05-21-2025, 10:47 AM
1/2
This evening, the LED was blaring with the usual noise. Recaps from Supreme Championship Wrestling were playing, flashing across the screen like they mattered. Sal was at home, casually drifting from room to room. Nothing special. Just another night alone. But then, something caught his eye. Himself—on the screen—getting dropped by The Monster Machine. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t get mad. Just smirked and shook his head.
“I’m going to kill you all, fuckers,” he muttered under his breath.
As Sharper went over the highlights, a name slipped out that made Sal stop in his tracks. “Marissa Swanson.” That caught his attention, but not for long. He leaned back, arms behind his head, and watched her highlights against Chris Lawler with an expression that screamed boredom.
“Woah. That is the shittiest performance I’ve ever seen,” he said, unimpressed. As Chris struggled to escape the roll-up, Sal scoffed. “Yeah, right. Too stiff to even break out of a damn school pin.”
The crowd on the TV roared as Phillips announced, “Here is your winner, and NEW SCW Television Champion… Marissa Swanson!”
Sal rolled his eyes. “Yeah… right. The problem with this era is that everyone wants to play a character. Nobody’s real anymore. Just gimmicks stacked on fake attitudes. And now SCW wants to throw me in the ring with this porno schoolgirl trying to act like she’s the next big threat? We’ll see.”
He turned the LED off and went to bed. Or at least tried to. Something was gnawing at the back of his mind. He reached into a drawer, pulled out an old phone, and plugged it in. Dusty, beat-up, and full of ghosts. He stared at the screen as it powered on. A flood of old WhatsApp chats came alive. Group names from the past. Party nights. Chaos. Fun. The kind of fun you only have before the world gets heavy.
He opened a chat with Pendor, but stopped himself. That guy was probably in jail. He started typing, deleted it all. Locked the phone, then unlocked it again without thinking. Then came the real ghost—the chat that mattered. He opened it. One message was all he typed: “I love you. I believe we’ll be together once again in heaven, my angel queen <3.”
The message was never delivered. She had passed away a long time ago. But typing it… it gave Sal a moment of peace. A little weight off his chest. A little reminder of what he lost chasing this wrestling dream. Maybe he wasn’t just fighting in the ring.
Maybe he was fighting to feel something again. Morning came without fanfare. Same errands, different day. Sal moved through it like a machine. No smile, no music, just motion. Eventually, he found his way into the kitchen. High-protein breakfast on deck—scrambled eggs, a few sausages, black coffee, no distractions. He sat at the table, chewing slowly, eyes locked on nothing in particular. Then his phone rang.
Not a text. Not a notification. A real call. Sal glanced at the screen mid-bite. No name. Just a number. Unfamiliar, but something about it held his attention. He wiped his hands, stared at the phone for a second longer, then picked it up.
“…Hello?”
A beat of silence. Then a familiar voice, softer this time.
“Hey. It’s me. From… y’know. Bumble.”
Sal leaned back in his chair, sighed quietly. “Didn’t expect to hear from you.”
“Yeah, well. You kinda left things weird,” she said, trying to sound casual but failing. “We had one date, and then you just… switched it up. Said you only wanted to be friends. Outta nowhere.”
He rubbed his temple. “I told you I wasn’t ready.”
“I know. I heard you. But it didn’t feel like you even gave it a chance. You didn’t even look at me like—”
“Stop,” Sal cut in. Not angry. Just tired. “Don’t do that. Don’t turn it into a guilt trip.”
She went quiet. He continued.
“I’m not over her. Not even close. I tried to be out there again. Tried to connect. But I’m not built for half-hearted shit. If I’m not all in, I’m out. Simple as that.”
“I could’ve helped you,” she said.
“I don’t need help,” he replied. “I need space. I’m focused on wrestling right now. That’s where my head’s at. Not relationships. Not dating. Not rebuilding something I can’t feel.”
“So that’s it? You ghost me and just bury yourself in that world?”
“I didn’t ghost you,” Sal said firmly. “I told you the truth. You just didn’t like it.”
More silence.
“I didn’t call to fight,” she muttered. “I just… I guess I wanted to hear it from you. That it really is nothing.”
