Your star will shine again one day. - Stone Roses, Your Star Will Shine.




Stone Cold Steve Austin's dead.

I feel no remorse.

There's no pity, or anger, or sorrow running through my body or my mind.

I'm a statue as the Rock throws himself against the TV in anger, screaming and yelling in denial and runs out of the room, understanding the unbearable truth that his best friend is gone.

I'm a statue as Hunter loses it, screaming and punching everyone and anything blindly, unable to believe that his eternal enemy was gone, ducking just in time to miss the contact of his fist against my jaw.

I'm a statue as Shawn walks over to me, as if he's trying to attempt to council me; however, he slowly back away when he sees the icy, apathetic glare in my eyes.

I'm a statue as Jericho tries to strike a conversation with me, maybe finding a bond with me within the chaos of the man's death but I pay no attention and brush against him to the door as he pours out to me his soul.

I'm a statue.

I don't care about others.

And I especially don't care about Stone Cold Steve Austin.

We never had a connection, Steve and I. We met around in Japan, and sure I respected him. He was an easily respectable guy. He was honest, blunt, frank, truthful, honorable, caring, and just goddamn funny. It was a blast with him in Japan.

But this is Wrestlemania. I don't have time to worry about things from the past. I can't loose my focus because of the death of some stupid Texas SOB that rose hell, drank beer, and stood up for the people in humanity who were sick and tired of authority.

Steve Austin was a good man. He had his faults, but that made him human. He always admitted his faults, and took the blame for things when he was the one to be blamed. That was the one thing that made me admire Steve. He had the guts to admit when he was wrong, and would try to make up for it.

He'll be missed. Hell, I'll miss him.

But now wasn't the time to think about those petty, insignificant thoughts.

So I start my ritual, focusing my attention, doing exercises, blocking out the sounds of anguish and despair and fury as I run down the hallways in a sprint. I ignore the cries of shock and deep conversation as I stretch my muscles and warm them up. I'm apathetic to their cries, worries, concerns, tears...

I'm a statue.

I find myself outside, and I'm breathing heavily, my warm up ritual over. I'm focused, I'm ready, I'm a statue and I can't crumble. I'm ready to move on, to win my match, to become a legend like many others before me.

Like Austin.

For some odd reason, I stare up to the sky, and I notice how clearly black it was of nightfall. Only the stars illuminated the area, sparkling on the puddles of previous rainfall.

For some odd reason, I think about Austin, and the time we spent in Japan. I remember that one time we were sharing a room, and were so bored we were looking outside of the window, gazing at the Japan skyline.

For some odd reason, I remember how Austin looked at a certain bright star and said something that stayed with me since that day.

"Y'know," he said in a whisper, his eyes sparkling like private twin blue stars, filled with beauty, curiosity, and wisdom, "if you choose just one star, from out of the bunch of 'em, it'll stay with you for the rest of you're life."

"Really?" I remember asking him.

He knowingly nodded his head and pointed to that star again. "See that?" I had nodded my head, notcing the very bright star not far from the moon. "That's the North Star, but back then when I was a kid, I didn't know it was the North Star. I called it my star, because wherever I was, it always watched over me." He had paused, only to glare at me. "You tell anyone about this sentimental moment and I'll shoot you.

I remember laughing at his antics. "Don't worry Steve," I had reassured. "I won't."

There's no smile on my lips now. There's no mirth or happiness within my icy blue eyes. I'm lifeless, I'm dead, and I'm cold. I'm determined, focused and concentrated. Nothing will distract me. Nothing will stop me.

My eyes fall upon the North Star, Steve's own star, and not far is my own star. I had picked a star that wouldn't be far from Steve's, so I could always remember where it was.

All of a sudden, that star -- the North Star -- pulsed once... twice... and merely vanished.

My star grew in size, taking the sky and engulfing it in it's presence. And that's when I knew the truth.

... Austin's star wasn't the North Star. Mine was.

I'm staring up at the sky, knowing that the entire Earth rotated at the axis of the North Star. My star. ... but something inside tells me I just can't claim that star as my own. The North Star was always Steve's, never mine.

It's like... it's like saying that Steve's death was beneficial to me. Like now that he's dead, I can be the center of attention, have all the fame and fortune to myself.

It's all mine. All mine. It all belongs to me now.

Then why does it feel so wrong?

Why does it feel wrong?

I'm a statue. I'm standing here, looking at the sky.

That star isn't mine. It never belonged to me, it always belonged to Steve. It's Steve's. He's immortal, the guiding light for everyone. The North Star is Steve's star.

Fuck, I'll choose another one some other time.

I'm standing here. And I'm watching the sky and I could swear I feel the world rotate around me and only me. And somehow my gut is telling me that I'm not hallucinating.

Did you give me this priviledge, Steve?

Why?

I'm a statue. I feel nothing. I am made of stone. No one can break through me. I'm immortal in my own right.

You didn't have to do that, Steve. Dear God, you didn't have to.

I'm a statue. Statue's don't have feelings. Their emotions are chiseled into their faces, and I didn't happen to be known as Miss Merry Sunshine.

But I'm crying.

Tears.

Tears, Steve.

Tears are streaming down my face, silently, flowing profusely. I can't stop them. I don't think I can.

I'm staring up at the sky.

I'm a statue. Statue's have no feelings.

But you, Steve Austin, gave me the one thing I don't think I can never repay you for. Not the star, not the world, not the fame, not the fortune...

My humanity.

I'm a statue, Steve.

But you gave me a piece of humanity.

... thank you.

I stand there, gazing softly, crying with endless tears, shedding them only for you, my only token and gratification for the one thing you gave me.

And then it happens.

I smile.