Post by "Notorious" Ned Kaye on Jul 5, 2020 22:57:55 GMT -5
March 25th, 2020 11:23 PM
It was the sounds that first dragged Ned back into consciousness. White noise that stirred his senses, although distinguishing between any proved futile at best. His eyelids weakly pulled apart, trying to shut once more as the intense light overwhelmed his retinas. Somehow, he kept them open, but his sight was in as much disarray as his hearing. Ned's mind wandered through the possibilities, uncertain of this sensation. Was he dying? Is this how his father felt when cancer finally overcame him. The thought rattled Ned deeply. Desperately, he tried to apply some meaning to the bright images. But all he saw was light; shape without form. Blotches of color, saturated and faint, but none of them recognizable. His other senses failing him, he moved on to touch, only to realize that he couldn't even feel his hands. That's when the sensation hit him once more, his body aching in place.
Cold. He was so cold. Why?
Ned tried to think as the sounds became muffled, but more intelligible. It was speech for certain, but what was said was still so unclear, as if he were submerged. However, one word, no- one voice emerged from the cacophony.
"...Ned!"
Ethan?
That was Ethan's voice. Ned had been hearing that voice since he was just an idealistic teenager and Ethan was just that younger friend across the street. It was the same voice that spurred him own when he was still hitting the bottle. And a comfort accompanied that familiar sound. Somehow, someway, his best friend was there.
Digging into his memory, Ned struggled to recall what happened. Why Ethan would be yelling at him. There was a snowstorm, Ned knew that. He had been separated from his group while he was training. He remembered Ethan's silhouette calling out for him past a thick veil of frost. It felt like only seconds before he came to. He was certain his memories were twisted, bleeding into one another.
Bleeding.
He looked down, his vision finally acclimating to the harsh hospital lights. His leg was bleeding. As he looked up, the world around him seemed to slow and stutter, but Ethan's voice still stuck out. As the doctors and nurses began to surround Ned more and more, steering the gurney that held him deeper into the hospital, Ethan's voice became increasingly faint. Ned tried to call out, to move, to do anything, but there was simply no strength left in him. Suddenly, a terror began to build within Ned. He didn't want to die like this. He didn't want his last sight of his friend to be here. He tried once again to call out to his partners, his training group, his friends. But no matter how he tried, not even a whisper left his lips. And then everything went black again.
June 22nd, 2020 8:04 AM
Ned leapt awake, his head striking the linen that lined the roof of his car. He grasped the crown of his head, muttering a few curses under his breath. He was sweating profusely, panting while he resumed his place in reality. Taking a breath he leaned his head back, resting it on a pillow he kept in the backseat of his car. Despite everything, he still wasn't over what happened in March. Running a hand over his chin, he sighed and sat up. It was going to be a long day.
----
-------
11:26 AM
In the front seat of his 01' Saturn SW2, Ned turned into the parking lot of Cassidy's Diner, a small joint that was close to his training spot. He had been frequenting the place as of late, finding it to be a welcome reprieve from the strain he had been putting upon himself. As he moved to open the car door, his phone began to vibrate and jingle. He glanced down at the name.
Ethan Davis.
With a sigh, Ned answered.
"Hey."
"Hey, man. ...You doing alright?"
"I'm fine," Ned shook his head, disappointed in himself for worrying his friend, "what about you?"
"Ehn... things are definitely quieter around here without you. And with everything else. But me and my parents are doing okay."
As the words tapered out, the two shared an uncomfortable silence.
"Are you staying clean?"
Ned glanced at a bottle of beer in his backseat someone had offered to him. While he hadn't drank any yet, he simply didn't have the heart to tell Ethan.
"It's been hard, but yes. I've been keeping clear of all that."
Ethan's voice became audibly relieved.
"So... there's some news. An open wrestling tournament over at UGWC."
"Yeah?"
"I went ahead and sent an application in for you."
Ned's head fell back, sighing into the phone.
"Ethan-"
"Ned, listen to me. You've been in this funk for months. I think it'd really help you get back on the right foot."
"But you know I'm not ready."
"No, I don't, Ned. Hell, I know barely anything about what's going on with your training besides you doing it! Please, please... just consider it. I'll text you the details. Promise me you'll look."
Ned stayed quiet.
"Promise me, Ned."
"Fine."
"Thanks, man. I'll let you get back to whatever."
"Of course. I'll talk to you later."
The end of call chime played in Ned's ear as he stepped out of his car, walking into the diner. Sitting down at a table, he waited for his usual waitress to swing by and take his order. She walked by, wearing a baby blue and white outfit that was seemingly grabbed straight from the 80s. She smiled, recognizing him.
"Howdy, hun! Lemmie guess... black coffee and soft scrambled, right?"
Ned nodded, giving his best attempt at a smile to her, although it was definitely more empty than he would like. She started to head towards the kitchen before stopping and returning to his table.
"Y'know, you been coming in here a couple a weeks and I still don't know your name. Care to share?"
"It's-uh... it's Ned."
"Ned?" She chuckled to herself, "One of my son's favorite wrestlers is named Ned! He was actually doing quite a lot earlier this year. Wonder what he's up to..."
She doodled on her handheld pad absentmindedly.
"That's a good question," Ned replied thinking intently. As he became lost in thought, the waitress pointed over him to some silverware.
"Ya mind handing me that, hun."
"Sure," Ned reached for the silverware without thinking, his finger sliding over the sharp edge of a blade as he recoiled in pain.
-------
March 23rd 1:04 AM
When Ned woke up, he was face down in snow. He lifted his numb face out of the pile of snow and gasped out in pain. His right leg, thigh specifically. Something was wrong. He reached down and touched his thigh before looking at his hand coated in blood. As he gnawed off a part of his jacket to try and wrap around the wound, he tried to think about where he was just before he was face down in the snow.
