Hidden
By: Marie Allen
The day was long and crucial. With just one mistake my whole future was engulfed in the flames of hate and desperation. The night couldn't possibly be worst. As I drive to my hotel room, I turn on the car's radio. Maybe music will calm me.
Well I know the words,
They still ring in my ears. How can I not know them? They were always the same. 'Die, Rocky, Die!' 'Rocky sucks!' 'Traitor to the WWE!' I'm not a traitor. I'm just like every other human and wanted to do something I liked. Wasn't that what everyone wanted? To be, not only successful for his family, but also for himself? To be happy?
But I can't really speak them,
I try to repeat them in my mind, in my own voice. I can't. I can't say them off my tongue. I've heard them over and over before through the years, but this time it just took its toll. I try and try, but nothing is good enough anymore.
And I hide all the pain
I never show what I feel. I can't afford it. Especially in front of an audience. Of course I talk with others about what it's like to love them so much and only have hate in return, but they can't possibly know the real feeling.
And I'm eaten alive,
The agonizing feeling is indescribable. The absolute mental grief is excruciating. What I give is not only thrown back at me like a piece of shit, it consumes me from within. When I close my eyes, I see the crowd looking down at me from their pedestals with their accusing finger of loathe. 'Traitor...'
All the things that I live with...
My family waits for me at home. I will call them when I get to my hotel, even though it's late. Their smiles and happiness are the only things in my life that are bright. With just the thought of them the veil of hatred and anguish lifts and replaces it with a ray of sunshine and hope. I know it is they alone who are my protectors from the fate I know that would have happened long ago.
But are they enough? Can they, truly alone be the ones to save me from my destruction?
Yes.
When you look at my face,
What do they see when they look at me? Do they see a dejected man in his prime, in his golden years who turned his back on the company that raised him into what he is? Do they see a man so repulsive that they are forced to turn their backs upon me with the sole thought of destroying him? Or do they see only a small boy that never had the chance to really shine?
I can't seem to erase
No matter how hard I try, I cannot forget what has happened to me. I will forget it for only a moment but no more. Before I used to drive to erase the pain. Not drive. Fly. I would fly down the curves of the streets in all types of weather. Sleek or shine. The road and my tires were the only thing that kept me alive. I look around me now and see nothing but the empty mountain highway. I press on the accelerator.
The scars I have lived with,
Sure. It's all fun and games. They're just written scripts for the audience's entertainment. It's just like making my movies but with a live audience. An audience that tears each man and woman to pieces if they give just one look the wrong way. From Rocky Maivia to The Rock heel to the Rock face, there is always something wrong with him. I am not complaining, now. No, no, no! I do not complain. I am merely criticizing the people. They are pissed at me for wrestling and they are pissed at me for making movies. I am pissed at them for not making up their damn minds.
I'm so sick of this place;
Why am I even wasting my thought on this? I
press harder on the rectangle and pass 110. I've always felt like I could soar
through the air without ever leaving the ground. Maybe this is why I sped so
much in the past? I felt like I could take wing in wrestling too. Not the air
jumps that I hate so much, but the actual lifting feeling of a win. That was
what wrestling was all about. That and the thrill of the audience. They have
broken my wings and I am stranded on the ground.
Cuz of you I can't figure
I ignore my surroundings as I zip past. I can't believe that I've let myself sulk so low. I'm doing exactly what they wanted me to do. I'm degrading myself to the point where I am on the border of self-pity. Fuck them. Fuck the world. I control what I feel and no one, including those I loved, can change that.
What I'm all about.
Why did I stop flying? It's such a free feeling. The abandonment is thrilling. Each move is slick like the wing of a bird. When I watch birds of prey soar through the air as they calmly look for food. Then, without nothing more then a cry, it swoops down in a steep angle and snatches a mouse without once touching the ground. That's what I do now and what I did then. I carefully chose my pretty before going in for the strike. It's what the people do to me. Only their cry is much louder and their claws sharper. I am still bleeding.
It's not easy to hide
I realize that they are like me. We are both hawks in the air trying to look for prey. They have crossed into my territory and it is my job to keep them out. I must fight back with full strength and show no signs of weakness. I am weak now, but I will be strong. I will tell them what I do and if they don't like it, they can all go to Hell. I once had control over them and I will have it again.
All this damage inside
They have fought me and burnt me. They have twisted me into all directions and I cannot be renovated again to the same Rock. I will no longer be the traitor, but the leader. I will be the one that they used to call out to. I am the People's Champ. I am the Brahma Bull. I am the one who will lead them back to the right course because it is I who rule over them, and not they to me.
I'm carrying with me
With this in mind, I ease off the gas. I will call my family at the hotel that could be seen in the distance and tell them of my scheme. I will be who I once was. The turn was sharp and I fail to notice the brittle railing. I press the brakes as hard as I can but it's useless and I soon crash through the wood. I watch in complete aw as I fly through the air. I'm flying. Truly flying. For the first time in my life, I am off the ground and in the air.
Until I'm not alive.
Far below from the road the front of my car crashed into the tree. The front is crushed from the impact and I cannot feel my legs. My head is leaning against the steering wheel and I bring up a weak, trembling hand to my forehead. I do not notice the upper halves of my last two fingers under the dashboard where it had come into contact with my right hand. I cannot see the blood that my fore and middle fingers touched. Everything is red when it should be black. It was night, wasn't it?
I try to look up but it is hard for me to do so. Breathing is hard and I know that my chest has been crushed. I always knew that my ribs were a curse. The trees above me show no sign of disturbance besides the wind that just not picked up. The car was too small for the large branches. I am hidden from the world like the pain I hide within.
I cough and it hurts. But not like the pain from the audience. Nothing can compare. I know not to close my eyes. When I do I see red. Why red? Is it for the love of my family? Of my two jobs? That must be it. Nothing could separate me from those things. I fly when I am with them.
I feel no pain now. My fingers have reattached and there is no blood in my hair. I raise a shaped eyebrow as I realize that this is flying. This is what I have been searching for. I am no longer hide things within. I am soaring.
Hidden Track © Staind's "Dysfunction"