Faerie lights danced beneath Pan’s heels as he stepped off the ledge. But Corey felt no fear. Because this was the time before.

The time before he chose to fall.

Pan held out a hand, smiling warmly. Where to?

I…I don’t know. To be honest I’m a bit nervous. I’ve never flown before.

Pan shrugged. I’ll do the hard stuff. You just close your eyes and believe.

Corey peered over the side. Looks like a lot of belief.

Do you believe in me?

Of course I do.

Then just take my hand.

After a moment’s nervous hesitation, Corey reached for it.

But something was wrong. Pan’s eyes started to fill with blood. His hand dropped. And his mouth yawned open unnaturally wide. A car alarm started wailing from deep within his throat.

Corey looked down and saw Pan’s broken body laying atop the crushed sedan.

Corey! Another voice called out. Lux. She ran to him, pulling him off the edge of the building and into her arms. It had just been an episode. Another one.

Jesus Corey, do you want to die?! Reproach. Fear.

I…I don’t know….

Lux held Corey out at arm’s length, shock pricking at her features. You don’t really think that way.

What? I….Corey looked askance, ashamed. No. I don’t want to die. A pause. His eyes glistening in the moonlight. I just miss him so much.

Lux bundled Corey up in an embrace. Neither of them spoke. There was nothing to say.


Mark Flynn is a better wrestler than me. I’m not going to try to piss up your leg and tell you otherwise.

Mark’s funny too. Gotta hand him that.

In fact, Mark would be the total package if he didn’t fabricate, exaggerate and outright lie more times than a Black Rainbow member has crashed out.

“The king of logic?  LYING?” Squeal the trained seals who clap their flippers together at his every verbal queef.

Well, of course.

Take his assertion that he stomped out Madison Dyson. Stomped her out to WHERE Mark? Further up the card until she became a double champion? And him maintaining that he de-fashed Lady Hitler? So much bullshit that even HE had to save face by mentioning Dolly’s name in the same breath.

Oh, and the “oh so original take” that I named Coreytopia? Maybe you should have done some more of your vaunted research because that too is ten pounds of bullshit in a Happy Meal bag. The people named it that.

You know. THE PEOPLE. All caps. The people you claim to serve now in the XWF. Fighting the good fight for fair pay and social justice and ragging on me for not doing it first. But just who are you fighting for, Mark? Look around you. Half the roster is inveterate scum bags. The other half are inexplicable millionaires. Meanwhile I’ve been putting in the REAL work YEARS before you decided to rehab your image. Helping the poor, the downtrodden, people whose families wouldn’t accept them because of who they chose to love. But hey, leave it up to Mark Flynn to act like he invented benevolence.

And then of course, the grandest lie of all. That I’m chasing my good friend Dolly’s clout. Which would make an iota of sense if I was on the marquee next to her name and not a notch below with you.

You wanna know why I’m here Mark? Oh, rest assured, it’s relevant as fuck.

I’m here because Dolly Waters INVITED me here. Because Dolly Waters was sick of seeing a broken hearted boy moping around the commune because he lost the love of his life. Because Dolly Waters was WORRIED about me and thought I needed the distraction, needed the roar of the crowd and the bright lights to rejuvenate my spirit. And it’s almost working.

But here’s where we reach the crux of the matter, Mark.

The part where you fucked up.

The part where you pulled back the mask, pun intended, and revealed just who and what Mark Flynn is forevermore.

Because here’s where you involved Pan in yet another of your tepid sitcom seal shows (hear the clapping?).

Pan’s dead, Mark.

Don’t you dare plead ignorance. You know everything else. You took the time to dredge up shit I said three years ago completely out of context.

You know he’s dead.

And you made him into just another patented Mark Flynn quip anyway.

Now I’m no angel. And I probably didn’t deserve Pan. You can have that one too.

But I know where the fucking line is. And I have common decency enough not to cross it!

You however? You couldn’t find the line with both hands if it snaked up your asshole. And that’s why, no matter how hard you try, you’ll never be DECENT. You’ll never be TRUE.

You’ll never be GOOD.

And I’m going to PUNISH you for what you’ve done.

I said at the top of the hour you’re a better wrestler. And I meant it. But this? Not a wrestling match. Nah. This is me seeing how far I can dig my thumbs in your eye sockets. How many times I can stomp a knee cap before it fails. How much blood you lose before you wish you had had enough of a soul to not involve my dead boyfriend in some vapid punchline.

But hey Mark, it IS crunch time. So go ahead and post up that “chose your own adventure” promo. That snarky comedy video. That interactive game. Post up a promo that doubles as a Rube Goldberg machine for all I give a shit.

But aside from those clapping seals? The ones with sense? They know who’s speaking the truth. They know who doesn’t need to elicit a cheap laugh to verbally gut fuck the opposition.

They know who’s real and who needs to wear a mask.