He remembered being with his group as he was preparing for his title match. He was training hard on the cliff, recording some promo. That's when it came back to him. An avalanche had sent him careening down the mountain, stranded from his group, bleeding out in the middle of nowhere. He tried to find his phone, but he must have left it in the truck they came in. After finally wrapping his sliced leg up, Ned stood up, admonishing himself, dazed under the intense weather storming around him. He should have known this would have happened. He should have been more careful before this match. Millions of should haves. But none of that changed where he was now. The frosty air that encompassed him became more unbearable by the second until he finally could take no more, limping around the cliffside, looking for a cave or anything resembling shelter.
It felt like an hour later before Ned had found a cave, stumbling into it and collapsing, passing out for an unknown amount of time, the exhaustion of training and surviving out here causing him to pass out as soon as he laid his head down.
It was when he woke that the first surprise met him. A figure, waiting at the edge of the cave. Unmoving. Silent. Ned tried calling out to it, but there was no response. After a while, it disappeared, leaving behind an even more chilling atmosphere. His teeth chattered and every part of him ached as he tried to conserve his heat, delirium trying to set in every other minute it seemed. It was only once Ned had successfully made a fire that the figure emerged again. However, this time it was close enough to see the details of. This time it spoke.
Ned still remembered looking at it for rhe first time. The Spectre. It looked like him, albeit younger and in peak condition compared to Ned's miserable state here. But it wasn't the look that bothered him. It was the voice. Ever so close to his own, but just... wrong in a subtle way. Just... off.
"Hello, Ned."
The Spectre smiled widely and took a bow. Kaye didn't respond, too taken back by pure disbelief. But the more he looked the more real it looked. The more real it felt.
"I hear you have an important moment coming up and, well, I just would love to offer my services."
Ned laughed, knowing this had to be just some exhausted delusion of his own mind. The Spectre didn't seem to mind.
"So, you're the devil, right?" Ned chuckled as he said, actually humoring the hallucination.
"I don't know, Ned. Am I?"
The Spectre sat beside him and for a moment Ned felt more normal. Warm. Safe. But as soon as it had neared his side, it had leaped up.
"Ned, you're in a very desperate place. An awful place, indeed. And I hate to see that because you deserve so much better and we both know that to be true. You see, Ned, I'd like to make you an offer."
"What are you offering?"
"Everything. The fame and respect you seek. The ability to dethrone that bastard who hurt your friend. That friend who always lifted you up. That friend you couldn't protect."
Ned looked down, the shame being as real as the blood that soaked his jeans.
"But I want to give you all that back. I want you to succeed, Ned. I want you to smite your enemies and be the man Centurion sees in you. That everyone sees in you."
"And what do you want from me?"
"I want you to accept, Ned. Just accept and shake my hand."
Ned looked at the Spectre, thoughts rushing in as he sat there, afraid. Afraid of losing. Afraid of dying in a cave.
-------
The waitress leaped in to help.
"Oh my god, I'm so sorry! Let me get ya a band aid or somethin'!"
Ned stuck his finger in his mouth, wincing somewhat as it left his mouth.
"I'm fine, I promise... I think I'll just head out."
"You sure?"
"Yeah..."
As he got up to leave, Ned looked back at her, quickly trying to spray the table with some disinfectant.
"Hey miss."
"Yessum?"
"Tell your son that that wrestler he likes appreciates him more than he might know."
She gave him a confused glare as he walked out, stepping into his car a d calling Ethan back.
"I'll do it."
-------
-------
"There is something very fascinating about being a professional wrestler. And it's not the personas or the owners or the ridiculous shit we allow people to do between matches."
"It's the wrestlers."
"This business attracts a whole host of different people, but they all typically have two things in common: They want to be the best and they are, on some level, haunted by something. Don't believe me? Have a look at just the opening match."
"Andrew Logan. A man who had his optimism and pride in this sport squashed by the unfortunate politickers and control who thrive in places of power in this business. He's here at Wrestlestock not out of love or competition or pride, but for revenge. To stick it to those who made it so blatantly clear that this was "their" world and he didn't belong."
"Adelaide Ainsworth. A woman whose background carries tragedy and horror that you hope only to see in HBO series or trashy literature. She was treated monstrously and her actions and behaviors reflect that. She's about five years younger than me and she has a criminal record a mile long and a list of trauma that may exceed it."
"Ned Kaye. Yours truly. A suicidal recovering alcoholic with an inferiority complex who tries everything he can to be recognized by the greatest, but never feels that it's enough. But he keeps coming back for more disappointment for more suffering despite the unending pressure he puts on himself to succeed."
"See, we go out there with these big personas and a lot of big talk and boasts, but we're just people. And a lot of us have even more baggage than a lot of normal people do, but if I'm honest, well adjusted folk likely don't sign up to get dropkicked multiple times a month. But we do. And I think a lot of us present that persona and hid behind it because it's easier than being the people underneath. That's why I've always strived to be the man and not the mask. And if you think it's just some stupid ramblings of a sore loser, I beg you look at Ms. Ainsworth and see where becoming her persona led her. See how that affected her as a human being, on top of a history of atrocities against her."
"We are people, but we're far from normal. And if you throw a dart even at just the participants of the Open Tournament, you will find a who's who of marital issues, frustrations over opportunity, substance abuse, actual murder, and so much more. Because to be a professional wrestler, something has to compel you to keep doing this. And that something is never sunshine and rainbows."
"For a while, what compelled me was living the life my late fiance would have wanted for me. Then it was living up to my father's memory. Then it was proving it to those around me, APEX Prophecy, one of the greatest stables in Professional Wrestling history, that I belonged amongst. And they believed that, but I didn't. And with each failure, I found myself more and more furious with why I wasn't on their level. Why I couldn't just be the man they said I was. And when I finally stepped away, it all became very clear to me."
