fuck time ~ the prelude

[𝕸𝖚𝖗𝖉𝖊𝖗 𝕹𝖎𝖓𝖏𝖆]

I don't know up from down right now… and that's… okay. Feels like I been on this road to nowhere for a millennia… but did we even have roads that long ago? Endlessly staring out into the night, wondering if you fuck with the same stars. This is gettin' too sappy for a chill Sunday night. I feel too much pain to be able to fit sadness into my schedule. That bullshit deathmatch scramble two hours ago in this hellscape called Davenport took its toll on me… and then I find out there's no Waffle House in town. Fuckin' bullshit, bro. To make matters worse, my hotel reservation got fucked up. One of the local fucks from the scramble offered me his couch. He looks like the type to skin guests alive so I politely passed on his offer. That leaves me on the roof of my trusty minivan, staring up at the universe. Oh shit. A shooting star. Make a wish. No, don't tell me what it is, dumbass. Then it won't come true. Aight then. Hopefully tomorrow is a better day. We should probably get some sleep. It's a long trip to nowhere tomorrow. Hopefully this next leap will be– ~ BEWP ~ BEWP ~ Flashing lights atop a cruiser break his train(s) of thought(s). He sits up in a panic, and considers making a run for it. His natural inclination is that he's done something wrong. Cooler heads prevail and he instead watches as the police officer approaches him. 🐖 : Sir, I need you to come down from that roof and answer a few questions for me. Noticing the officer's hand on his holster, the man atop the minivan decides to comply. 🥷 : What's the, uhh, problem? 🐖 : We received a call about a suspicious vehicle matching your description, that was allegedly casing this neighborhood. There has been a recent string of break-ins over the last few weeks. Do you know anything about that? 🥷 : Nah, man. I've only been in town since about noon. 🐖 : Oh really? What brings you to Davenport, Mister… 🥷 : Ninja. 🐖 : Mister… Ninja…? 🥷 : Yup. Long story. Short version is I'm a pro-rassler by day, terrestrial wanderer by night. I did a show a couple hours ago at Tom Fellows and then I– 🐖 : Oh! My sons love to watch that stuff on TV! 🥷 : I assure you… what I did tonight is nothing like the fake shit on TV. What I do is raw… real… raunchy… ruthless… The officer grows more suspicious when he notices blood dripping down from the man's forehead. 🥷 : Oh that? Don't worry. I've got more superglue in my– He turns around to open the passenger door. The officer draws his weapon. 🐖 : Hands over your head and on the vehicle! NOW! 🥷 : Eeeeeasy, hoss! He complies with the commands and the officer approaches, then searches him aggressively. 🥷 : Can I wipe this blood off, man? It's ticklin' my nose and I– ~ AH ~ AH ~ ACHOO ~ His sneeze startles the officer, who then accidently pulls the trigger, dropping the man in question on the ground. In a panic, the officer grabs his radio. 🐖 : Shots fired! Suspect had a gun and– Seeing the man lying face down in a puddle of blood, the officer freezes. He is then startled when– 🥷 : That's a goddamn lie! He pushes up with one arm and turns over, sliding up against the minivan. The officer looks as if he's seen a ghost. 🥷 : What the fuck, dude?! You shot my fucking shoulder! Not cool!!! The blood loss makes him zonk the fuck out. When he comes to, he's got a swanky room at a nearby medical facility… albeit handcuffed to a bed. His right arm is numb af, and bandaged up tight. A nurse checks on his vitals while a suit with a clipboard makes notes. 💼 : Good. You're awake. How are you feeling? 🥷 : Hiiiiigh as a motherfucker. 💼 : That's good, all things considered. Doctors put a considerable amount of work into patching you up. The bullet went clean through… but they also found… He checks his notes. 💼 : Separated shoulder. Torn labrum. Torn bicep tendon. Torn rotator cuff. Chipped collarbone. The man in the bed plays dumb. 🥷 : Oh… damn. All that from a bullet, huh? That's terrible. 💼 : Not according to the scar tissue. Those are all pre-existing injuries. Listen, let's not mess around here. We reviewed the officer's bodycam footage and you're in the clear. While you shouldn't have reached for your vehicle, an investigation found you were unjustly shot. 🥷 : Damn straight. Now let's talk turkey. I have a damn fine lawyer on speed dial. 💼 : Yes, we know. Your sister has taken down many officers who made mistakes. 🥷 : Mistakes?! That's what you call murdering unarmed black children?! The suit sighs. 💼 : Davenport PD can't handle any more bad press right now. They have prepared a substantial settlement that includes all of the work done to repair your shoulder. 🥷 : What kind of cheddar we talkin' here? The suit approaches and shows him the offer. The patient's eyes pert near pop out of his head. 🥷 : Shiiiiit! Where do I sign? Fast forward to the end of his stay at the nearby medical facility. However long that took. Time isn't real. Neither are birds. Or the female orgasm. Probably. The patient is packing up his shit with one arm while the other rests uncomfortably in a shoulder immobilizer sling. ~ VIBIN' ~ AYY ~ He's got a notification on Twitter, which he first signed up for seven years ago. Back then, he thought it was for fuckin' dorks. It probably still is… but it's also a networking tool or whatever. Few hours ago, he started following a fuckton of wrestling related accounts and put up a twat or a tweet or whatever to maybe get some bookings. So the notification was from @wrestleversefed. Within a matter of minutes, he decides to give it a go. Only a matter of time before this motherfuckin' Murder Ninja is medically cleared to fuck dudes up again. I looked up clips from Wrestleverse and it's... fuckin' bizarre. I've fucked with bizarre before. I've danced with the devil in the pale moonlight. I've been to places both physical and metaphysical that most normies could not understand. All in the name of... pro-rasslin. It's all bullshit, what I've done to get here. There's a hell of a story to tell... one day. Another time. Another place. All in due... well, not time, because fuck time. I don't know how this stream of consciousness should end. Any ideas, brother? Nope.