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Everything that has a beginning has an end.


League Member
Nov 20, 2003
John Miller sits in an empty GWE locker room. It ends the same way it begins... alone.

The first boot goes on... it's always been the left. Same routine through the years... hasn't changed since day one. But today... the process seems to be taking a lot longer than usual.

Miller looks to the right boot, but is reluctant to place it over his foot. Finally, with some uncertainty, he slips it on and does the buckles.

After eight years... you're still here. After it all, you're still standing. Barely, but standing, nonetheless.

Maybe this was meant to happen. An "icon" of extreme is ushered out with the turning of a new page in wrestling history. It wasn't meant to last forever... it served it's purpose.

You knew it would happen. You wrestle the way you do, and it's BOUND to.

After thousands of matches spanning several federations and alliances, this man's body can no longer continue on. There is no doubt his heart could go on for the long haul, but the flesh just isn't willing anymore.

John balls his fists, placing them on his forehead, resting his elbows on his knees. He looks to the burn marks on his arms, then to the scars that line his chest, courtesy of several incidents with barbed wire, shovels, glass, thumbtacks, two by fours, and what have you.

It was meant to be. Everything happens for a reason right?

For every year of it's existence, John played an active role in the company known as Global Xtreme Wrestling. Some say it was TOO active, others say it was sub par. But regardless of what everyone else says, the man sitting in this locker room right now realizes it's over.

They said you were nothing... from day one. They said you wouldn't become anything. They said that it couldn't be done... but you did it. And that's all you can ask for.

John sighs, then removes his face from his fists. He leans back and slowly reaches over to a nearby roll of tape. In a deliberate and calculating fashion, he wraps his hands and forearms. He whinces slightly as he tightens the tape over his scarred flesh.

This is where it ends... this is where you were destined to go. This is the end of the line.

Miller stands up, walking over to a nearby sink. He turns the knobs, causing some hot water to spew out of the faucet. John takes his taped hands, slowly sliding them into the hot stream that pours into the sink. Blood that has begun to soak through the wraps flows with the stream, trickling into the ceramic basin below. John closes his eyes as steam begins to fill the area from the incredibly hot water.

A fruitful career. Fruitful, but painful. And you made it that way.

John takes his hands out from under that water, stopping the flow of water with a simple turn of the knobs. He raises his cleansed hand up to the fogged mirror, wiping it to reveal his face. His five o clock shadow looks a bit rugged... his eyes look tired.

When did YOU turn 50?

John closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He holds it for a moment, then exhales. He reopens his eyes, giving himself one last stare before walking off towards the door.

As John approaches the wall, he does the usual. Scanning the paper posted by the door, he runs his finger along the lineup. There it is... the one he'd thought he'd never see. The last match.

While there is much to think about on this night, there's only one thing he's got to worry about right now. He's got one more match... one match left to give it his all. One last opponent.

He starts to open the door to the hallway, but pauses midway. He lets go of the handle, putting his hand up against the wall to brace himself. His head hangs low as he breathes a heavy sigh.

Moments pass by... but to this man they seem like an eternity.

It's time John... it's time to say... goodbye.

With that one last thought, Miller slowly turns back towards the locker room, near tears in his eyes. He bites his bottom lip, flips the light switch, and opens the door.

OOC: I'm gonna miss you guys. =(

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