"They saw me for who I was, not who I was trying to be. The second I chased a mirage of my potential was the second I stopped just being myself. That's why I pushed myself to the brink before my Universal Title shot, that's why I struggled so much before then. And when I failed, I kept to my word and convinced myself that I had let everyone down and that the damage was irrevocable. But the truth is I needed to fail then. I needed to stop chasing who I could be and instead strengthening who I am."
"Some people still question why I walked away. Why even though I put myself out there during a time of personal unrest, I still put all of the blame of failure squarely upon my own shoulders. The answer is, in all honesty, as simple as it gets."
Closing his eyes, Ned hunches over, his head obscured by dangling tendrils of hair. He exhales as his gaze rises, the faintest reflection in his eyes as he speaks.
"When you're drawn to this profession, it's not to stay in the middle lane and keep your head low. Ask anyone here. I'd bet good money that no one signs a contract because they want to appear in number one contenders matches and never get a title. Participation, while certainly a reward in of itself, will never be the goal. At least not for me. I didn't ever drive miles out to indie after indie so I could lose another opportunity. Being a member of APEX Prophecy was never about just hanging out with my idols. I strived and strained myself because standing beneath them could never satisfy me, but standing amongst them might. So I put my dream job on the line, placing my faith in myself after becoming so frustrated with my lack of progress. And when you put all of your cards on the table, no matter how exhausted you've become, you do it to prove that you have victory right in your palm. To solidify that faith that you are among the best."
"But those are the kinds of endings you get in fairytales and sports films. I pushed myself to the brink and when time came to fight for the thing I held most dear, I had pushed myself into such a rut, I couldn't recover from it. I didn't have to train the way I did for that match. Getting lost out in that avalanche was a result of me trying too hard to discover faith in myself that I didn't have. And when that opportunity slowly slipped out of my hands, grains of sand I'd desperately, and futilely, attempt to grasp, I was left with no dream job, a feeling a further disrespect and disregard from my peers, and nothing even resembling trust in my own abilities. I left my gym to my brother. I could barely talk to my best friend after failing to beat the monster who hurt him. I shattered every single mirror in my home because I couldn't stand to look at myself. I was convinced I'd leave and just go do something else. A field that didn't cause me to put so much pressure on myself that I was constantly on the verge of breaking."
"And while that's a wonderful thought, in the same way people who compete in this sport don't take second or third or fourth as an end goal, it's hard to merely walk away. But I also couldn't just stumble my way back into the XWF. I gave my word that I wouldn't re-sign with the company or sign a contract extension if I lost. Maybe someday I'll feel differently, but I'd be doing myself a disservice by just disregarding my own stipulation. That's why I'm here. Because this tournament has attracted top tier talent both familiar and new to me. And while life has repeatedly attempted to snuff out that fire within me, that bright beacon that aspires to outshine all others, all it's done is wait until it could rekindle. Because I love professional wrestling. I watched on as a kid looking to become as Herculean as the figures who outdid themselves week after week. I did it when it made me little to no money. I kept myself in the sport when it added to my misery and I will stay here, watching on, always with that same desire of that kid in Brooklyn just waiting for a chance to jump into the ring. And I'll keep doing that until I am goddamn dead whether I like it or not because I live for this... and I love it."
"I had to hear so many people criticize my passion because of my disappointment in my results. "Where did that motivated kid go?" What happened to the hot start that you had in the beginning?" "What happened to the man who didn't come to compete, but came to win?" You're fucking looking at him! Because whether or not any of you believe it, through every misstep, through every disappointment, through every snide remark at my pride, I never stopped looking at the top! I didn't show up for this tournament in hopes that I might get to the semis or the finals. I came to prove to myself that I can compete amongst the best and beat the best. And if you think that I'm hoping for one big win to pat my back and feel better about myself, you're damn mistaken. Winning Wrestlestock will be the first step in a long road and nobody I have ever come to respect or admire has ever been satisfied with just one footprint behind them."
"I'm not an Andrew Logan. I'm not here out of hate or vengeance. I'm not an Adelaide Ainsworth. I'm not going to win one title and then treat myself like I'm the greatest commodity in the sport. I'm the one and only Ned Kaye. I am someone who fights fate if fate should try to lock me into nothingness. I am Ned Kaye. Ask Shawn Warstein, I wear out Champions on my worst days. I am Ned Kaye! I am a nightmare to the lazily talented and the complacent! I am a walking, breathing testament to perseverance in the face of impossibilities! I am not someone who is going to let a big guy with a bad attitude and an unanswered CPS case get the best of me! If you want a victory, you're going to have to scratch and claw every ounce of energy out of me and even then I will dig down and keep fighting! I am Ned Kaye and if you think that I was going to come in unprepared to repair some fragile ego, you are goddamn wrong!"
July 5th, 2020 12:45 PM
Kaye watched the barren roads of Arizona keenly, the tires of his 01 SW2 gripping the blistering hot pavement beneath him. After all this time away, he was finally ready. Ready to return to the ring. Ready to overcome anyone. Crowds be damned. Idols be damned. This would be for him. Under the oppressive sunlight, he drove towards his destination and, for the first time in a long time, he smiled.
It was at about that time when the SW2 began to stutter, the engine light blinking on abruptly. Ned barely had a moment to voice frustration before the car had slowed to a complete stop, leaving the Notorious One in disbelief.
Perfect.
Just perfect.
