Embryo

My mother used to tell me about how I was born often…

The fact I made it difficult for myself right out the gate. Took the umbilical cord and wrapped it around my neck trying to choke off my existence before it began.

I’ve always been my worst enemy. I don’t know how to get out of my own way – and two losses in a row in Project Honor was a perfect example of that. I talked about how I didn’t need the title and it slipped away. I focused on my opponents and not strengthening the team I was part of at the last Proving Ground.

I stood at the doorway of the warehouse in a robe. The entire room was empty, all for a tall chamber of water in the center – it looks like some cryogenic chamber – all sides see through like a gigantic fishbowl.

“Are you sure you want to do this,” Bash said through his leather mask.

“I’ve got to go back to that moment, I need to feel rebirth,” he thought this experiment only had to do with my upcoming match, but truth be told it had a lot more to do with the escort I got pregnant who I have yet to confront.

Voodoo is at the top of the chamber, on steel steps putting a few added buckets of warm water into the tank. She stomps back down the steps to look at the levels and nods feeling like it will be enough to submerge my whole body.

“What I want you to do is stay under the water as long as possible. I am going to do something to force some stress and I want you to try and stay under as long as possible… to the point of there your lungs feel like they are going to explode,” Voodoo said.

I just nod, dropping my towel to be completely naked and start up the steps to the opening of the chamber.

“You are gong to want to go in slowly, the bottom layer may be a little cooler than the top,” Voodoo warns.

But I don't take her advice – I’m bad for that – and submerge myself quickly, cold water around my shins and ankles progressively warmer toward the top where my head still pokes out above the surface. Voodoo has a bucket of what appears to be black ink.

“You’ve been distracted lately. Sara’s death, whatever the hell you are doing on your off time,” Voodoo said, knowing full well something was going on but I hadn’t told anyone about the escort’s pregnancy.

I hold my breath and submerge.

Slowly Voodoo adds bucket after bucket of dark liquid turning the world around me darker and darker as I squint and can make out a shadow of Bash – but that fades quickly and all around is just a thick black void. I close my eyes – I try not to chew up any of the oxygen feeding my brain and float freely.

I can’t help but think about my unborn child – still a bundle of cells suspended in fluid, building and coming together to create a human and I’m not sure I’ve completed that process yet. The pregnancy wasn’t just the possible birth of a child – it’s the possible rebirth of Casanova English. People say a man with nothing to lose is scary – well give a man something to die for and he’ll march to war freely. Fear can motivate us to do brave things.

I need to die. I need to find my roots and what makes me tick. I need to refocus in Project Honor. I got too busy gate keeping. I got too busy setting a standard and a pace I worry I can’t keep up with myself. The gold was never what this was about for me, it was a thing thrust upon me simply because of my talents – it’s not anything I chased. I want blood. I want to feel something – purpose. Whether those fans cheer or boo, it’s the reaction its the fucking hard proof of the philosophy ‘I think therefore I am.’

My eyes start to roll back in my head, my lungs begging me to take a gulp of air.

As much as we hate to admit it, our significance is dependent on the perspective of others. If Emmanuelle wasn't a former Grand Champion, destroying her wouldn’t matter. We need to let our monsters grow, get some legs, explore us before we slay them. It’s the only way we will ever learn.

Sometimes you have to go back to your roots. The start.

A rope wraps around my legs and they kick for a second before I strop fighting and let Bash Daddy slowly drag me to the surface, my body naturally floating to the top. As my face breaks through the black water I don’t even gasp for air.

Being that close to death was the best I felt in a while.

I’m shirtless, a towel around my shoulder sand I sip upon a steel chair in a pair of blue jeans smoking a cigarette – looking like some old Russian film with an actor about to cut some long fucking monologue. Bash clicks record on the camera.

“You don’t need this like I do Emmanuelle. It’s not a matter of want. If it was a matter I would have ascended the ranks here in Project Honor a hell of a lot quicker. See I need this, it suppresses things inside me you simply wouldn’t understand… things you simply don’t have the emotional or intellectual capacity for. But you’ve all heard that old story before, the sadist trapped in a perpetual groundhog day repeating the same bullshit over and over, wrestling the same matches against the same people in the same fucking ring. That type of repetition can be dangerous. You burn yourself out, the bullshit people say about leaving part of you in the ring start to ring true and I can see it in your eyes Emmanuelle you don’t know where you left your soul, Jacksonville, Tokyo, Vegas… fuck… you lost track… jet legged for life and getting less and less entertaining by the second. All it takes is a man like me to pull the trigger and put you out of your misery. I was just in the ring with you, you don’t hit has had as you did months ago, you don’t get up as quick as you did, that spring in your step – that arrogance in your voice – I don’t hear it quite so clearly… and well when I wrap you up in that triangle choke I don’t think it’ll take very much to choke out the remainder of your fleeting voice.

I puff my cigarette looking at the burning ember and blow a cloud of smoke toward the camera as always. Through the haze I speak again.

“I’m not trying to be dismissive of your talent, I myself am in somewhat of a professional slump, biting off more than I can chew in several settings. I know you got to the top of this brand, I know you were good enough to win the title – sure – but you know my standards. You couldn’t even defend that championship before it was taken away in a short 42 days – a transitional Grand Champion at best and the sad thing is I think you are fine with that being the all you will ever be. You are the dog who finally caught the shiny red car only to get flattened.”

