Post by Bryce Albright on Sept 4, 2021 18:09:08 GMT -5
Arden listened to the static hum of cicadas as she lay atop the hood of an early-2000s Pontiac Grand Prix in silver. She dressed modestly in a pair of light-wash denim jeans and a white bardot top. A tall red maple stood proudly from beyond the mesh fence behind her, providing her with a slight respite from the horrendously humid heat of Southern Ontario. The car sat in the middle of an aging parking lot across from a red brick event hall.
"You know, when I was younger my parents used to brag about me to all of their friends. 'Look at our perfect little Arden. Everything just comes so naturally to her'. And to be fair, most everything has come naturally. I live in a spacious one bedroom apartment across the street from the Toronto Eaton Centre; so you can safely assume I have a good job that pays well enough to afford an downtown apartment in the second most expensive city in Canada in terms of rent. Perfect little Arden."
A confident smile crawled across her face as she put her arms behind her head.
"'So if that's the case,' I hear you say. 'Then pray tell, how you find me in a decrepit parking lot mere blocks from my alma mater; University of Wilfred Laurier?' And as a follow up to that question, I know you must be wondering if it truly is great to be a Laurier Golden Hawk. Allow me to answer the latter first simply by saying; yes. After all, if it wasn't great, do you think I'd be associated with it?"
She points to herself to emphasize the point.
"To answer the former, it's quite simple; across from us is Cross Body Pro Wrestling Academy. For the uncivilized swine that exist out there that do not know, a little rumour started flying around that the owner's been making some waves on the Ontario independent scene. They say he's been pulling in a lot of the experienced vet from around the area to train some of his students; vets like 'Textbook' Tyson Dux, like Phil Atlas, and yes, like motherfucking Space Monkey. Mixed in are rumours that there's a new trainer at the school; an Absolute Champion. The legends of this man say that he struck such fear in the hearts of luchadors one fled the country. He left his father in his place as a sacrificial lamb."
"That's who I need to train me."
"Natural talent can only carry you so far in this business; and considering the source of that comment, I'm sure it's not hard to believe. At some point you plateau alone, and find yourself a choice; either toil away on your local independent or you move on to greener pastures. 'Oh well Arden, if it's that easy, why don't most wrestlers just get better?' To that, my dear viewer, I say, shut up. I'm not implying it's that easy, and you know that. No, rather I am implying that you can move from pasture to pasture finding no success because you failed to find a suitable tree to sit under. I'm saying despite my dear sweet mother's opinion, perfect doesn't exist; but you can get pretty damn close if you can train for your opponent. That's why I uprooted an hour and a half down the 401 West to this quaint budding-metropolis; I found a school and I found a trainer."
At that moment in time, the aggressive sound of a someone hitting the crash bar of a steel bar cuts her off. The camera pans backward to open up the shot. Entering from the left side of the screen a tall, bulky man with short blond hair and an unshaven face.
"Can I help you?"
Arden swung her legs off the side of the silver Grand Prix and sat upright.
"More than you can imagine, Bryce."
The camera shows her hop off the hood of the nearly-3500 lbs car. She throws an arm behind her head in a stretch before the camera fades to black.
"You know, when I was younger my parents used to brag about me to all of their friends. 'Look at our perfect little Arden. Everything just comes so naturally to her'. And to be fair, most everything has come naturally. I live in a spacious one bedroom apartment across the street from the Toronto Eaton Centre; so you can safely assume I have a good job that pays well enough to afford an downtown apartment in the second most expensive city in Canada in terms of rent. Perfect little Arden."
A confident smile crawled across her face as she put her arms behind her head.
"'So if that's the case,' I hear you say. 'Then pray tell, how you find me in a decrepit parking lot mere blocks from my alma mater; University of Wilfred Laurier?' And as a follow up to that question, I know you must be wondering if it truly is great to be a Laurier Golden Hawk. Allow me to answer the latter first simply by saying; yes. After all, if it wasn't great, do you think I'd be associated with it?"
She points to herself to emphasize the point.
"To answer the former, it's quite simple; across from us is Cross Body Pro Wrestling Academy. For the uncivilized swine that exist out there that do not know, a little rumour started flying around that the owner's been making some waves on the Ontario independent scene. They say he's been pulling in a lot of the experienced vet from around the area to train some of his students; vets like 'Textbook' Tyson Dux, like Phil Atlas, and yes, like motherfucking Space Monkey. Mixed in are rumours that there's a new trainer at the school; an Absolute Champion. The legends of this man say that he struck such fear in the hearts of luchadors one fled the country. He left his father in his place as a sacrificial lamb."
"That's who I need to train me."
"Natural talent can only carry you so far in this business; and considering the source of that comment, I'm sure it's not hard to believe. At some point you plateau alone, and find yourself a choice; either toil away on your local independent or you move on to greener pastures. 'Oh well Arden, if it's that easy, why don't most wrestlers just get better?' To that, my dear viewer, I say, shut up. I'm not implying it's that easy, and you know that. No, rather I am implying that you can move from pasture to pasture finding no success because you failed to find a suitable tree to sit under. I'm saying despite my dear sweet mother's opinion, perfect doesn't exist; but you can get pretty damn close if you can train for your opponent. That's why I uprooted an hour and a half down the 401 West to this quaint budding-metropolis; I found a school and I found a trainer."
At that moment in time, the aggressive sound of a someone hitting the crash bar of a steel bar cuts her off. The camera pans backward to open up the shot. Entering from the left side of the screen a tall, bulky man with short blond hair and an unshaven face.
"Can I help you?"
Arden swung her legs off the side of the silver Grand Prix and sat upright.
"More than you can imagine, Bryce."
The camera shows her hop off the hood of the nearly-3500 lbs car. She throws an arm behind her head in a stretch before the camera fades to black.