His forehead dropped to meet the steering wheel. It was always something like this in Ned's life. He would get so close to pursuing a tangible goal in his dream job and, on cue, it seemed fate itself would step into the fray, making sure to knock Kaye down to the ground as it did. This whole thing was asinine. Just a childish, idiotic desire to make something of himself in a position where it was made blatantly clear he didn't belong. Trembling with a mixture of anger and disappointment with himself, he grabbed his phone, ready to just order an Uber and go back home. To forget this nonsense and just-
-------
"-just shake my hand, Ned."
The Spectre reached out to him, radiating an intense warmth as he approached Ned. The cold, stagnant air of the cave seemingly parting for The Spectre. Kaye stared, the numbness of his body weighing on him. Everything was so heavy. His body worn and chilled.
"You've fought and fought and fought, Ned. But you've never seen prosperity. You have starved whilst those with natural gifts have full bellies and trinkets you've earned. And you have earned them, Ned. All you have to do is shake my hand and I'll give you all you've earned and more. You don't want to die in here, boy. As some no one in a cave away from those he holds dear... It would be such a pity, wouldn't it?"
Ned, desperate and exhausted, found some energy within himself, some strength to raise his hand. He wanted to go see his friends. He wanted to win. And the more The Spectre spoke, the more tempting his words became.
He reached out for The Spectre's hand, the reinvigorating heat pulsing towards him as he got closer, each inch nearer feeling like miles away from this snow-covered wasteland.
-----
Ned's thumb hovered over his phone's screen, a driver only forty-five minutes away. One simple tap between him and a drive to a nearby town. One tap to start heading home.
-------
Ned hesitated, his hand pulling back slightly.
"No," he whispered.
No. It wasn't meant to be like this. This wasn't how Ned pictured he would finally cement himself amongst his peers. Despite the warmth, all of this felt empty. Could Ned really tell himself that he succeeded if he gave in now?
"No?"
Summoning a seemingly impossible amount of strength, Ned rose to his feet, nearly stumbling upon his small fire, his legs trying to collapse as Ned forced them to keep steady. He turned his head towards the freezing storm that raged outside the cave.
--------
Looking up from his phone, he stared off into the distance, a familiar feeling in his chest.
---------
"Ned," The Spectre chuckled, clapping his hands together, "do you really think you have a chance out there without me? In that storm? In that ring?"
"Yeah," Kaye forced out, stumbling towards the exit.
"You're just going to fall as soon as you leave, boy. Make no mistake. There is no future out there for you without me. You need me, Ned. You'll be incapable of anything, even if you do survive that storm."
"Wrong."
The Spectre's amused demeanor dropped as it stood, a disgusted look on its face.
"Wrong? You pathetic, delusional child. You've really convinced yourself that you, of anyone on this planet, is special! You made so many plans of success that you can't mentally process failure. It would be amusing if you hadn't overstayed your welcome for even your closest friends."
He continued to walk, his posture improving despite everything. He stood at the cave's entrance, close enough to touch the snow by just so much as leaning forward.
"Ned."
The Spectre appeared at his side, its tone fierce and pointed.
"If you step out there, you will die. Alone and unmourned. That's the future that awaits you. But I am trying to help you and it is becoming increasingly infuriating to watch as you throw this opportunity away in favor of some faux-form of pride. So, I will tell you one last time, boy: Accept. The. Deal. Shake my hand."
Ned stood still, The Spectre whispering far more calmly into his ear, a pleasant purr of promises dripping from its maw.
"Think about it. Glory for your father's name. Finally shutting up those who have done everything to put you into the dirt. You won't have to fall to the ground as long as you agree. Anything less would just put you back here, Ned. I'm trying to help. I mean, what are you going to do if you fall now? You don't have a plan, you don't-"
"I have one."
The Spectre's words ceased as Ned gazed into its eyes, a surge of energy flowing within himself.
"I'll get up."
The Spectre snidely responded "And you'll just keep getting up forever? Because you're "special?" Because you can't get over the dead idiot who raised you or the dead fool who loved you? Because you care about sportsmanship and embarrassing your fans and teammates?"
"No. Because I'm Ned Kaye."
The Spectre screamed and yelled and demanded he return, but all of it flew past Ned. He had his eyes on one sight: forward.
-------
The Notorious One grabbed his gear and stuffed it into a backpack along with some bottles of water and a can of sunscreen. He glanced over at the bottle of beer laying across his floorboard, picking it up before shutting the door. As he began to walk towards Wrestlestock, he used a cheap, old bottle opener on his keychain to remove the cap. As the smell of alcohol rushed back to his nostrils, he placed it near his lips. His mind drifted to Ethan. What would he think of seeing Ned like this?
--------
The snows began to surround him as he lurched further into the storm, unable to see even a few step before him. As he pressed on, he eventually stepped and was met with only air, his body tumbling down a small ledge, throwing him about into the snow until he was covered in fine frosty particles. He looked down to his leg, the slice opening up again as cold air poured into the wound. The stinging cut through Ned's encompassing numbness, making it even harder to stand. He inhaled, pushing against the ground to no use. Grunting, he started to pull himself forward, digging his fingers into the snow and dragging himself forward until his hands had lost feeling.
Get up.
He said he would get up.
Ned focused as hard as he could muster and pulled himself up, each minor movement sending shocks through his body. But no matter how hard gravity pulled on him, regardless of his body's endless attempts to stop, Ned stood. And he walked forward.
"Ned!"
His head lifted. That voice was unmistakable. The only voice that always ensured Ned stayed true to the best of himself. Ethan's voice. He was close. He was going to make it.
---------
Ned tossed the bottle to the sand, watching the contents spill. He took a deep breath and looked forward. He was going to make it. He might not always believe so, but he knew it deep down. And at that moment, under the beating rays of sunlight and the vacuous blue sky, with a broken down car behind him and an apparent endless desert before him, the unthinkable happened.