I knock the ash off my cigarette. I knew how good Emmanuelle was at this, she was born and bred ready to fight whether she likes it or not, and she is damn good at it. But this is do or die for us both, our future placement on the card at risk. This is bigger than a title opportunity, this is a fight between two desperate hungry animals.

“You couldn’t even set a worthy standard as the Warrior Rising Champion – you certainly didn’t pave the way for my 154 for day reign. See you thought all these titles are just stepping stones on your way to the top, you were fine shedding the belts of it meant something better – a way to further cement you legacy, but what happened? You slipped up – the Legacy Championship passed you by and now – now you have no idea what direction to take. Don’t worry, I don’t mind carrying this thing to match of the night. I’m used to it.”

I suck on my cigarette slowly, taking in the moment, letting smoke build up around me. All I needed to do was divert Emmanuelle’s attention away from me, if she she started looking past me to the title picture, if she kept focusing on her own failures… well she will leave an opening.

“It’s clear both of us need a win desperately to get back on track in this company, to stay relevant so to speak – it comes down to who wants it more and Emmanuelle we both know you are just in this sport for a chance at dying famous. Well maybe when I choke the life from you, when you wake up to the booing crowd – to them throwing trash in my direction – when the haze around your eyes fades – maybe it’ll be a rebirth – a realization – that sometimes you have to dig deep and work for it. I know you are used to opportunity after opportunity – me I don’t wait for opportunity to knock I take it. And Emmanuelle after I beat you in the center of the ring, well then I’ll make my case to move on to bigger and better things. That’s what this is supposed to be all about, the money, the glory, the fame – I see you figured that out a long time ago – but I also see it’s done nothing to fill the void. What do you have to show for it? You made it to the top just to jump… and if you need an extra push to put you and these fans out of their misery… well I don’t mind.”

“Sometimes your curse, and you know this better than anyone else – sometimes your curse is being too good at something you don’t want to do… and well…”

I take a few sharp puffs and flick the butt of the cigarette toward the camera.

‘’Shoot, I’m just a natural born killer.’”

I stomp the cigarette out as the scene fades to black.


Rachel was a regular at the abortion clinic – only three times – but it wasn’t something she was particularly proud of. She always tried to take the necessary precautions, but when birth control threw her weight into flux – in her eyes risking her lucrative career she stopped taking the pills entirely.

She opened the door to her appointment and could smell stale cigarettes right way – the exact same brand of what he smoked – a scent she was used to the many nights they spent together.

Still, she was surprised to see Casanova English leaned against the counter in the doctor's office, the physician nowhere to be seen. Rachel’s mouth went dry. There would only be one reason for English to be here.

“Hey babe,” English said, sucking the air out of the room. “You haven’t been answering your phone.”

Rachel reached into her purse and gripped the folded knife she always carried with her in case one of these fucking John’s crossed the line and decided to walk into an early grave. She walked it over many times in her head, how hitting muscle would feel like stabbing into a raw chicken breast.

“I’m not here to hurt you or threaten you,” English said.

It calmed Rachel a bit and she loosened the grip on the blade and took her hand out of her purse.

“I know you barely have anything growing inside you right now. I know it is not even life yet – but I know it could be…”

Rachel stared at English confused. Confused as to why he would ever want her to keep this baby.

“I’m not here to tell you what to do with your body. I just thought I deserved a conversation,” English said.

Rachel scoffed.

“What?,” she said. “You think it would be a good idea to keep this kid? You on the road as a violent professional wrestler with an even more violent past outside the ring… and me a fucking escort working outside vegas. Who is going to watch the kid when I am busy sucking cock and you are slamming people on their head?”

She wasn’t wrong, and English’s body language was telling her that – his hands fell to the side – letting his guard down for the few times in his life.

“I am not quitting my job Cas, not for you. Not for this kid and I know that you aren’t going to stop wrestling – you told me time and time again you are dangerous without it,” she said.

“I was that ball of once…” English said stopping her. “It was a tough decision and if you want to be honest, maybe I am the reason my mother is dead today. Maybe she wasn’t ready to take the step she did. Maybe she thought she was stronger than she was and paid for it. But I like to think I did something with my life… I like to think I took the hand dealt and turned into a royal fucking flush. This is my chance to end this chain of trauma.”

Maybe he was drinking too much while Dr. Phil was on and it was making it into his skull somehow.

“No, having this child would be adding to it,” Rachel’s face wasn’t soft like it was when she was trying to take his money. “Not having this kid is breaking the fucking toxic cycle both of us have lived through.”

“What if I love you,” English said, stepping toward Rachel – but she winced…

“Fuck off.”

Rachel turned around and walked out the doctor’s door, down the steps, outside to where die hard Bible thumpers held signs calling her a sinner. She leaned against the brick wall and pulled a single cigarette from her pack.

She frantically placed it in her lips and brought a lighter to it…

But she stops short. Pulls the smoke from her mouth and throws the whole thing into the street.

“Fuck,” she said, tossing the rest of the pack in the garbage and walking down the street.