4:30 AM. Looks like another another sleepless night. God dammit, what's keeping me up this time? There are no voices, they stopped bugging me for once. It's deadly quiet in this dark motel room. Wait, not dead quiet. There's this very quiet, almost inaudible noise going on uninterrupted. I can barely make out what it is, but it sounds like static. Every five seconds, five seconds on the dot. I know that because the clock on the wall has one of those annoying second hands that clicks louder than the noises themselves. How come I'm the last to learn of everything in my life?!

Those noises are mixed with numbers. Zero, three, six, five. I'm losing it. Four, one, seven, eight. Case is closed, I'm totally insane. Two, nine, six, zero. These don't even have some sort of meaning like the words at the end of my dreams did. What I wouldn't give to go back to just having those dreams...

It's been a few days since I last thought of Christine. I feel incredibly guilty for this, then my mind shifts back to the numbers. How long can I stand this self imposed torture? Seven, six, three, zero, one, eight. God fucking dammit! This is it! I'm going to fucking kill myself!

I get out of bed, and search around the room in total blackness, looking desperately for my coat. My coat has my switchblade. My switchblade will kill me. That's what I want. Right? Of course, it'll get these fuckers away from me! Where. Is. It?! I swing my hand wildly around the floor next to the bed. That's where I would leave my coat...

Finally! I grab the coat and try to dig into the pocket. First you gotta find it, dumbass. I tug at the coat, running my hand up and down the damn thing. Yes! The pocket! I reach into it, and pull out the blade...

I set it against my throat...

I turn the blade so the point is touching my larynx...

I pull the blade back...

I can't let you do that, Neil.

I drop the blade. God dammit!

"Why?"

I think we both know the answer to that, Neil. I doubt you are that stupid...

"Why can't you assholes just be quiet?!"

Because, you don't believe we're here for you.

"Well gee, I wonder why I don't trust you guys..."

Shut up Neil.

God dammit, I hate this bitch. I hate this fucking bitch! I sit on this floor, this cold hard floor. I think back to my life before everything went wrong...

I want that life back...

The life free of homelessness...

The life free of being looked at like a psycho...

The life free of being a schizophrenic...

Especially the life free of these goddamn motherfucking voices...

Neil, you don't want that.

"Yes, I fucking do. You know, for being the voices of my inner thoughts, you suck at knowing what I want and what I don't want."

Neil, you're starting to piss me off. I think you know what happens when I'm angry, don't you?

"No, I don't. I fucking don't. I pass out when you get angry. You do things while I can't do anything to stop you. Case in point of why I call you a crazy fucking whore!"

You're a fucking tool, Neil.

"Oh, cry me a fucking river, you cunt."

Shut the fuck up, Neil.

"Or what? You'll kill me?"

I begin to laugh uncontrollably. I have the bitch this time. She's stuttering and stammering, she can't think of anything to say! I won this round! I finally fucking w-

That's when I black out. That goddamn bitch beat me again...








God dammit Christine, god fucking dammit! Why did you run from the cops? They were trying to help you! Those thoughts run through my head relentlessly as I sit, slumped against the wall of some building, names don't matter. When have they ever mattered? It's not like I'll remember it the day after or anything...

My thoughts go from interrogating me for my impulsive actions to whether or not Neil is okay. I mean, the last time I saw him, he was freaking out in a hospital bed, he didn't even remember me at all! Just like that prick, I get kidnapped and hold for no reason for what felt like months, but was likely only days, and he forgets all about me! Why should I care what happens to him?

WHY?!

I throw a punch at the brick wall. Bad idea. I look down at the hand I just punched the wall with. My knuckles are bleeding. My hand feels broken. It hurts like hell, but I kinda like it. I'm becoming more and more like Neil each day. I'm getting closer, ever closer...

OW FUCK! I take that back, I don't kinda like this feeling. I mean, I don't just kinda like this feeling...

