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Chapter Two ~ Good-byes Are Such Sweet Sorrows
By ~ MÃstico Lobo
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He knew that the box wasn't a bomb. She was nothing more than just some regular child who was probably...well...he didn't know what her intentions were, but he didn't care. She had attempted to scare him, but she did a pretty lousy job of it. He had more than enough worries to deal with than some chick with an attitude.
He had beaten the living shit out of Angle that night on the previous RAW. No one had made an announcement of his return, so when he came running down the crowd had gone wild. It somehow surprised him that they continued to cheer for him, even though so much crap had been thrown at him since the month of his return. It had been a wonderful feeling coming back on that July night. He knew that his fans had anticipated the day when he would return, but never had he expected such a welcoming. And the giant hush that had followed the deafening cheer at the announcement of his staying in the WWF still brought goosebumps over his body. He did and always will work for the fans, for himself, and nobody else.
And now his fans wanted the same thing he wanted, revenge. And it was times like these that he never wanted to let those millions and millions down. It was now Thursday and he was once again ready to lay the smackdown on Kurt Angle. The first thing he though of this morning when he awoke was how he would embarrass him in front of the people. Except there was a problem. He hadn't though of a way on how to embarrass him.
One thing he prided himself with was that he was always up with fresh ideas. This wouldn't be the first time that he would go out there in front of the audience idealess, but something would always come to him. He'd never been left out in the dark before. In fact, he could think of many a time when his best promos were cut cold. But that wasn't what concerned him at the moment. Usually when facing anyone in a feud, he received some sort of threat, be it a letter, phone call, or whatever. This time he got nothing.
'Maybe he finally realized that he's not always going to win,' he mused doubtfully. Angle was one of those many jabronis who never got the hint, even when you kicked their ass from her to Asia. 'One day he might, though.' He stopped walking and shook his head before proceeding. "Naw," he said aloud.
Rock opened the door of his SUV after parking it at the local Gold's Gym. Not knowing why it was so crowded, he was forced to park down the street next to a dumpster. He grumbled as he shut the door. This hadn't been the first time he had been compelled to park next to them, and each time the stench of the garbage stained the paint right off.
He always worked out before a show so he could be fully ready and try his best. Although there were times where he basically sucked, he always made it a pledge to do better next time. One of the mottoes he lived by was "If at first you don't succeed, try, try again. There's always next time." You couldn't live for only one day, because if you do and lose, you'll wallow in self-pity for the rest of your miserable life.
He entered the gym with his small sports bag filled with his usual items of five clean towels, cash for water-only ones of course-an extra shirt, gum, and his cassette player with the built-in radio. He always wondered why mp3 and portable DVD players came out before CD players with radios, but that's just the way those high-tech jabronis though, he guessed.
Like always, he was submerged into a crowd of people who wanted his autograph, picture, handshake, or whatever. Someone had once asked if he ever got tired of all these people, and without hesitation, he responded that he could never get tired of *the* people because it was them who had made him where he was today.
When the commotion died down, he was able to sit and work out. He put his headphones on over his ears after quickly finding a station that suited its purpose to help get his blood moving. Sometimes he thought while he lifted the weak weights, and sometimes a black, mindless cloud forced him to think of nothing. Either way, hours would sometimes pass by before he even realized it. Today was no exception.
It was one-thirty when he looked at the clock. He had been there for over two hours and not one thought had gone through his mind except that he was going to beat Angle in the match tonight, no matter what happened. Picking up his third towel, he wiped the sweat from his brow and rapped it around his neck. He stood up and started towards the door towards his car as he thought about what he would do until the time he had to be at the arena.
A smirk came onto his face when he recognized a familiar someone. It was that psychotic, mood-swinging photographer that had threatened him with a shoebox. 'Maybe that was Angle's calling card,' he pondered as he started towards her. He had nothing to do for a few hours, so why not waste it on someone who owed him? She had bothered The Rock, so he thought it was only far that he do the same to her.
She was wearing the classic work out clothes chicks usually wore: black sports bra with the company's logo in the bottom left corner and matching biking shorts. If you could call them shorts, that is. If they were any shorter, they could easily be mistaken for a bikini bottom. He wouldn't be surprised if they were one of those now-popular t-string ones.
He had just sat down next to her when she already noted his presence with a glare ahead of her, refusing to look at him. "Go away. I was here first." She was on the leg press so it was easy for her to grip the handles tightly in anger. Wasn't the five minutes enough? She had already noticed various other wrestlers there that morning, and this one-what was his name again?-already knew her feelings towards them. Maybe he had forgotten? She believed it, as most wrestlers were all show and no brains.
"The Rock didn't know that this was a first-come, first-serve gym." He fixed the weights to his usual amount and sat on the seat.
"That doesn't surprise me. It's quite usual to find impenetrable brains in those of Neanderthals." She regarded him slightly at the corner of her eye. He was looking at her with his right eyebrow barely raised. She looked back at her focused spot. "Impenetrable means that you are-"
"The Rock know what it means, botcher. And he doesn't think that that was a very nice thing to say."
"Oh, and that was something nicer."