Sal paused. Looked at the floor like the answer was written in the tiles.
“It’s nothing,” he said. “But that’s not your fault. It’s mine.”
He hung up before she could say anything else. He didn’t want to hurt her more than he already had. He didn’t want to explain himself again.
[2/2]
The scene opens at the gym, where Sal was packing his bag after a heavy workout. Sipping on a protein shake, he was lost in thought while heading to his car. Sal threw his bag into the vehicle, sat down, and began driving. While passing by, he noticed a shopping store — the same place where he used to buy florals. He parked his car on the side, staring through the window at the familiar storefront, flooded with memories of the times he spent there with her. Back when love felt like rainbows and sunshine. The sight pulled him back into the past. A clear image came to mind — Sal in his blublockers, a bag full of fresh florals from the new season. He punched the steering wheel twice, then rested his forehead on it, almost in tears.
He parks his car and walks into the store. It looks nothing like before. The walls are painted a different color, the lights are brighter, and the layout feels completely unfamiliar.
“Good evening, sir! May I help you?” the shopkeeper asks with a polite smile.
Sal doesn’t respond. He’s already drifting into memories. He realizes it’s been a year, and the place that once held so many feelings now looks like a stranger. Everything has changed.
“Sir? May I help you?” the shopkeeper repeats, slightly confused by Sal’s silence.
The main counter desk, once tucked away on the far right, now sits boldly in the center. Wardrobes are scattered around it like pieces of a broken puzzle. The changing room is the only thing untouched — still standing in the same spot, across from the door, like a relic of the past.
“SIR!?” the shopkeeper calls out, louder this time.
Sal finally responds, his voice low. “Yeahh… Need some florals.”
The shopkeeper hesitates, then shakes his head. “Sir, we stopped selling florals last year.”
Out of nowhere, The Freaky Darius grabs the shopkeeper by the collar, lifts him slightly, and slams him against the wall. The shopkeeper gasps, completely stunned.
Sal just stands there, half-impressed, half-confused.
Sal Darius – It's all me
Sal and his chaos were totally directionless at this point. He felt alone — painfully alone — and couldn’t process the reality that there were no friends left. The ones he thought were family had vanished. No messages. No visits. No warmth. All he had now was professional wrestling. The one thing that still made sense… barely.
The scene opens in his house. The walls echo with rage as ‘The Freaky Darius’ screams from his room, voice thundering like a bomb going off.
“HOW THE F*** WILL I EVER MOVE ON LIKE THIS!? HOW WILL I EVER PROVE TO THE WORLD THAT I’M THE BEST WRESTLER!? ESPECIALLY IN THAT STUPID SCW LOCKER ROOM! THERE IS NONE — AND I MEAN ABSOLUTELY NONE — WHO IS BETTER THAN ME! EVERYBODY IS AVERAGE OR BELOW AVERAGE! BUT THESE FLASHBACKS… THEY HAUNT ME… TO THE POINT I ALMOST KILLED THAT SHOPKEEPER TONIGHT!”
Sal turns toward the large mirror in his room. His eyes lock with his own reflection — tired, angry, alive.
“Look, boy. You’re disciplined. The dope is out of your system. These bitchkids? They’re just the new generation, trying to act Korean or like some lil Japanese anime characters. But pro wrestling… pro wrestling is about facing adversity. And I’m facing it — in and out of the square-sided ring.”
He leans in, pressing his forehead gently against the glass.
“To be honest, you motherf***er… you could eat Polly Molly, and Marissa Swansea in one damn homemade sandwich. The problem isn’t them. The problem is these thoughts, right? Let’s process them. Let’s take them out of the system with the help of
weights, kilometers, flying kicks, heavy punches and with choking the life out of people.”
His voice drops, low and dangerous.
“You know you’re all in at this time. SCW should’ve given me a handicap match against those two little anime extras. But maybe… maybe they’ll only understand after I choke the life out of Marissa. It’s all me. It’s all me. It’s all… f**ing* me!”
Darius taps his head against the mirror. Once. Twice. A slow grin cracks through the fury. His eyes light up with a wicked confidence.
A sign.
He’s ready.