Ned smiled.
It was the sounds that first dragged Ned back into consciousness. White noise that stirred his senses, although distinguishing between any proved futile at best. His eyelids weakly pulled apart, trying to shut once more as the intense light overwhelmed his retinas. Somehow, he kept them open, but his sight was in as much disarray as his hearing. Ned's mind wandered through the possibilities, uncertain of this sensation. Was he dying? Is this how his father felt when cancer finally overcame him. The thought rattled Ned deeply. Desperately, he tried to apply some meaning to the bright images. But all he saw was light; shape without form. Blotches of color, saturated and faint, but none of them recognizable. His other senses failing him, he moved on to touch, only to realize that he couldn't even feel his hands. That's when the sensation hit him once more, his body aching in place.
Cold. He was so cold. Why?
Ned tried to think as the sounds became muffled, but more intelligible. It was speech for certain, but what was said was still so unclear, as if he were submerged. However, one word, no- one voice emerged from the cacophony.
"...Ned!"
Ethan?
That was Ethan's voice. Ned had been hearing that voice since he was just an idealistic teenager and Ethan was just that younger friend across the street. It was the same voice that spurred him own when he was still hitting the bottle. And a comfort accompanied that familiar sound. Somehow, someway, his best friend was there.
Digging into his memory, Ned struggled to recall what happened. Why Ethan would be yelling at him. There was a snowstorm, Ned knew that. He had been separated from his group while he was training. He remembered Ethan's silhouette calling out for him past a thick veil of frost. It felt like only seconds before he came to. He was certain his memories were twisted, bleeding into one another.
Bleeding.
He looked down, his vision finally acclimating to the harsh hospital lights. His leg was bleeding. As he looked up, the world around him seemed to slow and stutter, but Ethan's voice still stuck out. As the doctors and nurses began to surround Ned more and more, steering the gurney that held him deeper into the hospital, Ethan's voice became increasingly faint. Ned tried to call out, to move, to do anything, but there was simply no strength left in him. Suddenly, a terror began to build within Ned. He didn't want to die like this. He didn't want his last sight of his friend to be here. He tried once again to call out to his partners, his training group, his friends. But no matter how he tried, not even a whisper left his lips. And then everything went black again.
June 22nd, 2020 8:04 AM
Ned leapt awake, his head striking the linen that lined the roof of his car. He grasped the crown of his head, muttering a few curses under his breath. He was sweating profusely, panting while he resumed his place in reality. Taking a breath he leaned his head back, resting it on a pillow he kept in the backseat of his car. Despite everything, he still wasn't over what happened in March. Running a hand over his chin, he sighed and sat up. It was going to be a long day.
----
-------
11:26 AM
In the front seat of his 01' Saturn SW2, Ned turned into the parking lot of Cassidy's Diner, a small joint that was close to his training spot. He had been frequenting the place as of late, finding it to be a welcome reprieve from the strain he had been putting upon himself. As he moved to open the car door, his phone began to vibrate and jingle. He glanced down at the name.
Ethan Davis.
With a sigh, Ned answered.
"Hey."
"Hey, man. ...You doing alright?"
"I'm fine," Ned shook his head, disappointed in himself for worrying his friend, "what about you?"
"Ehn... things are definitely quieter around here without you. And with everything else. But me and my parents are doing okay."
As the words tapered out, the two shared an uncomfortable silence.
"Are you staying clean?"
Ned glanced at a bottle of beer in his backseat someone had offered to him. While he hadn't drank any yet, he simply didn't have the heart to tell Ethan.
"It's been hard, but yes. I've been keeping clear of all that."
Ethan's voice became audibly relieved.
"So... there's some news. An open wrestling tournament over at UGWC."
"Yeah?"
"I went ahead and sent an application in for you."
Ned's head fell back, sighing into the phone.
"Ethan-"
"Ned, listen to me. You've been in this funk for months. I think it'd really help you get back on the right foot."
"But you know I'm not ready."
"No, I don't, Ned. Hell, I know barely anything about what's going on with your training besides you doing it! Please, please... just consider it. I'll text you the details. Promise me you'll look."
Ned stayed quiet.
"Promise me, Ned."
"Fine."
"Thanks, man. I'll let you get back to whatever."
"Of course. I'll talk to you later."
The end of call chime played in Ned's ear as he stepped out of his car, walking into the diner. Sitting down at a table, he waited for his usual waitress to swing by and take his order. She walked by, wearing a baby blue and white outfit that was seemingly grabbed straight from the 80s. She smiled, recognizing him.
"Howdy, hun! Lemmie guess... black coffee and soft scrambled, right?"
Ned nodded, giving his best attempt at a smile to her, although it was definitely more empty than he would like. She started to head towards the kitchen before stopping and returning to his table.
"Y'know, you been coming in here a couple a weeks and I still don't know your name. Care to share?"
"It's-uh... it's Ned."
"Ned?" She chuckled to herself, "One of my son's favorite wrestlers is named Ned! He was actually doing quite a lot earlier this year. Wonder what he's up to..."
She doodled on her handheld pad absentmindedly.
"That's a good question," Ned replied thinking intently. As he became lost in thought, the waitress pointed over him to some silverware.
"Ya mind handing me that, hun."
"Sure," Ned reached for the silverware without thinking, his finger sliding over the sharp edge of a blade as he recoiled in pain.
-------
March 23rd 1:04 AM
When Ned woke up, he was face down in snow. He lifted his numb face out of the pile of snow and gasped out in pain. His right leg, thigh specifically. Something was wrong. He reached down and touched his thigh before looking at his hand coated in blood. As he gnawed off a part of his jacket to try and wrap around the wound, he tried to think about where he was just before he was face down in the snow.