"'Nice' isn't in The Rock's dictionary."
"And neither is 'intelligence' or 'humane' I presume."
"Do you always talk in such big words?"
"Do you always make fun of people?"
"Yes."
"Then you found you just answered your own question, didn't you?" He blinked. He had never had a conversation quite like this before. Sure he had had some pretty unusual ones prior to, but they usually followed punches and kicking. He smirked at her, resting his heel on top of the weights.
"The Rock did some research on your brother. He hears that he's pretty good."
"Really? I'm proud of you for being able to lift something besides a can of beer."
He sighed and scratched the back of his head, quickly becoming annoyed. "The Rock is trying to add that word in, and you're not making it easy."
"Oh, I'm sorry." She stopped pumping her legs and looked to him. "I didn't realize that I was your teacher. But my friend is a great kindergarten teacher. I'm sure she'll be more than happy to broaden your vocabulary as well as teach you proper English. Unless you think you're Tarzan or something." She smirked and stood up.
He frowned. Her words from Monday quickly passed over him at the 'or you'll get wrinkles' part and he quickly whipped it off. "Where are you going?"
She didn't stop walking or even turn toward him. "Some place where Neanderthals or any other monkey-men are not permitted." Her laughter then left a trail behind her.
He sat there for a couple of minutes after she had left, reflecting. What the hell just happened? She had just insulted him a handful of times and he had done nothing but sit there as if it had gone right over his head. Taking a deep breath and promising himself something cool to drink to pass whatever fever he held, he started back out.
He breathed in the fresh air of the outside after closing the door behind him. The air inside was soiled with nasty smells of various body odor and God knew what else. He was just glad to be outside.
The later events of that night were still fresh in his mind while he continued to think of ways to get back at Angle. He was starting to get a foundation of a plan when he turned the corner to his car, only to drop his bag in complete surprise. What had once been his beloved SUV now was smashed into something he couldn't begin to identify. The windows were shattered, all four sides had been done in, and it looked like something huge had landed on top of the hood. Whoever had trashed it had done a good job in keeping it in the formation of a rectangle. The only thing that moved from the wreckage was a small white piece of paper gripped between two pieces of metal.
Enraged beyond anything that he had felt in years, he snatched up the note and quickly scanned it before crumpling it up. Written in very neat handwriting, it had said: Watch your back. Me don't like you. Me want you dead. Me will see you in Hell.
He didn't know how she had done it, but he knew who had done this to him. He knew of one person who had threatened his life and made fun of him by his first person talk. And that was the woman he was just with. Except next time they met, he would be the last one laughing.
Home
Chapter Two ~ Good-byes Are Such Sweet Sorrows
By ~ MÃstico Lobo
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
He knew that the box wasn't a bomb. She was nothing more than just some regular child who was probably...well...he didn't know what her intentions were, but he didn't care. She had attempted to scare him, but she did a pretty lousy job of it. He had more than enough worries to deal with than some chick with an attitude.
He had beaten the living shit out of Angle that night on the previous RAW. No one had made an announcement of his return, so when he came running down the crowd had gone wild. It somehow surprised him that they continued to cheer for him, even though so much crap had been thrown at him since the month of his return. It had been a wonderful feeling coming back on that July night. He knew that his fans had anticipated the day when he would return, but never had he expected such a welcoming. And the giant hush that had followed the deafening cheer at the announcement of his staying in the WWF still brought goosebumps over his body. He did and always will work for the fans, for himself, and nobody else.
And now his fans wanted the same thing he wanted, revenge. And it was times like these that he never wanted to let those millions and millions down. It was now Thursday and he was once again ready to lay the smackdown on Kurt Angle. The first thing he though of this morning when he awoke was how he would embarrass him in front of the people. Except there was a problem. He hadn't though of a way on how to embarrass him.
One thing he prided himself with was that he was always up with fresh ideas. This wouldn't be the first time that he would go out there in front of the audience idealess, but something would always come to him. He'd never been left out in the dark before. In fact, he could think of many a time when his best promos were cut cold. But that wasn't what concerned him at the moment. Usually when facing anyone in a feud, he received some sort of threat, be it a letter, phone call, or whatever. This time he got nothing.
'Maybe he finally realized that he's not always going to win,' he mused doubtfully. Angle was one of those many jabronis who never got the hint, even when you kicked their ass from her to Asia. 'One day he might, though.' He stopped walking and shook his head before proceeding. "Naw," he said aloud.
Rock opened the door of his SUV after parking it at the local Gold's Gym. Not knowing why it was so crowded, he was forced to park down the street next to a dumpster. He grumbled as he shut the door. This hadn't been the first time he had been compelled to park next to them, and each time the stench of the garbage stained the paint right off.
He always worked out before a show so he could be fully ready and try his best. Although there were times where he basically sucked, he always made it a pledge to do better next time. One of the mottoes he lived by was "If at first you don't succeed, try, try again. There's always next time." You couldn't live for only one day, because if you do and lose, you'll wallow in self-pity for the rest of your miserable life.
