These days have gone by as if it was a torn up newspaper tossed upon a heavy breeze. No longer am I champion, no longer am I even a contender. I've sidelined myself for years; I sit idly watching upon an ocean wave of a dead sea. I often wonder if I should stay retired and allow my glory to leave it's tiny footprint in the snow, or whether I should attempt to make an even larger picture of where my foot was.


Some say I don't have it anymore. I'm a prune to these freshly created raisins. No longer will I be able to retain these moments of glory that I often seek when I am awake at night, pondering upon my thoughts before my eyes drizzle down into a deep sleep. Perhaps they're right; Maybe I'm not ready to step back into a wrestling ring full of fresh talent. I'm 40 years old for God's sakes. That's not an age to wrestle at, that's an age where I start planning for my retirement. My body couldn't possibly withstand the pressures of such an industry.


But even though there are the naysayers and I may be too old for this sport, something within my gut tells me I just cannot give up. I feel incomplete without any gold strapped around my waist. There's a missing piece of my puzzle and it's the only piece I need to finish this fine artwork. Only problem is, where is it?


Is it in TNT wrestling?


I've never stepped foot into TNT, nor did I have plans to. However desperate measures require desperate actions and I feel it is a necessity to give up my blood, sweat and tears to risk finding that one lost puzzle piece. Besides, if I give up the opportunity now, I may regret it for the rest of my life. I might miss the fans, the standing ovations I get, the respect these wrestlers give me. It's been over two long years since I've had a match and not a day goes by where a stranger notices my face. You'd think fame would wear off, but apparently it doesn't.


They all want one final run. I can gladly say I'll give it a go, but is there really anything left in me to actually make my attempt anything worth fighting for? For some odd reason, I feel I have it in me. After a game like this and five years, I just feel I have more heart than any of these TNT wrestlers. I feel I have more to prove. Who knows… maybe I’m talking foolish and maybe Q-Ball is nothing more than a has-been.


However, I cannot accept that. It’s not in my name. I was named the Perpetual Champion. My name is supposed to live on forever and never die; my career is supposed to strive amongst a crowd of many and survive the treacherous beatings. In my heart, I feel forty is not an age to quit; there could be still another decade left in the tank before I start to slow down, lose my strength and forget my ability to pick up a pin.


Hell, I’m still the best in the business. Crown me right here…

------------------------------

It was one of the worst mistakes I had made up to date. Triumphant for my new return, today was the first day I had worked out in nearly two years. It was a cheap attempt to look grand upon my first stage appearance in quite some while. These fans would all be waiting, sitting there, one amongst thousands just waiting to hear what I had to say. I had figured I’d go out there looking as good as new. However, the plan backfired and before I knew it, uneasiness settled upon the pit of my stomach. It had felt like I had eaten something rotten. On my way over to the venue, I was quickly fallen under sick and I could barely keep my legs moving far enough to reach me to a bathroom.

Assistant: Q-Ball, are you alright?

I kept my head ducked low, holding my face down into the bowl of the toilet. I could feel the veins on my neck and forehead extend to nearly a mile out in front of me as the constant reminiscence of pain deranged my self-thought. My back was hunched and my forearms laid rested upon the toilet seat, my fingers tightly gripping the white plastic as if I were to nearly pull the thing off the ground.

Assistant: Q-Ball?

Trying to inhale a deep breath, I only choked on a liquid that rested in my throat, sending my heart into a panic as I leaned forward, cocking my jaw down to as wide as can go and releasing the red fluid into the sink below. Nearly unable to speak, I dribbled out the following.

Q-Ball: I'm fine.

Spitting the last bit of saliva that underlay the bottom of my tongue, I finally get a setting of relaxation as I roll off the side of the seat and lean up against a wall, crunched in between the toilet and the small room's exterior.

Assistant: Are you ready to go?

Q-Ball: ...Yeah... I'm ready.

I dip my hands into my breast pocket, pulling out a set of sunglasses, unfolding them and then applying them to my face. Blinking to a new shade of lighting, I stood up and felt like a broken manikin; my knees shook and the pit of my stomach felt torn open. I don't know what pushed me to do so, but I still extended for the handle, turning it and exposing myself to a tall woman who was quick to grab hold of my arm and pull me away from the bathroom stall.

Assistant: Quickly, Q-Ball. You're late.

She paced forth as if she was running a marathon, pulling me as if I were on a short leash to her commands. Her heels clicked with every step as I felt unbalanced, nauseated with an unnecessary want to count how many clicks echoed off into my ears. I continued to count, unable to heed at the sensation one would typically feel upon nearly falling asleep.