He remembered being with his group as he was preparing for his title match. He was training hard on the cliff, recording some promo. That's when it came back to him. An avalanche had sent him careening down the mountain, stranded from his group, bleeding out in the middle of nowhere. He tried to find his phone, but he must have left it in the truck they came in. After finally wrapping his sliced leg up, Ned stood up, admonishing himself, dazed under the intense weather storming around him. He should have known this would have happened. He should have been more careful before this match. Millions of should haves. But none of that changed where he was now. The frosty air that encompassed him became more unbearable by the second until he finally could take no more, limping around the cliffside, looking for a cave or anything resembling shelter.
It felt like an hour later before Ned had found a cave, stumbling into it and collapsing, passing out for an unknown amount of time, the exhaustion of training and surviving out here causing him to pass out as soon as he laid his head down.
It was when he woke that the first surprise met him. A figure, waiting at the edge of the cave. Unmoving. Silent. Ned tried calling out to it, but there was no response. After a while, it disappeared, leaving behind an even more chilling atmosphere. His teeth chattered and every part of him ached as he tried to conserve his heat, delirium trying to set in every other minute it seemed. It was only once Ned had successfully made a fire that the figure emerged again. However, this time it was close enough to see the details of. This time it spoke.
Ned still remembered looking at it for rhe first time. The Spectre. It looked like him, albeit younger and in peak condition compared to Ned's miserable state here. But it wasn't the look that bothered him. It was the voice. Ever so close to his own, but just... wrong in a subtle way. Just... off.
"Hello, Ned."
The Spectre smiled widely and took a bow. Kaye didn't respond, too taken back by pure disbelief. But the more he looked the more real it looked. The more real it felt.
"I hear you have an important moment coming up and, well, I just would love to offer my services."
Ned laughed, knowing this had to be just some exhausted delusion of his own mind. The Spectre didn't seem to mind.
"So, you're the devil, right?" Ned chuckled as he said, actually humoring the hallucination.
"I don't know, Ned. Am I?"
The Spectre sat beside him and for a moment Ned felt more normal. Warm. Safe. But as soon as it had neared his side, it had leaped up.
"Ned, you're in a very desperate place. An awful place, indeed. And I hate to see that because you deserve so much better and we both know that to be true. You see, Ned, I'd like to make you an offer."
"What are you offering?"
"Everything. The fame and respect you seek. The ability to dethrone that bastard who hurt your friend. That friend who always lifted you up. That friend you couldn't protect."
Ned looked down, the shame being as real as the blood that soaked his jeans.
"But I want to give you all that back. I want you to succeed, Ned. I want you to smite your enemies and be the man Centurion sees in you. That everyone sees in you."
"And what do you want from me?"
"I want you to accept, Ned. Just accept and shake my hand."
Ned looked at the Spectre, thoughts rushing in as he sat there, afraid. Afraid of losing. Afraid of dying in a cave.
-------
The waitress leaped in to help.
"Oh my god, I'm so sorry! Let me get ya a band aid or somethin'!"
Ned stuck his finger in his mouth, wincing somewhat as it left his mouth.
"I'm fine, I promise... I think I'll just head out."
"You sure?"
"Yeah..."
As he got up to leave, Ned looked back at her, quickly trying to spray the table with some disinfectant.
"Hey miss."
"Yessum?"
"Tell your son that that wrestler he likes appreciates him more than he might know."
She gave him a confused glare as he walked out, stepping into his car a d calling Ethan back.
"I'll do it."
-------
-------
"There is something very fascinating about being a professional wrestler. And it's not the personas or the owners or the ridiculous shit we allow people to do between matches."
"It's the wrestlers."
"This business attracts a whole host of different people, but they all typically have two things in common: They want to be the best and they are, on some level, haunted by something. Don't believe me? Have a look at just the opening match."
"Andrew Logan. A man who had his optimism and pride in this sport squashed by the unfortunate politickers and control who thrive in places of power in this business. He's here at Wrestlestock not out of love or competition or pride, but for revenge. To stick it to those who made it so blatantly clear that this was "their" world and he didn't belong."
"Adelaide Ainsworth. A woman whose background carries tragedy and horror that you hope only to see in HBO series or trashy literature. She was treated monstrously and her actions and behaviors reflect that. She's about five years younger than me and she has a criminal record a mile long and a list of trauma that may exceed it."
"Ned Kaye. Yours truly. A suicidal recovering alcoholic with an inferiority complex who tries everything he can to be recognized by the greatest, but never feels that it's enough. But he keeps coming back for more disappointment for more suffering despite the unending pressure he puts on himself to succeed."
"See, we go out there with these big personas and a lot of big talk and boasts, but we're just people. And a lot of us have even more baggage than a lot of normal people do, but if I'm honest, well adjusted folk likely don't sign up to get dropkicked multiple times a month. But we do. And I think a lot of us present that persona and hid behind it because it's easier than being the people underneath. That's why I've always strived to be the man and not the mask. And if you think it's just some stupid ramblings of a sore loser, I beg you look at Ms. Ainsworth and see where becoming her persona led her. See how that affected her as a human being, on top of a history of atrocities against her."
"We are people, but we're far from normal. And if you throw a dart even at just the participants of the Open Tournament, you will find a who's who of marital issues, frustrations over opportunity, substance abuse, actual murder, and so much more. Because to be a professional wrestler, something has to compel you to keep doing this. And that something is never sunshine and rainbows."
"For a while, what compelled me was living the life my late fiance would have wanted for me. Then it was living up to my father's memory. Then it was proving it to those around me, APEX Prophecy, one of the greatest stables in Professional Wrestling history, that I belonged amongst. And they believed that, but I didn't. And with each failure, I found myself more and more furious with why I wasn't on their level. Why I couldn't just be the man they said I was. And when I finally stepped away, it all became very clear to me."
