People stood in line in the wintry March weather, waiting to pay their twenty bucks for admission to the Saturday wrestling show. It used to be ten bucks—but, well, inflation. Monday was bingo night. Wednesday was karaoke night. Most Saturdays, the multifarious hall still smelled like cooking oil and spilt coleslaw from the Friday Fish Fry.
Tonight, the fan favorites, an unlikely duo: Big Eddie from the local county and Darnell “Flash” Mays from the mean streets of Minneapolis were set to battle. Eddie broke the scale at 300 lbs, but his zaftig frame was capable of delivering ring-shattering body slams. Meanwhile, Flash was over with the fans due to his mic skills and Flash Kick, a head-snapping kick that turned off the lights.
Their opponents, The Reapers, were two cold-blooded silent ring assassins from the Cities clad in black balaclavas. Their devastating finisher, The Final Notice, sent their quarry crashing through folding tables—like deer smashing into the hoods of speeding cars on the interstate.
The Reapers were new to the region yet had bulldozed their way through all the local talent. First to fall was the lower-carder Buckshot McGraw, a forklift driver by day, wrestler by night—taking bumps no man his age (and without insurance) should have risked. Then, one by one, the rest of the local lineup fell, crossed off the Reapers’ list:
The rookie Chazz “The Chainsaw”
The heel El Ilegal Supremo
The tweener Hardcore Cody from the Stewart Stable
The face Fleximu$ Maximu$ and his valet Gorgeous Gina
The veteran Troy Stampede and his manager J.M. Cornette
The Reaper conquered and crumpled all in the wreckage of shattered folding tables.
Utter anarchy! No humanity! Who will stand up to this tsunami of savagery?
Only two men remained to defend the RFPW Tag Team Championship Belts. Would Eddie and Flash be able to repel the assault?
The crowd roared. The bell rang.
The match went on for twenty minutes, and things were not looking good for Eddie and Flash. The Reapers were just too powerful. Flash had just taken a beating; now, it was Eddie’s turn. The Reapers were preventing him from tagging Flash. At one point, Eddie was about to make the tag, yet a Reaper yanked him back to their corner. He was trapped, and the Reaper in the ring prepared to deliver a running elbow. Is this the end?
Suddenly, Eddie ducked. The Reaper elbowed his own teammate. Down to the floor he went.
Surprised by Eddie’s ruse, the Reaper in the ring hesitated. With the last ounce of his energy, Eddie hoisted his opponent in the air. The crowd gasped—then BAM! The ring shook with seismic energy as Eddie delivered his patented body slam.
My God! Can you believe the turn of events? Eddie, go tag your partner!
Eddie sluggishly wended toward his corner, where Flash awaited the tag.
Come on, Eddie! Just a little more! Tag in Flash! Oh, no!
The Reaper that Eddie slammed was getting up.
Move, Eddie, move! He is gaining on you.
Eddie stretched out his hand.
Flash reached out too, like God reaching out to Adam.
The crowd held its breath. And at the last moment—
Flash withdrew his hand.
Eddie’s hand passed soundlessly through the air. The makeshift VFW palaestra fell silent.
Flash’s eyes met Eddie’s for just a moment. Eddie stared blankly at his unreadable partner. Et tu, Flash?
Then a Reaper struck Eddie from behind. The battered and betrayed Eddie quickly succumbed. The other Reaper retrieved a folding table from under the ring apron. Together, they lifted Eddie to his feet and, with their combined might, powerbombed him through the table.
Eddie was heartbroken and lifeless. A Reaper easily made the pin; the ref made the count.
1…! 2…! 3…!
Ding, ding, ding! The RFPW had its new champions.
The Reapers stood in the middle of the ring, victorious. Cans of energy drink flew. Old men shook their heads.
A woman in the front yelled, “Traitor!”
“Judas!” a man added.
Slowly, Flash climbed into the ring. Tentative, like a man walking into the courtroom for his own trial. He held a microphone.
What is this turncoat going to say?
Flash raised the microphone. “As a young boy… I knew I was meant for bigger things.”
The crowd erupted in boos.
“But… I learned… if you can’t have what you want… you take it!”
Louder jeers.
He continued his promo, “And if the dog that you roll with can’t help you no more… you find bigger dogs!”
A shoe sailed into the ring, barely missing his head.
After flaunting his grin, imperturbable, Flash continued, “So… meet the NEWEST MEMBER of The Reapers!”
Then the Reapers handed Flash a black mask. He held it for a moment, then ominously donned it.
“That’s capitalism, baby! We taking ALLLLL these titles!”
The crowd erupted like an atomic bomb. Shouting and stomping rattled the VFW event hall. In the midst of the chaos, a young boy wept, having experienced the agony of his first heel turn. That Saturday a dream died.
~ Fin ~
opusculum 