Hey look, a friendly neighborhood policeman, let's see what he has to say. How did I know he was going to walk right up to me?

Policeman: "Hey ma'am, what're you doing out so late?"

"Oh, nothing, just trying to get some sleep..."

"Look, lady. There's an ongoing effort to get homeless people off the street as of late in this neighborhood."

"Oh, so you've come to take me to a homeless shelter or something?"

"Not quite, lady. I'm going to have to ask you to go find a place to sleep about five blocks from here."

I'm getting closer, ever closer to punching this pig motherfucker right in his mouth.

"Go on, go!"

He smacks me on my ass to try to push me forward. I take a few steps to give the illusion that I'm obeying his orders. I turn around and punch him right in his fat fucking face!

I follow up by getting on top of him, just wailing on him. I can feel years worth of pent up anger and frustration being released in one burst! All I can say is, it feels good. It feels really good...

That's about the time one of the pig's friends appeared on the scene. He runs, as fast as his fat ass will allow him to go, and tackles me off of his partner. He jabs his nightstick into my side a few times, and rolls me over to my back. Before he grabs hold of my right hand, I pull it towards my face. The cop's blood is still fresh on my hand. I lick the blood clean off my hand and swallow it. It kinda tastes weird, but anything to drink is a welcome addition to my life...

Policeman 2: "Lady, you're fucking sick..."

Well, time to act like Neil again, he always scared cops.

"Why thank you! I try..."

Mission accomplished, the cop is freaked the fuck out! He brings both my hands behind my back, and handcuffs them. He pulls me up to my feet and reads me my rights. I honestly don't care what my rights are at this point. I honestly care more about getting someplace kinda warm to sleep tonight. Also, I can't shake how good it felt to just brutalize that asshole. I'm becoming more and more like Neil. I'm getting closer, and ever closer...






"Jeff, don't flatter yourself. Don't think that you scare me, or the match stipulation scares me, or anything of that nature! Okay?! Yes, I butchered English there a few times, I can admit that. I can also admit that I don't have a substance abuse problem, like you do. Jeff, tell me, have you ever talked to the dead?

I don't ask that in some sort of bragging, threatening way man. I mean that 100% seriously. Have you ever spoken with the dead? I have, in fact most of my recent conversations have been with dead people...

However, in all honesty, I doubt you care about my life, just like the only things in your life I care the slightest bit about are the parts that I can use to make you look weak...

That's right Jeff, I'm saying what you're thinking. What we're all thinking, actually. You see, in that regard, we aren't much different. Not different at all, really. We don't care about each others' lives, or anyone else's lives for that matter. We only want what we can hold against them, isn't that right?

Well, the time for petty insults and personal jabs are over, Jeff. For in the grand scheme of things, no matter how long you hold that belt, you will be irrelevant in the course of history...

Let's be honest, history only remembers the people who actually make impacts. You don't do that, I don't do that. Therefore, we are both irrelevant. I've come to terms with that a long time ago. Have you?

For if you haven't, you'll be stepping into the ring with a man who's only goal is to make a big enough impact to become relevant. What better way to do it than by beating another irrelevant man, you ask? Well, I'll be beating an irrelevant man who can't come to grips with the fact that he's lost his touch. A man who doesn't have it anymore, despite what those dipshit irrelevant fans would like to shout out to make his ego feel better.

You see, those were not petty insults, nor were they personal jabs. Those words were the cold, hard truth. If they sting a little bit Jeff, don't worry, I bet the love of your oh so supportive fanbase will make you feel all better again once you greet them without your title, won't they?

WON'T THEY?!

No, they won't, Jeff. You wanna know why?

Because your fans want success. Once you prove to be unsuccessful, they'll turn on you.

Am I calm?

No.

Am I sane?

No.

Should I be mentally cleared to compete?

Probably not.

Will I?

Yes, I will.

One last thing, Jeff. You know that saying, 'cooler heads always prevail'?

That's a total fucking lie. Cooler heads never prevail..."