"They saw me for who I was, not who I was trying to be. The second I chased a mirage of my potential was the second I stopped just being myself. That's why I pushed myself to the brink before my Universal Title shot, that's why I struggled so much before then. And when I failed, I kept to my word and convinced myself that I had let everyone down and that the damage was irrevocable. But the truth is I needed to fail then. I needed to stop chasing who I could be and instead strengthening who I am."
"Some people still question why I walked away. Why even though I put myself out there during a time of personal unrest, I still put all of the blame of failure squarely upon my own shoulders. The answer is, in all honesty, as simple as it gets."
Closing his eyes, Ned hunches over, his head obscured by dangling tendrils of hair. He exhales as his gaze rises, the faintest reflection in his eyes as he speaks.
"When you're drawn to this profession, it's not to stay in the middle lane and keep your head low. Ask anyone here. I'd bet good money that no one signs a contract because they want to appear in number one contenders matches and never get a title. Participation, while certainly a reward in of itself, will never be the goal. At least not for me. I didn't ever drive miles out to indie after indie so I could lose another opportunity. Being a member of APEX Prophecy was never about just hanging out with my idols. I strived and strained myself because standing beneath them could never satisfy me, but standing amongst them might. So I put my dream job on the line, placing my faith in myself after becoming so frustrated with my lack of progress. And when you put all of your cards on the table, no matter how exhausted you've become, you do it to prove that you have victory right in your palm. To solidify that faith that you are among the best."
"But those are the kinds of endings you get in fairytales and sports films. I pushed myself to the brink and when time came to fight for the thing I held most dear, I had pushed myself into such a rut, I couldn't recover from it. I didn't have to train the way I did for that match. Getting lost out in that avalanche was a result of me trying too hard to discover faith in myself that I didn't have. And when that opportunity slowly slipped out of my hands, grains of sand I'd desperately, and futilely, attempt to grasp, I was left with no dream job, a feeling a further disrespect and disregard from my peers, and nothing even resembling trust in my own abilities. I left my gym to my brother. I could barely talk to my best friend after failing to beat the monster who hurt him. I shattered every single mirror in my home because I couldn't stand to look at myself. I was convinced I'd leave and just go do something else. A field that didn't cause me to put so much pressure on myself that I was constantly on the verge of breaking."
"And while that's a wonderful thought, in the same way people who compete in this sport don't take second or third or fourth as an end goal, it's hard to merely walk away. But I also couldn't just stumble my way back into the XWF. I gave my word that I wouldn't re-sign with the company or sign a contract extension if I lost. Maybe someday I'll feel differently, but I'd be doing myself a disservice by just disregarding my own stipulation. That's why I'm here. Because this tournament has attracted top tier talent both familiar and new to me. And while life has repeatedly attempted to snuff out that fire within me, that bright beacon that aspires to outshine all others, all it's done is wait until it could rekindle. Because I love professional wrestling. I watched on as a kid looking to become as Herculean as the figures who outdid themselves week after week. I did it when it made me little to no money. I kept myself in the sport when it added to my misery and I will stay here, watching on, always with that same desire of that kid in Brooklyn just waiting for a chance to jump into the ring. And I'll keep doing that until I am goddamn dead whether I like it or not because I live for this... and I love it."
"I had to hear so many people criticize my passion because of my disappointment in my results. "Where did that motivated kid go?" What happened to the hot start that you had in the beginning?" "What happened to the man who didn't come to compete, but came to win?" You're fucking looking at him! Because whether or not any of you believe it, through every misstep, through every disappointment, through every snide remark at my pride, I never stopped looking at the top! I didn't show up for this tournament in hopes that I might get to the semis or the finals. I came to prove to myself that I can compete amongst the best and beat the best. And if you think that I'm hoping for one big win to pat my back and feel better about myself, you're damn mistaken. Winning Wrestlestock will be the first step in a long road and nobody I have ever come to respect or admire has ever been satisfied with just one footprint behind them."
"I'm not an Andrew Logan. I'm not here out of hate or vengeance. I'm not an Adelaide Ainsworth. I'm not going to win one title and then treat myself like I'm the greatest commodity in the sport. I'm the one and only Ned Kaye. I am someone who fights fate if fate should try to lock me into nothingness. I am Ned Kaye. Ask Shawn Warstein, I wear out Champions on my worst days. I am Ned Kaye! I am a nightmare to the lazily talented and the complacent! I am a walking, breathing testament to perseverance in the face of impossibilities! I am not someone who is going to let a big guy with a bad attitude and an unanswered CPS case get the best of me! If you want a victory, you're going to have to scratch and claw every ounce of energy out of me and even then I will dig down and keep fighting! I am Ned Kaye and if you think that I was going to come in unprepared to repair some fragile ego, you are goddamn wrong!"
July 5th, 2020 12:45 PM
Kaye watched the barren roads of Arizona keenly, the tires of his 01 SW2 gripping the blistering hot pavement beneath him. After all this time away, he was finally ready. Ready to return to the ring. Ready to overcome anyone. Crowds be damned. Idols be damned. This would be for him. Under the oppressive sunlight, he drove towards his destination and, for the first time in a long time, he smiled.
It was at about that time when the SW2 began to stutter, the engine light blinking on abruptly. Ned barely had a moment to voice frustration before the car had slowed to a complete stop, leaving the Notorious One in disbelief.
Perfect.
Just perfect.
