Sit on that.

You know how this begins. Somewhere a television flickers. Maybe a radio loses reception. A jogger misplaces their left earbud. A weatherman announces that the forecast calls for late-season snow, somewhere, maybe in Bum-Fuck, Egypt. I don’t know. Somewhere where it’s unseasonal. Somewhere where it’s unexpected. Or somewhere where people expect that sort of thing and then still act surprised. Or, perhaps, it’s Detroit, Michigan, where today it is thirty-nine degrees and there is no snow. This morning, the sun is barely visible amongst an amalgamation of clouds stretching the sky. Somewhere kids are still up, sipping drinks and slipping in and out of their t-shirts, blowing off work, doing whatever, and nobody cares. Somewhere a guy falls asleep going down, but the girl doesn't mind. Somewhere, the world is a better place, but nobody knows how to get there.

Today, the scene opens up with the voice of the War King, the Wild Card, the gutter poet himself, the Mad King, Eddie Kingston.

“So, lemme tell ya a story…”

The last of a dyin’ breed, your boy, Eddie Kingston is back at it again. And apparently, we are in luck, it’s storytime.

"tHe MaD kInG" EDDIE KINGSTON: When I was a teenager, maybe twelve, I don't know, maybe goin' on thirteen, ya know, it doesn’t matter… growin’ up, I had this neighbor who was younger than me. This little neighbor boy who looked up to me... thought of me as, I don’t know, some kind of hero… some kind of king, I guess you could say.

I suppose there are worse ways we could pass the time between now, which is roughly Friday morning, and whenever Eddie Kingston and Mance Warner step into the ring Saturday night in the Little Caesars Arena in LIVE on WLCW Storm.

"tHe MaD kInG" EDDIE KINGSTON: Look. I dunno why this kid thought the world of me. I guess it was because I would help him get his basketball back from the older kids and whatnot. I guess it was because when the other kids would taunt him with insults, I’d verbally assault them for him, put them in their place. Bully the bullies, ya know. Maybe it was because sometimes after walkin’ down to the corner shop from buyin’ smokes or, I don’t know, a jug of milk… if this kid was outside, I’d toss him my change. Like my misplaced pennies were gonna save or change his life.

Kingston scoffs.

"tHe MaD kInG" EDDIE KINGSTON: Funny thing about it was, I could tell what this kid needed, wanted, and couldn’t vocalize. He never spoke to me except to say “thank you” before he would scurry off, go the fuck away.

Currently, Eddie Kingston is leaning against the side of a trash dumpster. Naturally. Where else would he be at this hour on a Friday morning?

"tHe MaD kInG" EDDIE KINGSTON: Whenever Iʼd go outside, to grab a smoke or to do whatever… I would see this kid lookin’ out his bedroom window.

Given the current setting, which is largely unknown (or else undisclosed) and the general demeanor of the Mad King, it’s likely that this story could go anywhere.

"tHe MaD kInG" EDDIE KINGSTON: There he was… watchin’me. Wantin’ to be me.

Eddie speaks softer than normal. Quieter, rather. However, you can still hear the gravel in his voice despite the unlit cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth. I suppose you could say that King looks good, I mean, good enough. Better than expected for a guy who has probably already been up for two days. Acceptable shape and form for a guy who probably won’t be able to sleep until after his match with Mance Warner is long over Saturday night.

"tHe MaD kInG" EDDIE KINGSTON: So, when this kid finally got up the courage to come outside and talk to me, I reacted in a manner that, well, I never expected. Ya know?

King rubs his right hand which appears to be taped and bandaged. From what? Who the fuck knows. When you’re a guy like the Mad King, your hands are always beat-up and bleeding. From fights in the ring. Fights out of the ring. Fights in bathrooms of bars. Fights with the boys. Fights with himself when he gets pissed off and doesn’t like the bastard staring back at him in the mirror.

"tHe MaD kInG" EDDIE KINGSTON: Lemme tell ya, in that moment... somethin' came out of me...

King shifts his body weight against the side of the dumpster. It’s hard to read his body language. Uncomfortable isn’t the right word, but it’s the best descriptor that comes to mind.

"tHe MaD kInG" EDDIE KINGSTON: Iʼm hesitant to call it evil, but it was a side of me that I had never seen before, something dark... somethin' real.

Kingston furrows his already wrinkled brow.

"tHe MaD kInG" EDDIE KINGSTON: I slapped the kid in the face.

A stone cold expression crosses Eddie's face.

"tHe MaD kInG" EDDIE KINGSTON: Sit on that for a minute. I waited until this kid finally got up the nerve to talk to me and I looked him up and down, then straight in the eye, then I slapped him in the face. He cried. Couldn’t understand why I would do somethin’ like that. So, I told him. I broke it down for him real simple. I won’t always be there. In life, no one will always be there. The only person you can count on is yourself. Your heroes are always hoaxes. Don’t daydream about being me. Learn how to become a man instead. Your own man. Learn how to become someone better than me.

Almost like a nervous tick, Eddie reaches up and scratches at his neck.

"tHe MaD kInG" EDDIE KINGSTON: I am not interested in being some kid’s friend. I don’t want to be some wannabe’s mentor. I didn’t growin’ up and I sure as fuck don’t want to now. That’s right, I am talkin’ about my opponent Saturday night. Mance Warner. You see, Mance wants to talk a big game. He wants to build us both up. Talk his way into a ring with me. Then ask me to break bread, be his friend. Be best buddies after I beat his ass. Well, let me tell you this, Mancey… I ain’t nobody’s hero. I ain’t nobody for nobody to look up to. And apparently, it’s time somebody tells Mance Warner that it is time for him to stop playing-pretend, it’s time for somebody to tell Mancer to stop chasing my coattails and become his own man. Sink or swim, Mancey, baby.

Kingston pulls the cigarette out of the corner of his mouth.

"tHe MaD kInG" EDDIE KINGSTON: Warner, I am warnin’ ya, you don’t belong in the same ring as the Mad King. Never have. And I am not so sure you ever will. Mancer walks around talkin’ about blowin’ money on light beers and loose women... like I wasn’t sippin’ stronger shit and bangin’ bigger broads back in grade school. Mance, I mean, you got a couple of things right. I mean, I am your first opponent. And, if you’re like someone like Bray Wyatt, I am about to be your last. Your words, not mine. You said it, I’ve killed it everywhere I have gone. Right? Well, did you ever stop and ask yourself, why? Well, lemme tell ya why... it's 'cause I live or die with that kill or be fuckin’ killed attitude. I say, fuck the world... and I live by it.

Kingston grits his teeth.

"tHe MaD kInG" EDDIE KINGSTON: I am Eddie fuckin’ Kingston. WLCW’s Mad King. And I am better known by my ring name YOU’RE FUCKED. Mancey, consider this a warning… consider this the only time I ever give you a preview of the shit storm you are gettin’ in.

Eddie smiles.

"tHe MaD kInG" EDDIE KINGSTON: For the moment my eyes are open. Wide open. And they’re lookin’ all ‘round me. And they lookin’ at you.

His smile is an eerie, almost unhinged, smile.

"tHe MaD kInG" EDDIE KINGSTON: What you are lookin' at isn’t what is left over, this is what’s still here. And it’s more of a man than Mancer. Lemme tell ya, I’m already livin’ on borrowed time. And I look forward to wastin’ some of it on beatin’ you.

And with that, slowly, the scene begins to fade.