He entered the gym with his small sports bag filled with his usual items of five clean towels, cash for water-only ones of course-an extra shirt, gum, and his cassette player with the built-in radio. He always wondered why mp3 and portable DVD players came out before CD players with radios, but that's just the way those high-tech jabronis though, he guessed.
Like always, he was submerged into a crowd of people who wanted his autograph, picture, handshake, or whatever. Someone had once asked if he ever got tired of all these people, and without hesitation, he responded that he could never get tired of *the* people because it was them who had made him where he was today.
When the commotion died down, he was able to sit and work out. He put his headphones on over his ears after quickly finding a station that suited its purpose to help get his blood moving. Sometimes he thought while he lifted the weak weights, and sometimes a black, mindless cloud forced him to think of nothing. Either way, hours would sometimes pass by before he even realized it. Today was no exception.
It was one-thirty when he looked at the clock. He had been there for over two hours and not one thought had gone through his mind except that he was going to beat Angle in the match tonight, no matter what happened. Picking up his third towel, he wiped the sweat from his brow and rapped it around his neck. He stood up and started towards the door towards his car as he thought about what he would do until the time he had to be at the arena.
A smirk came onto his face when he recognized a familiar someone. It was that psychotic, mood-swinging photographer that had threatened him with a shoebox. 'Maybe that was Angle's calling card,' he pondered as he started towards her. He had nothing to do for a few hours, so why not waste it on someone who owed him? She had bothered The Rock, so he thought it was only far that he do the same to her.
She was wearing the classic work out clothes chicks usually wore: black sports bra with the company's logo in the bottom left corner and matching biking shorts. If you could call them shorts, that is. If they were any shorter, they could easily be mistaken for a bikini bottom. He wouldn't be surprised if they were one of those now-popular t-string ones.
He had just sat down next to her when she already noted his presence with a glare ahead of her, refusing to look at him. "Go away. I was here first." She was on the leg press so it was easy for her to grip the handles tightly in anger. Wasn't the five minutes enough? She had already noticed various other wrestlers there that morning, and this one-what was his name again?-already knew her feelings towards them. Maybe he had forgotten? She believed it, as most wrestlers were all show and no brains.
"The Rock didn't know that this was a first-come, first-serve gym." He fixed the weights to his usual amount and sat on the seat.
"That doesn't surprise me. It's quite usual to find impenetrable brains in those of Neanderthals." She regarded him slightly at the corner of her eye. He was looking at her with his right eyebrow barely raised. She looked back at her focused spot. "Impenetrable means that you are-"
"The Rock know what it means, botcher. And he doesn't think that that was a very nice thing to say."
"Oh, and that was something nicer."
"'Nice' isn't in The Rock's dictionary."
"And neither is 'intelligence' or 'humane' I presume."
"Do you always talk in such big words?"
"Do you always make fun of people?"
"Yes."
"Then you found you just answered your own question, didn't you?" He blinked. He had never had a conversation quite like this before. Sure he had had some pretty unusual ones prior to, but they usually followed punches and kicking. He smirked at her, resting his heel on top of the weights.
"The Rock did some research on your brother. He hears that he's pretty good."
"Really? I'm proud of you for being able to lift something besides a can of beer."
He sighed and scratched the back of his head, quickly becoming annoyed. "The Rock is trying to add that word in, and you're not making it easy."
"Oh, I'm sorry." She stopped pumping her legs and looked to him. "I didn't realize that I was your teacher. But my friend is a great kindergarten teacher. I'm sure she'll be more than happy to broaden your vocabulary as well as teach you proper English. Unless you think you're Tarzan or something." She smirked and stood up.
He frowned. Her words from Monday quickly passed over him at the 'or you'll get wrinkles' part and he quickly whipped it off. "Where are you going?"
She didn't stop walking or even turn toward him. "Some place where Neanderthals or any other monkey-men are not permitted." Her laughter then left a trail behind her.
He sat there for a couple of minutes after she had left, reflecting. What the hell just happened? She had just insulted him a handful of times and he had done nothing but sit there as if it had gone right over his head. Taking a deep breath and promising himself something cool to drink to pass whatever fever he held, he started back out.
He breathed in the fresh air of the outside after closing the door behind him. The air inside was soiled with nasty smells of various body odor and God knew what else. He was just glad to be outside.
The later events of that night were still fresh in his mind while he continued to think of ways to get back at Angle. He was starting to get a foundation of a plan when he turned the corner to his car, only to drop his bag in complete surprise. What had once been his beloved SUV now was smashed into something he couldn't begin to identify. The windows were shattered, all four sides had been done in, and it looked like something huge had landed on top of the hood. Whoever had trashed it had done a good job in keeping it in the formation of a rectangle. The only thing that moved from the wreckage was a small white piece of paper gripped between two pieces of metal.
Enraged beyond anything that he had felt in years, he snatched up the note and quickly scanned it before crumpling it up. Written in very neat handwriting, it had said: Watch your back. Me don't like you. Me want you dead. Me will see you in Hell.
He didn't know how she had done it, but he knew who had done this to him. He knew of one person who had threatened his life and made fun of him by his first person talk. And that was the woman he was just with. Except next time they met, he would be the last one laughing.