Ok, so I wrote after I watched the 2009 Hall of Fame. (I cried the whole time. lol) I do not the WWE, and I certainly do not want any of them to die, I love them too much. lol.
Sirens.
Sirens.
The loud wooing trickling in and out of his ears.
The white turning to gray as the top of the ambulance drifted in and out of focus.
The high pitch buzzing as the paramedics yelled indistinctly.
He remembered.
He remembered the feel of a fist colliding with his jaw.
He remembered the feel of cold concrete on his back.
He remembered the loud cheers and gasps from the crowd.
He remembered the paramedics putting a neck brace on him.
He remembered being put on a back board.
He remembered being barely conscious, being in a daze, being in a different place.
He remembered being in a different world, a different body, watching himself being cared away.
He remembered being a young boy and asking his mother how high the sun was.
He remembered being a lover to a dark haired girl.
He remembered driving to the arena that night.
He remembered the song that was playing while he was stopped at a red light.
He remembered walking around backstage, giving high-fives and being wished good luck, and wishing good luck.
But what he didn't remember was walking to the ring, or if he even wanted to be in the ring.
A bright light was burning right above him.
He could see in it his mother and father beckoning him forward.
He saw in it his ten year old self running to them, and taking his mothers hand, and her leading him further into the depths of the light.
An suddenly he remembered.
He remembered walking to the ring because he loved to hear the crowed cheer.
He remembered finding himself walking faster because he couldn't get to the ring fast enough.
He lived for every hit he received and every one he gave.
He lived for the 'ew's and 'aw's of the fans.
And now he found himself dieing for it.
His eyes closed to be open no more.
And he was remembered.
I hope you liked it. Please let me know what you think. Thanx for reading!