Title: ...W/P
Featuring: Freddie Styles
Date: 2/9
Location: Unknown
Show: Modern Warfare 2019



I sat along a park bench, the coldness of it's plastic seat sent shivers through my spine, as I held myself tight, trying to convince my body to absorb whatever heat possible. My hands were numb from the cold, light crystals of ice forming on my skin, leaving a burning sensation, when I actually had feeling in them. Calluses built up on the interior of my palms, the cold causing an excruciating amount of pain. 

I didn't have to sit outside and freeze. I wanted to. 

Even in all of the uncomfort of this situation, I felt the peaceful tranquility of few distractions, allowing my mind to wander the canals of my brain, previously left unexplored. I could ask myself the simple questions; yet still explore the complex answers. 

What happened to me? 

I could never get tired of asking myself that one, the answer still seeming so distant. I knew what had happened, yet at the same time, I had no explanation. It was almost like my mind was a giant jigsaw puzzle; some pieces looked like they fit, yet they were always slightly off. I was trying to piece myself back together. 

Somehow I was broken. 

It was tough, watching myself from the height of my career, then plummet to an all time low. Almost as if I was wearing cement shoes, keeping me submerged in the choppy waters of failure. I had watched myself drown for the time being. My oxygen dwindling to it's final few breaths. 

It's not my time. 

Nor would I allow it to be. All great champions have had their moments where they were vulnerable; the walls of their kingdom penetrated by the enemy. No one can say they haven't felt it. 

I finally understood it. 

Staring down, in to my cold, frozen hands, there was a document resting within my clenched fingers. 

Had it been something breathing in oxygen, my icy grip would've left it strangled. I knew what was typed on that little, white paper within my fist, for I had read thru it a hundred times prior; making out every letter, every syllable, and every sentence; so that it was burned in to my memory. 

Reading the Modern Warfare card sent another shiver through my body, warmth beginning to slip away, as quotes and comments buzzed through my mind; every comment being matched to a face. 

"Freddie fell off." 

"Freddie is a nobody. He lost his edge. Nobody fears facing him anymore."

"He was lucky." 

Motivation, finally. 

Even with the cold burning every limb with numbness, I managed to still feel a grin form on my face. I didn't need to hold a title to be the best. Nor did I ever need to back up my claims of being legendary. I proved within a few short months, that I could hang with whomever I decided. 

I claimed to be King, then I ruled. 

The snow continued to fall, as the chattering of my teeth was the only noise among the wind whistling around me. My coat would flap within gusts, then fall back lifelessly over my chest. 

My heart was beating faster and harder than ever. 

This was my epiphany... 

...And a new start. 

"What a beautiful day." I thought, as the sun slowly began to rise, illuminating the darkness which once enveloped the surrounding area. 
Oh how things have changed. Who would have ever imagined. I can't say I'm surprised, Clyde, you've attempted to attach your name to someone, anyone to get your nation across. 

Cute. It's not working. 

I think we've been here before. New guy looking to take out an established name. Do you smell that amigo? It's fear. It's knowing that you've bitten off more than you can chew. 

Fear is a powerful tool. 

So is being pissed on.

And life has been pissing all over me lately.  Clyde, I'm in no real mood to deal with you and your Snake Nation bullshit.  You're clearly on an upswing, and I've been down as fuck for the last few months when not in tag competition.  Nothing in my life works worth a damn, and I don't have anything to win or lose in facing you.  The protest will go on.  The Glass Revolution will still be televised.  Brute force vs finesse.

I still don't know why I love this so much.  My passion is waining.  My energy is low.  I've lost for so long this time it feels like my name isn't Freddie, it's failure.  Does beating you stop all of that...does it crush those feelings? 

No.  It only eases them for a night or two.  And right now, protest or no, wanting a fair shot to elevate or not, I need that peace more than I need my life, my girl, or the kid she's carrying.  

I need that peace Clyde, and I'll gladly go to war with you and die for that peace.

Die for peace...#deathstyles
 



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