It’s that sticky kind of hot that makes you feel like you’re living in a glue trap. That kind of hot where you put on SPF 100 proof suntan lotion and still turn Mexican by the end of the day. The kind of hot where your balls won’t detach from either of your thighs so the skin winds up doing it’s best impression of a hang glider with your bits as the rider.
High noon, sun shining down like a kid with a magnifying glass burning Army Men, High Flyer is jogging down a beach trail.
Not only that, but he’s doing it dressed in full ring gear, with thigh weights strapped around his legs to make each step require even more strength and energy. His wrists contain similar devices, but not nearly as strong or weighty as the ones on his legs.
Flyer passes by a nearby public restroom, and takes a moment to stop and gather a drink of water. He then just pours his sweaty head under the faucet. He jogs a bit in pace, shaking the water out of his graying locks, before relaxing and rolling his shoulders. He reaches down, unlatches one of the loops connecting the weights to his knee brace, and they just collapse to the concrete with a thud. He unbuckles and proceeds to do the same with the right side.
He cracks his head from side to side, looking at the crashing waves. His shadow long and narrow behind him. He lifts a cigarette from a back pocket, his one of the day, taking a moment to smell the nicotine, a bead of sweat almost touching the paper. Like an ol’ pro, it’s a quick flick and a lit cigarette, before Harmen leans up against a red brick wall.
High Flyer: I was at the gates of Valhalla.
He takes a drag, snarls.
High Flyer: Storied wrestler, fancy legacy, banners hanging in at least four gymnasiums and one in an actual building somewhere… Coulda just left it all behind ages ago. No shame in that.
Flyer takes a look at the cigarette in his hands, and just litters, done with it.
High Flyer: Everybody’s been telling me how dangerous I WAS. They can’t STOP. It’s all I hear these days. Oh, I wish I fought you five years ago. I wish you were the man you were. You’re just… old.
The corner of his mouth can’t hide a smile.
High Flyer: Listen, I was never the biggest, I was never even the best. I got to the top by the skin of my teeth and scratched and clawed to stay there as long as I FUCKING could. Now? No one wants to see a 45 year old jumping bean who started in this business when doing a moonsault was impressive. Now you’ve got four hundred pound lardos doing 720 pirouettes off of balconies on YouTube. You know what? No. Fuck that. I ain’t going to let the world pass me by. I’m not going to let this Generation of DIPSHITS say WORD FUCKING ONE to me. The entire world isn’t passing me by, it’s not leaving me to the history books, not when I’m breathing. Not when I got one ounce of pride left in these cold hollow bones. I’m not going to let the world screw me. I’m not going to let HOW screw me.
At this point, someone leaves the bathroom next to Flyer. Flyer glares at them.
High Flyer: It’s KILL OR BE KILLED, right?!
Youth: What…? I, no.
The youth awkwardly backs away as Flyer turns back to the camera, and he begins speaking quicker with every word uttered.
High Flyer: What they don’t realize is, what they’ve all forgotten… I’m just as dangerous as I’ve ever been. I just fell into a pit of malaise and complacency, of woe and extended mental illness… the bad kind, not the good kind. Now, as I see the world, ever so clearly for the first time… I know it’s meant to kill me. To try to undo the legacy that I’ve built for myself, to END the NAME and the LIFE of Jack Harmen. And I won’t let it! I’ll go kicking and screaming into that good night. Forever! Kicking, and screaming, OVER, and over. LOUDLY. Come at me Lester Moregrimes, bring me your WAR. I’ll bring everything I AM. In the past, I’ve had no limits on what I would do to get to the very top of the show. To get my hands around the World Championship, and RUB it in the face of EVERYONE who told me I WOULDN’T?! That I *GASP* FUCKING COULDN’T?! I committed atrocities on multiple occasions to become a World Champion at WAY lesser places. Here? I think I’ve finally realized. In HOW?
Flyer stops, his eyes slowly rolling from the left to the right.
High Flyer: Did anybody else hear that?
His eyes dart from side to side. He then leans into the camera, as if to whisper.
High Flyer: I’m gonna have to do my worst to do my best.