-End of thread-
This evening, the LED was blaring with the usual noise. Recaps from Supreme Championship Wrestling were playing, flashing across the screen like they mattered. Sal was at home, casually drifting from room to room. Nothing special. Just another night alone. But then, something caught his eye. Himself—on the screen—getting dropped by The Monster Machine. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t get mad. Just smirked and shook his head.
“I’m going to kill you all, fuckers,” he muttered under his breath.
As Sharper went over the highlights, a name slipped out that made Sal stop in his tracks. “Marissa Swanson.” That caught his attention, but not for long. He leaned back, arms behind his head, and watched her highlights against Chris Lawler with an expression that screamed boredom.
“Woah. That is the shittiest performance I’ve ever seen,” he said, unimpressed. As Chris struggled to escape the roll-up, Sal scoffed. “Yeah, right. Too stiff to even break out of a damn school pin.”
The crowd on the TV roared as Phillips announced, “Here is your winner, and NEW SCW Television Champion… Marissa Swanson!”
Sal rolled his eyes. “Yeah… right. The problem with this era is that everyone wants to play a character. Nobody’s real anymore. Just gimmicks stacked on fake attitudes. And now SCW wants to throw me in the ring with this porno schoolgirl trying to act like she’s the next big threat? We’ll see.”
He turned the LED off and went to bed. Or at least tried to. Something was gnawing at the back of his mind. He reached into a drawer, pulled out an old phone, and plugged it in. Dusty, beat-up, and full of ghosts. He stared at the screen as it powered on. A flood of old WhatsApp chats came alive. Group names from the past. Party nights. Chaos. Fun. The kind of fun you only have before the world gets heavy.
He opened a chat with Pendor, but stopped himself. That guy was probably in jail. He started typing, deleted it all. Locked the phone, then unlocked it again without thinking. Then came the real ghost—the chat that mattered. He opened it. One message was all he typed: “I love you. I believe we’ll be together once again in heaven, my angel queen <3.”
The message was never delivered. She had passed away a long time ago. But typing it… it gave Sal a moment of peace. A little weight off his chest. A little reminder of what he lost chasing this wrestling dream. Maybe he wasn’t just fighting in the ring.
Maybe he was fighting to feel something again. Morning came without fanfare. Same errands, different day. Sal moved through it like a machine. No smile, no music, just motion. Eventually, he found his way into the kitchen. High-protein breakfast on deck—scrambled eggs, a few sausages, black coffee, no distractions. He sat at the table, chewing slowly, eyes locked on nothing in particular. Then his phone rang.
Not a text. Not a notification. A real call. Sal glanced at the screen mid-bite. No name. Just a number. Unfamiliar, but something about it held his attention. He wiped his hands, stared at the phone for a second longer, then picked it up.
“…Hello?”
A beat of silence. Then a familiar voice, softer this time.
“Hey. It’s me. From… y’know. Bumble.”
Sal leaned back in his chair, sighed quietly. “Didn’t expect to hear from you.”
“Yeah, well. You kinda left things weird,” she said, trying to sound casual but failing. “We had one date, and then you just… switched it up. Said you only wanted to be friends. Outta nowhere.”
He rubbed his temple. “I told you I wasn’t ready.”
“I know. I heard you. But it didn’t feel like you even gave it a chance. You didn’t even look at me like—”
“Stop,” Sal cut in. Not angry. Just tired. “Don’t do that. Don’t turn it into a guilt trip.”
She went quiet. He continued.
“I’m not over her. Not even close. I tried to be out there again. Tried to connect. But I’m not built for half-hearted shit. If I’m not all in, I’m out. Simple as that.”
“I could’ve helped you,” she said.
“I don’t need help,” he replied. “I need space. I’m focused on wrestling right now. That’s where my head’s at. Not relationships. Not dating. Not rebuilding something I can’t feel.”
“So that’s it? You ghost me and just bury yourself in that world?”
“I didn’t ghost you,” Sal said firmly. “I told you the truth. You just didn’t like it.”
More silence.
“I didn’t call to fight,” she muttered. “I just… I guess I wanted to hear it from you. That it really is nothing.”