His forehead dropped to meet the steering wheel. It was always something like this in Ned's life. He would get so close to pursuing a tangible goal in his dream job and, on cue, it seemed fate itself would step into the fray, making sure to knock Kaye down to the ground as it did. This whole thing was asinine. Just a childish, idiotic desire to make something of himself in a position where it was made blatantly clear he didn't belong. Trembling with a mixture of anger and disappointment with himself, he grabbed his phone, ready to just order an Uber and go back home. To forget this nonsense and just-
-------
"-just shake my hand, Ned."
The Spectre reached out to him, radiating an intense warmth as he approached Ned. The cold, stagnant air of the cave seemingly parting for The Spectre. Kaye stared, the numbness of his body weighing on him. Everything was so heavy. His body worn and chilled.
"You've fought and fought and fought, Ned. But you've never seen prosperity. You have starved whilst those with natural gifts have full bellies and trinkets you've earned. And you have earned them, Ned. All you have to do is shake my hand and I'll give you all you've earned and more. You don't want to die in here, boy. As some no one in a cave away from those he holds dear... It would be such a pity, wouldn't it?"
Ned, desperate and exhausted, found some energy within himself, some strength to raise his hand. He wanted to go see his friends. He wanted to win. And the more The Spectre spoke, the more tempting his words became.
He reached out for The Spectre's hand, the reinvigorating heat pulsing towards him as he got closer, each inch nearer feeling like miles away from this snow-covered wasteland.
-----
Ned's thumb hovered over his phone's screen, a driver only forty-five minutes away. One simple tap between him and a drive to a nearby town. One tap to start heading home.
-------
Ned hesitated, his hand pulling back slightly.
"No," he whispered.
No. It wasn't meant to be like this. This wasn't how Ned pictured he would finally cement himself amongst his peers. Despite the warmth, all of this felt empty. Could Ned really tell himself that he succeeded if he gave in now?
"No?"
Summoning a seemingly impossible amount of strength, Ned rose to his feet, nearly stumbling upon his small fire, his legs trying to collapse as Ned forced them to keep steady. He turned his head towards the freezing storm that raged outside the cave.
--------
Looking up from his phone, he stared off into the distance, a familiar feeling in his chest.
---------
"Ned," The Spectre chuckled, clapping his hands together, "do you really think you have a chance out there without me? In that storm? In that ring?"
"Yeah," Kaye forced out, stumbling towards the exit.
"You're just going to fall as soon as you leave, boy. Make no mistake. There is no future out there for you without me. You need me, Ned. You'll be incapable of anything, even if you do survive that storm."
"Wrong."
The Spectre's amused demeanor dropped as it stood, a disgusted look on its face.
"Wrong? You pathetic, delusional child. You've really convinced yourself that you, of anyone on this planet, is special! You made so many plans of success that you can't mentally process failure. It would be amusing if you hadn't overstayed your welcome for even your closest friends."
He continued to walk, his posture improving despite everything. He stood at the cave's entrance, close enough to touch the snow by just so much as leaning forward.
"Ned."
The Spectre appeared at his side, its tone fierce and pointed.
"If you step out there, you will die. Alone and unmourned. That's the future that awaits you. But I am trying to help you and it is becoming increasingly infuriating to watch as you throw this opportunity away in favor of some faux-form of pride. So, I will tell you one last time, boy: Accept. The. Deal. Shake my hand."
Ned stood still, The Spectre whispering far more calmly into his ear, a pleasant purr of promises dripping from its maw.
"Think about it. Glory for your father's name. Finally shutting up those who have done everything to put you into the dirt. You won't have to fall to the ground as long as you agree. Anything less would just put you back here, Ned. I'm trying to help. I mean, what are you going to do if you fall now? You don't have a plan, you don't-"
"I have one."
The Spectre's words ceased as Ned gazed into its eyes, a surge of energy flowing within himself.
"I'll get up."
The Spectre snidely responded "And you'll just keep getting up forever? Because you're "special?" Because you can't get over the dead idiot who raised you or the dead fool who loved you? Because you care about sportsmanship and embarrassing your fans and teammates?"
"No. Because I'm Ned Kaye."
The Spectre screamed and yelled and demanded he return, but all of it flew past Ned. He had his eyes on one sight: forward.
-------
The Notorious One grabbed his gear and stuffed it into a backpack along with some bottles of water and a can of sunscreen. He glanced over at the bottle of beer laying across his floorboard, picking it up before shutting the door. As he began to walk towards Wrestlestock, he used a cheap, old bottle opener on his keychain to remove the cap. As the smell of alcohol rushed back to his nostrils, he placed it near his lips. His mind drifted to Ethan. What would he think of seeing Ned like this?
--------
The snows began to surround him as he lurched further into the storm, unable to see even a few step before him. As he pressed on, he eventually stepped and was met with only air, his body tumbling down a small ledge, throwing him about into the snow until he was covered in fine frosty particles. He looked down to his leg, the slice opening up again as cold air poured into the wound. The stinging cut through Ned's encompassing numbness, making it even harder to stand. He inhaled, pushing against the ground to no use. Grunting, he started to pull himself forward, digging his fingers into the snow and dragging himself forward until his hands had lost feeling.
Get up.
He said he would get up.
Ned focused as hard as he could muster and pulled himself up, each minor movement sending shocks through his body. But no matter how hard gravity pulled on him, regardless of his body's endless attempts to stop, Ned stood. And he walked forward.
"Ned!"
His head lifted. That voice was unmistakable. The only voice that always ensured Ned stayed true to the best of himself. Ethan's voice. He was close. He was going to make it.
---------
Ned tossed the bottle to the sand, watching the contents spill. He took a deep breath and looked forward. He was going to make it. He might not always believe so, but he knew it deep down. And at that moment, under the beating rays of sunlight and the vacuous blue sky, with a broken down car behind him and an apparent endless desert before him, the unthinkable happened.
Ned smiled.
2022