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Jericho had done exactly what he was supposed to do. He had picked up the steel chair and swung it at Test's head. Test had ducked. Everything should have gone off without a hitch. The steel chair angle was played almost every night, and usually everything was fine. Usually.
I feel the steel chair slide from my grasp; hear it hit the floor with a loud clang. As I stare down at the unconscious Stacy in horror, the façade that was Y2J melts away, and all that is left standing there is me, Chris Irvine. I had seen Stacy Kiebler standing there, seen the momentary terror that filled her eyes as the chair connected, but had been powerless to do anything. Had I only swung with a little less strength. but I had trusted Andrew. I knew that he could get out of the way in time; knew that Andrew was fast for a guy his size. We had practiced this earlier that night. Besides, Bischoff had told me to make the swing believable.
I back away slowly, muttering under my breath. "I-it wasn't my fault. She wasn't supposed to be there." Things like this happened in matches, right? I look around at the crowd, scanning for someone who believes me, someone who understands. They are all too busy saying how much my character. how much I. suck. I don't remember getting into the ring, but suddenly I'm there, my muttering turned into shouting as I turn around, still scanning the crowd. "It wasn't my fault! This wasn't supposed to happen! She was in the way!"
Earl Heppner gets in my face, telling me to get backstage, and I look into his eyes. "Earl, I didn't mean to."
His eyes remain cold and unbelieving as he points towards the ramp. "Get out of here, Chris, you're in the way."
I look down at Test and see him kneeling over his fallen girlfriend, tears streaming down his cheeks at the EMTs start to put the brace on her neck. Tears threaten to spill down my own cheeks as I leave the ring, walking up the ramp to a chorus of boos and hisses. I stand at the top, looking back down the ramp. Suddenly, now more than ever, it seems vital that at least someone in the arena believes me. I shout at the top of my lungs. " I DIDN'T MEAN TO!"
I hear some kid in the audience shout back, "YEAH, RIGHT!"
I shake my head, a group of referees escorting me backstage, knowing that no one is going to believe me. After all, I am Chris Jericho. Who could ever believe that underneath the overly cocky character, is a feeling person?
Author's notes- Alright, that was just a quick response to what went down on RAW Monday night. I never write in first person anymore. Lemme know what you think, and if you want me to continue it.
Dedication- This story is dedicated to Stacy Kiebler. I hope you feel better soon. Also to Chris Irvine. I, for one, believe it wasn't intentional.
Jericho had done exactly what he was supposed to do. He had picked up the steel chair and swung it at Test's head. Test had ducked. Everything should have gone off without a hitch. The steel chair angle was played almost every night, and usually everything was fine. Usually.
I feel the steel chair slide from my grasp; hear it hit the floor with a loud clang. As I stare down at the unconscious Stacy in horror, the façade that was Y2J melts away, and all that is left standing there is me, Chris Irvine. I had seen Stacy Kiebler standing there, seen the momentary terror that filled her eyes as the chair connected, but had been powerless to do anything. Had I only swung with a little less strength. but I had trusted Andrew. I knew that he could get out of the way in time; knew that Andrew was fast for a guy his size. We had practiced this earlier that night. Besides, Bischoff had told me to make the swing believable.
I back away slowly, muttering under my breath. "I-it wasn't my fault. She wasn't supposed to be there." Things like this happened in matches, right? I look around at the crowd, scanning for someone who believes me, someone who understands. They are all too busy saying how much my character. how much I. suck. I don't remember getting into the ring, but suddenly I'm there, my muttering turned into shouting as I turn around, still scanning the crowd. "It wasn't my fault! This wasn't supposed to happen! She was in the way!"
Earl Heppner gets in my face, telling me to get backstage, and I look into his eyes. "Earl, I didn't mean to."
His eyes remain cold and unbelieving as he points towards the ramp. "Get out of here, Chris, you're in the way."
I look down at Test and see him kneeling over his fallen girlfriend, tears streaming down his cheeks at the EMTs start to put the brace on her neck. Tears threaten to spill down my own cheeks as I leave the ring, walking up the ramp to a chorus of boos and hisses. I stand at the top, looking back down the ramp. Suddenly, now more than ever, it seems vital that at least someone in the arena believes me. I shout at the top of my lungs. " I DIDN'T MEAN TO!"
I hear some kid in the audience shout back, "YEAH, RIGHT!"
I shake my head, a group of referees escorting me backstage, knowing that no one is going to believe me. After all, I am Chris Jericho. Who could ever believe that underneath the overly cocky character, is a feeling person?
Author's notes- Alright, that was just a quick response to what went down on RAW Monday night. I never write in first person anymore. Lemme know what you think, and if you want me to continue it.
Dedication- This story is dedicated to Stacy Kiebler. I hope you feel better soon. Also to Chris Irvine. I, for one, believe it wasn't intentional.