heavy, and a small faint snore starts to happen. He’s drifting off into dreamland.
SLOOOSH! SLOOOOOOSH!
The sounds of vodka washing across the glass cause Zion to dart up. Out of the corner of his eye; he sees his mother stumbling around the kitchen counter. She quickly tumbles around the kitchen, setting her sights on her young son. She immediately barks out orders.
“GET YOUR ASS UP! YOUR FATHER WANTS TO SPEAK TO YOU!”
Zion froze in place, his heart immediately starts racing. His face quickly dead pans while he gulps under his breath. He understood his mother worked hard at the hospital. Hell, he couldn’t piece it all together—but deep in his heart, he figured out his mother had a drinking problem. Between cooping with her abusive husband, her shitty job cleaning rooms, and her PSTD from her childhood—she cooped with her emotions through numbing them.
His mother shifted the bottle once again, causing the alcohol to spill on the ground. Her body waves to and fro as she strikes her hip against the wall.
Mrs. Matthews: I told you, git y’er ass off the couch now. I ain’t gonna tell ya again, Darin. Can you not listen to instructions you worthless fuck. Jesus, I swear your dumber than your worthless father.
While Zion’s mother meant to mutter his jabs under her breath—they caused Zion’s ears to perk up. Zion rolls his palm against his face, simply shaking his head. Zion jumps off the couch, taking the walk of shame down to the old man’s den. His eyes glued towards the ground, praying under his breath he wouldn’t end up another giant welt across his back.
Darin understood the purpose of his father’s stern actions. He respected that his dad instilled discipline and respect into him. However, he didn’t appreciate his classmates taunting him. He loathed the knots tying in his stomach when he covered for the onslaught of his father’s justice. He got tired of trying to explain away the knots, bruises, welts, and gashes on his face. He felt shame trying not to sully his father’s name.
Slowly pushing open the door—the creaking echoes throughout the home. Darin’s body begins to shiver, the hairs on his back shoot straight up. His small, hazel eyes peer around the corner. In the back of his mind, he’d hoped his father straight up vanished.
Mr. Matthews: Git y’er ass up in here boy.
Zion’s heart began palpitating while his shoulders slouched. All the life got sucked out of him, the color flushes from his face. A loud, audible gulp increase the building tension. Tiptoeing straight into the room—Zion could see his reflection his father’s shiny, dome-shaped bald head. The toothless, overweight hick patted his old, tattered corduroy chair. Zion inches over to the chair, sitting down, already covering his head.
Mr. Matthews paces around the chair, methodically watching his son. He lets out a loud cackle watching meek Zion cower in submission. He cracks his knuckles while his son’s voice stutters
Darin Zion: Y-Y-Yes S-S-Sir. What did you wanna…
Mr. Matthews: Did I say you could speak you worthless piece of shit!
WHAAAAAAAAAACCCCK!
The dirty back hand from the old pipefitter’s hand smacks Zion straight across the job, knocking him back against the chair. Darin starts sobbing before…
CRAAAAACK! WHAAAACK! WHAAAAACK!
Three more chops nail him across the face full force, knocking him senseless. His rosy cheek glow and throb while he puts his hand up against them, feeling the burning sensation in his fingertips.
Mr. Matthews: You’re not allowed to cry you pathetic lil’ baby. Ya fuckin’ pathetic sobbin’ ain’t gonna get ya shit in life.
The crack of Mr. Matthews belt makes Zion flinch, causing Darin to sink down towards the ground. Darin’s dad cracks his knuckles, striking more fear into the fragile heart of his son.
Mr. Matthews: Heard from Ms. Applegate you talked in class. Figures a failure like you would do this. Failin’ spelling…math….all that shit! Ya’ should do betta than me. You gotta excel through this shit to provide me with a better life.
Darin Zion: I’m only 11 years old…
Mr. Matthews: Doesn’t matter….fuckin pathetic. Plus you broke the Crouch’s window. You fuckin’ deserve everything that’s coming to you.
Darin Zion: Daddy! Please! Don’t!
BAAAAAAAAM!
The stiff side of the belt buckle connects to Zion’s jaw, knocking him out cold. His body falls against the ground, a loud SNAAAAAAP echoes throughout their house. As the scene blurs out, we notice Mr. Matthews rushing out the door to his wife to seek medical attention for the young Zion.
==========
Darin Zion: WOOOOOOOAH!
Ever since Jace gave him a concussions, his dreams grew more and vivid each passing night. Sweat pours off REAL LOVE’S® face as he throws the plaid covers off his body. He stretches, exposing his abs. He wipes the sleep right out of his eyes.
Deep down in his gut—he hated Jace for making him experience his own personal hell. It made that gnawing feeling deep in his gut grow with more intensity, setting him straight into action. But in the back of his mind—Darin knew this would be the price he paid. Jace was a helluva opponent to challenge. There was a reason Darin called him the Final Boss of the LSD Title Division. Jace is one of the hardest hitting opponents, always nailing stiff knees.
But that didn’t matter in this moment. Darin kept flashing back to his deepest, darkest scars. These memories were things he never discussed with his collegues or even his best friends. He kept them bottled down because he knew every HOW wrestler would use it against him.
While those moments proved to Zion he was a fighter—others would use them as a dagger—stabbing him in the proverbial wounds. They’d want to get to his brash, unbridled temper and trigger him into acting stupid.
Frantically Zion’s eyes dart around the room, trying to find his iPhone. He could have sworn he sat it right on his bed side. Flying out of the bed half nude—he dives on the ground, finding it. He taps in the numbers, quickly calling an old friend to help him out.
==========
Chaos 027 was a heartbreaking loss. I’m not gonna sugar coat it. I hated not following through on my word again. It leaves me this gnawing feeling in the bottom of my heart. It’s definitely not love worthy at the moment. There’s no way to sugar coat a loss here. There’s no amount of apologies I can dish out because like Jace and everyone’s said for years—I can’t cut it. There’s no excuse for dropping the ball. But it drains a lot out of a guy.
It feels like there’s always something holding me back….something deep inside me. I still cannot peg it to this very day. But honestly, it feels like I’ve lost that lovin’ feeling in some ways.
But there’s one thing I am not gonna do—back down from a damn fight.
See Bobbinettie Carey—or whatever one of her 31 flavors of personalities show up—is nothing more than another obstacle in my path. She’s another one of these blow hard Hall of Famers who wants to talk shit. Sure she should probably get that magenta colored crap checked out—but I don’t have any love lost for Carey.
My good buddy, Conor Fuse sees a lot of good things in her. He’s spent a lot of his time rebuilding her back to relevance. Hell, if she wouldn’t have teamed with that Half-Brained dork Scottywood—she’d probably not have to reinvent the wheel like every last one of us HOW dorks and she’d be a multi-time HOW World Champion.
Her higher than thou attitude must fall. And I’ll make sure to end her this week at Chaos. Even if things seem bleak. Even if things seem rough….I can’t afford to lose to her. Not now—it’ll send me further down the rankings. Further away from the LSD Championship.
This week starts my path to War Games—my path to the ultimate victory in my career. And I promise—I will bring Carey down to her knees BEGGING for LOVE. I will show her the power that love brings and how love will conquer everything.