The Joke
It wasn't really fair, or was it? That was the question
that burned in his mind, but he knew, before he even asked it to himself that
it was a question that would matter little in his business. Ron Killings, known
better to the media and the world as 'K-Kwik', sat in his small dressing room,
his legs stretched out over a chair, and a black Compaq laptop on his lap,
quietly surfing the Internet. Ron wasn't scheduled for a match on RAW is WAR,
which would take place in a matter of hours, and so he felt that he could, like
he had been doing quite a bit as of late, relax.
Now, for wrestlers, getting a bit of relaxation time is all
right. However, attending tapings and not doing anything week after week gets
dull, boring, and makes them feel as if they're not wanted. This can lead to a
number of things, including various side effects, thanks mostly in part to the
tough traveling schedule.
However, as Ron sat in his small, white dressing room,
cruising the Internet by way of a fairly fast 56k modem, he was feeling a
little anxious. It had been quite a while since he had been doing anything
other than running in as part of the WWF strike force, which would run out to
combat the WCW whenever they interfered en masse, and what he wasn't telling
anyone was that it was slowly beginning to make him uncertain of himself. It
had been going on quietly, and before he ever got half the mind to do anything
about it, it was far too late.
An unfortunate side effect from the intense, almost hellish
traveling schedule, is that your sleeping patterns will be completely messed
up. As well as your eating patterns. The one thing that you had to keep
constant was your workout schedule, but that was even hard to maintain. All of
those reasons and even more contributed to Ron's mood, and he had to ask
himself again was 'why is wrestling not fair?'
Why was life not fair? How come Ron was unable to break
into the business and be in a scenario like Bill Goldberg had been, to have
everything handed to him on a silver platter, or perhaps like Kurt Angle,
showing incredible determination and effort, and after a year, winning every single
major singles title that you could win? The simple answer to that question was
the one motto that's probably repeated about the world every single day, in
every single country. Some people live by it, others don't, but it is a
constant.
"Life's not fair".
As it's quite evident, Ron was not in a very stable state
of mind.
This would prove to be the main problem as he surfed onto
WWF.com, the World Wrestling Federation's website, the main place for news and
information about the WWF. The splash page today showed Kurt Angle clutching
the WCW title to his chest, with an ecstatic look on his face. Ron had been
happy for Kurt, because Kurt was a fairly good friend of his, and was a genuine
nice guy. Clicking on the 'Superstars' portion of the website, Ron cruised into
his own section of the site, and noticed that it hadn't been updated in awhile.
Why would it be? He was essentially cursed, having teamed with the Road Dogg,
also known as Brian Armstrong, who was smoking crack day in and day out without
anyone really noticing it until a few months ago, when he showed up to work
stoned out of his mind. He said goodbye to the WWF. When Ron had been given
another slight team to work with in 'Scotty 2 Hotty' Scott Taylor and 'Grand
Master Sexay' Brain Christopher, as well as their occasional partner Rikishi
Phatu, and Sexay's partner when Scotty was down with a leg injury, 'The Lethal
Weapon' Steve Blackman. This was the group he mainly hung around with
backstage, and that was at a point in his short career that he was enjoying
profusely. The problem happened when Blackman and Sexay were crossing the
Canadian border and Sexay was caught with marijuana, causing his quick
dismissal from the company, following his father, Jerry Lawler, and his
mother-in-law, Stacy Carter. Blackman was embarrassed and disgraced by the
incident, and stopped being social. Rikishi went on the shelf for an injury,
and Scott and Ron had been relegated to the 'run-in' team. It was, in his own
opinion, a fucking disgrace.
Why, he would contemplate, are two perfectly good
superstars, hell, more than two, look at Bull Buchanan and D'Lo Brown, why are
they being held down and made the run-in buddies? The WWF can hire cheap
security for that. Why employ them to fairly nice contracts, and then not utilize
their talents? It was bullshit, in his opinion.