Before I knew it, she stopped, holding me behind a curtain.

Two hundred and thirty-seven clicks.

Assistant: Quickly, they're waiting.

Before I knew it, I wash shoved like an innocent child into playground sand; instead this time I was pushed out onto a steel stage, looking out onto a gathering of hundreds of people with their eyes drawn to my presence. Flashes began to shoot out, blinding me into another sickened state; I almost felt as if my entire body was being thrown back. However, covering it up unnoticed, I adjusted my suit jacket and paced forth to the center of the stage. Waiting for the flashes to stop, the faces all seemed a gradient blur. At that very moment, I knew something wasn't right, but as stubborn a character I am, I simply looked down at the podium that rested before me until I regained my vision. Thankfully, it hadn't taken too long.

Q-Ball: Ladies and gentlemen I thank you for welcoming back your very own Perpetual Champion.

I rub the tip of my tongue along the molars, receiving a metallic taste which seems too familiar for my liking. The want to spit the taste out of my mouth merely taunts me as I stand here in front of these people, rushing to think up of what to say next and how to deliver my words with influence and tone. Casually, I draw my head back, swallowing the disgusting taste and upon finish, I roll my neck and dip my head back to it's natural position and continue on with my words.

Q-Ball: Today marks the very first day of a new legacy. Forget the old Q-Ball, he’s long gone. Chances are, you won’t be able to see the same speed, the same strength, possibly not even the same ability. However, what you might say is long forgotten now might turn into something perfect. I may not be the strongest or the fastest, but what I intend on doing is being the smartest. After all, the very first match I have entered myself in is a royal rumble type match; it is the ultimate strategist’s heaven. Luckily for me, it’ll be the perfect testing ground for my new style.

A few more flashes chimed from the crowd, leaving white spots to dazzle and dance in my vision. To ease away this feeling, I grip the podium and lean heavily against it. I continued to think up the next few words in my head until another giant flash went off about ten feet in front of me. Next thing I knew, I wasn't even concentrated on the people ahead of me.

I held my hand up, raising ten pounds of gold high above my head. Staring out into the crowd, I noticed each individual face, staring directly at this glimmering object in which signified I was number one. That I was the best that UWA had to offer. They all looked so attentive to it; mesmerized to the very existence of the history behind it and what it represented. And for me to be holding it, I felt as if I were the king of the entire world. I had done it all, beaten every single competitor and finally managed to imprint my name in history. No longer was Q-Ball just another name, it was an icon in which everybody strived to become. It was finally my time to shine; to show everybody what I had to offer.

Suddenly a blink had shot me back into reality. A few more times I blinked, this time like an actress off of a primetime soap opera after hearing shocking news. I placed my left hand up to my face, reaching underneath the set of sunglasses and giving my eyes a rub. The brief daydream moment arose my curiosity of how long I had drifted away from the crowd ahead of me, but nevertheless I didn't have the time I wish I had.

Q-Ball: However don’t think the old Q-Ball is completely gone. I still have my morals. I still fight until every inch of my body gives in and I will bleed until I can no longer see what’s in front of me. I still fight with the heart; the only difference is I will be fighting more with my head.

I felt a sensation of uneasiness stirring in my chest as I dribbled out the last sentence to the audience. It stirred inside of me like a glass of wine and I could feel saliva rushing out from underneath my tongue. I closed my eyes, hoping it would go away.

Q-Ball: So in conclusion, I would like to respectfully wish to all of those TNT members who I will be competing against good luck. They can think all they want that I’m too old for this business, that I’ve had my prime long, long ago, or that I can’t cut it with the dogs anymore; really, I don’t care what they think. If they want to underestimate me, they can do so all they want. I’m not here to stop their way of thoughts. What I am here to do is take that TNT gold and make it my own. It’s time I make every single TNT member bow down at my feet once more, to make them wish they were in my place. Ladies and gentlemen, today is day one… day one to the reign of your Perpetual Champion.

Trying to walk away, my legs felt weak and my head felt light. Like I had walked days in a desert with no food or water, I was just waiting for my entire body to collapse. Embarrassingly, I grabbed a hold of the podium and in effort to hide the weakness in my muscles, I gave one final wave to the crowd. In a second attempt, I made my way off of the stage, pulling myself behind a curtain. With a couch directly in front of me, I crumbled.

Passed out.

Weak.