Sal paused. Looked at the floor like the answer was written in the tiles.
“It’s nothing,” he said. “But that’s not your fault. It’s mine.”
He hung up before she could say anything else. He didn’t want to hurt her more than he already had. He didn’t want to explain himself again.
[2/2]
The scene opens at the gym, where Sal was packing his bag after a heavy workout. Sipping on a protein shake, he was lost in thought while heading to his car. Sal threw his bag into the vehicle, sat down, and began driving. While passing by, he noticed a shopping store — the same place where he used to buy florals. He parked his car on the side, staring through the window at the familiar storefront, flooded with memories of the times he spent there with her. Back when love felt like rainbows and sunshine. The sight pulled him back into the past. A clear image came to mind — Sal in his blublockers, a bag full of fresh florals from the new season. He punched the steering wheel twice, then rested his forehead on it, almost in tears.
He parks his car and walks into the store. It looks nothing like before. The walls are painted a different color, the lights are brighter, and the layout feels completely unfamiliar.
“Good evening, sir! May I help you?” the shopkeeper asks with a polite smile.
Sal doesn’t respond. He’s already drifting into memories. He realizes it’s been a year, and the place that once held so many feelings now looks like a stranger. Everything has changed.
“Sir? May I help you?” the shopkeeper repeats, slightly confused by Sal’s silence.
The main counter desk, once tucked away on the far right, now sits boldly in the center. Wardrobes are scattered around it like pieces of a broken puzzle. The changing room is the only thing untouched — still standing in the same spot, across from the door, like a relic of the past.
“SIR!?” the shopkeeper calls out, louder this time.
Sal finally responds, his voice low. “Yeahh… Need some florals.”
The shopkeeper hesitates, then shakes his head. “Sir, we stopped selling florals last year.”
Out of nowhere, The Freaky Darius grabs the shopkeeper by the collar, lifts him slightly, and slams him against the wall. The shopkeeper gasps, completely stunned.
Sal just stands there, half-impressed, half-confused.
Sal Darius – It's all me
Sal and his chaos were totally directionless at this point. He felt alone — painfully alone — and couldn’t process the reality that there were no friends left. The ones he thought were family had vanished. No messages. No visits. No warmth. All he had now was professional wrestling. The one thing that still made sense… barely.
The scene opens in his house. The walls echo with rage as ‘The Freaky Darius’ screams from his room, voice thundering like a bomb going off.
“HOW THE F*** WILL I EVER MOVE ON LIKE THIS!? HOW WILL I EVER PROVE TO THE WORLD THAT I’M THE BEST WRESTLER!? ESPECIALLY IN THAT STUPID SCW LOCKER ROOM! THERE IS NONE — AND I MEAN ABSOLUTELY NONE — WHO IS BETTER THAN ME! EVERYBODY IS AVERAGE OR BELOW AVERAGE! BUT THESE FLASHBACKS… THEY HAUNT ME… TO THE POINT I ALMOST KILLED THAT SHOPKEEPER TONIGHT!”
Sal turns toward the large mirror in his room. His eyes lock with his own reflection — tired, angry, alive.
“Look, boy. You’re disciplined. The dope is out of your system. These bitchkids? They’re just the new generation, trying to act Korean or like some lil Japanese anime characters. But pro wrestling… pro wrestling is about facing adversity. And I’m facing it — in and out of the square-sided ring.”
He leans in, pressing his forehead gently against the glass.
“To be honest, you motherf***er… you could eat Polly Molly, and Marissa Swansea in one damn homemade sandwich. The problem isn’t them. The problem is these thoughts, right? Let’s process them. Let’s take them out of the system with the help of
weights, kilometers, flying kicks, heavy punches and with choking the life out of people.”
His voice drops, low and dangerous.
“You know you’re all in at this time. SCW should’ve given me a handicap match against those two little anime extras. But maybe… maybe they’ll only understand after I choke the life out of Marissa. It’s all me. It’s all me. It’s all… f**ing* me!”
Darius taps his head against the mirror. Once. Twice. A slow grin cracks through the fury. His eyes light up with a wicked confidence.
A sign.
He’s ready.
-End of thread-