As he scrolled onto the headlines page, something new
caught his eye – a new poll. Ron always liked the polls, because they could
come off rather strangely. An example would be the 'Superstar Survivor' polls,
in which Steve Blackman was the ultimate survivor. As he scrolled down, he read
the question out loud: "Who should be the person to lead Team WWF?" He
chuckled, and read the list of names. Obvious choices were Angle, the Rock,
Chris Jericho, Kane, and Bradshaw. He frowned as he saw the other few: Essa
Rios, Bull Buchanan, and his own wrestling persona; K-Kwik.
He shook his head as he clicked the circle beside the name
of Kurt Angle. Obviously, the poll would reveal that Rock should lead Team WWF,
with Angle, Jericho, Bradshaw, Kane, and maybe Bull Buchanan next. What he saw
when the next box popped up shocked him.
Leading the way, with 29% of the vote, was K-Kwik, and the
Rock was next, with 25%. Ron was shocked. Completely, utterly shocked. He had
been thrown in as a fucking joke and the fans either had a big sense of humor
or they wanted HIM to be the leader. The answer to him was obvious. He hadn't
been on TV much, and he never had a cult following, like Kane or the Acolytes. So
therefore, he was the practical joke.
Ron shook his head. Inside, the rage, and all of the things
that had angered him about his WWF situation were beginning to boil over. He
couldn't believe it. The guys in the locker room were probably looking at the
same thing and laughing their heads off. His fists clenched. Everything was
starting to fall apart. Suddenly, the Rock's loud music blasted through the
arena as a music test. That didn't help matters much.
The
straw that eventually broke the camel's back, however, was not some event that
happened that seemed to make fun of him. In fact, it was something completely
non-related to him.
In
the hallway outside his room, Adam Copeland and Jay Reso walked by, reading a 'Mad'
magazine, laughing like a pair of fools.
Inside
the dressing room, Ron Killings heard laughter, hysterical, hyena-like
laughter.
Outside
the dressing room, Adam and Jay flipped the page and continued along the
corridor.
Inside,
Ron had stood up, placing the laptop on a table. He had lost complete control,
and the look in his eyes showed that. Ron stepped across the room to his bag,
and rummaged around for something. He looked, and eventually his eyes fell on
the object in question. He removed it, and checked it. Tears ran down his face,
as he stepped into the washroom, closing the door behind him.
An
unfortunate consequence would also take place to the poor soul that would take
that moment to wander down the hall next, and that man happened to be the seven
footer, Paul Wight. He would find something he was definitely not looking for.
Now,
Paul had his own problems at the moment, and was somewhat wrapped up in a few
notes. The story here was that he was to team with Billy Gunn, and he was to
actually come up with a team name for the two. So Show was just strolling around
the building, looking for ideas.
At
the exact moment that Paul would walk past the dressing room doorway, a loud 'BANG'
was heard, and not the Dallas Page type of Bang, either. A loud thud was heard,
as well as a clattering noise.
Paul
snapped out of his trance and looked up, just as Shane McMahon rounded the
corner. Shane had a concerned look on his face, as he had obviously heard the
noise as well.
"Paul,
you hear that?"
"Yeah, I did…what was it?"
Shane
sniffed the air, and frowned even deeper. "I think…I think that smells like a
gunshot!"
Paul
blinked. "What exactly does a gunshot smell like?"
Shane
ignored the question, and tried to open the door. He failed, as it was locked. Paul
simply kicked it in, and the two entered the room. The first thing they saw was
the laptop, and the second was a discarded Desert Eagle .50, an illegal
firearm, lying on the ground. Shane went and examined the closet, but when Paul
opened the door, he made a gruesome discovery, and a pool of thick red liquid
pooled around his boots as he, and then Shane looked down at Paul's horrific
discovery.
You
can only guess what it was.
This
is my first piece of Fan Fiction for this site, (in fact, ever), and it's not
exactly what I wanted to do with this story (I've got a few planned out
roughly) but I think it works. My style of writing differs, and the kind that I
used for this story was somewhat difficult to understand…I realize that and I'm
sorry. (I haven't written for awhile, anyway, so I'm getting' back into the
throw of things. My other fanfics should be more uplifting, too. *grin*)
Anyway, R/R, please, I wanna know what you all think! =)
–
Adam Dodd
