Okay, Jake. Focus

A moment of personal inspiration anyone? Myles Jake is pacing the hallways of the Phoenix General Hospital like a rapid dog. His dress shirt is stained, the same he wore a few days ago at his psychological examination. Yes, he has not changed his outfit since then. His whole focus was getting back with Kiersten and stay at her side as long as possible. Myles had hoped that she would be released today, but the Doctor is apparently not available until tomorrow morning. So Myles paces impatiently, as the days count down towards his debut with World Wrestling Alliance.

I was suppose to be training tomorrow morning at home, but now I'm stuck here for another night. The days are counting down, Jake, and you haven't hit the gym in over four weeks. And my back aches from those rock solid recliners they toss in the room for the spouse. With all the money that we are paying this institution they could get something a bit more comfortable. In fact, I had to pay for that g-d d-mn recliner each night that I use it. What a waste.

Myles continues to pace back and forth. He is about to embark in a four corners match on December 06th and he can't keep focused. His opponent, Trendkiller, stands at 7-feet 1-inch, almost double of Myles' size. Myles sits on the bench as a group of nurses rush by. His mind wanders back to the match and his opponents. Trendkiller, over 300 pounds of a beast. Dark. Demented. Myles wasn't privy to what exactly caused Trendkiller to tick, but his very presence causes one to realize that he is not ... a happy camper. As World Wrestling Alliance decided to expand their roster to create a new stir, Trendkiller was one that signed the dotted line the same time as Myles.

Heh... you'd think they would know better than sign two guys with loads of baggage. They must be desperate.

Jack Griffiths on the other hand, is no stranger to these parts. In fact, with Myles extensive research into what WWA is all about, he came across Griffiths several times. Champion. Several titles. Most defunct by now. Tournaments won. Friends in high places. Resilient. He was suppose to have suffered a career-ending injury but came back; he lost a retirement match but came back. Not too sharp of a wrestler, but you have to claw your way past him if you have any hope. And then there is Christian Matthews... he disappeared a while ago, and hasn't been seen as much. A high-flyer, reasonable success within this company.

No problem, Myles shrugs, I've dismantled high flyers before Christian Matthews' balls dropped.




There goes another one, probably dead before these nurses arrive. I hate hospitals.

Myles sits back, leaning against the wall and watch the hallways of the Hospital become frantic. Nurses running every which way, assistants pushing the gurney's in front of them. People desperately trying to get a hold of the Doctor that hasn't been seen around in a couple days. Typical overpaid jerks. They think because they spend over seven years in school that they can dictate their own schedules. They run on their vacations while people are dying, waiting for them to arrive. Myles hates doctors. He hates hospitals. These last few weeks have been trying to say the least. Back to the match...

C'Mon Jake, you only have a few more minutes to yourself, Myles thinks, trying to bring his thoughts together. So you got one demented individual, one resilient bugger and Houdini the high flying disappearing act and the cherry on top? The dude who everyone thinks is in a major depression, and can't handle this business in the fourth corner. There is a common thread here. We are all WWA's outcasts. Thrown into a match for the sake of filling a time slot. All of the sake of being able to fill a show and keep the dwindling fans in their seats. I've been in this business for long enough to understand what curtain jerkers are all about. Toss the two rookies at the veteran. Let him squash them. Test their heart, see if they are really into it.

Myles shakes his head, I've debuted in places more time's than Trendkiller drinks a 24 in one night. I've seen politics where the booker and the Main Event star are family, and everyone else are fed to the 'champ'. The only reason I've made it to this place is because I've climbed the ladder of success in spite of everyone else, not because of. And this game they are trying to play isn't going to work. I'll go out, do my thing, take my check home and sit by my wife until the next show. I don't care about gold, glory, fame. Throw me to the wolves all they want. I'll just get up, prove them wrong, and come back.

Myles' snickers for a moment, looking at his watch and realizing that Kiersten needs to take her medications in four minutes. His attitude has changed. Before the only thing that bothered Myles was winning, now he could not care a less. He's only in this business because it is all he knows. A wrestling match to Myles is like a shot of meth to an addict. It never really satisfies like the first time he stepped into the ring. But he gets paid for this craziness. And the only thing that matters to him right now is covering the bills for the faint hope that Kiersten can come home again.

Home, Myles shakes his head, a real bed would be nice. Maybe when I'm back on the road in a few days I'll be able to get some sleep. Maybe even hit a gym somewhere. Build some endurance. If I'm going to take down a 7'0 maniac, I'm going to have to at least train a bit.

Myles hears rustling from beyond the door to the semi-private room that his wife sleeps in.

"Myles...?"

He stands quickly at the sound of his wife's cry. Her voice is quivering and Myles' figures that she had a bad dream. Maybe another one where she dies and goes to meet her Maker. Myles' used to accept and even half-believe in his wife's views on God. But with her struggling with cancer, Myles can't understand how the one that pays her tithes and goes to Bible study is the one that gets sick.

God should have chosen me.