Promo: Million Miles Away

[Guest Insanityman]

“There was a time, looking through myself- wanting to pretend…”

 

 

--

 

-Right after the last show-

 

A door swung open harshly. Tim Dillon was ushering himself out, and Chris Raynor quickly followed after the Irishman. Dillon walked at a brisk pace, ignoring Raynor’s cries.

 

“You step a foot out of this arena and I’ll get our lawyers to sue you for every dollar, hell, every DROP of whiskey you’ve ever had!”

 

Tim Dillon turned around, “Yah’ won’t be able to find me. You’re not me’ boss anymore, I’ve fought better bloody opponents than the likes of you, Chris.”

 

“Call me Commissioner Raynor, god damn it!” Raynor fumed a good thirty feet away- slowly SJL superstars and employees poked their heads out of their doors, staring into the corridor.

 

“Chris. You’re name is Chris, you ain’t no fucking saint, yah have none of my respect. I am out of here Chris, and if you make me ever come back- you’ll be the one who learns the true Irish temper!” Tim Dillon threatened, and then he heard Raynor stomp after him.

 

“Who the hell do you think you are?” Raynor demanded, pulling out a handful of papers. “This is your contract, you have to stay until next year unless you want to be sued so fast it’ll make your head spin more than any other punch.”

 

Dillon smirked, and he snatched the papers. “I’m Tim fucking Dillon, I am a former SJL European champion.” He took another step at Chris, yelled right in his face; Raynor stared into Tim’s intense green eyes. “I am a former bare knuckle boxer LEGEND, and I am a damn good FORMER SJL employee.”

 

Chris’ eyes widen, he suddenly saw the pattern, “You’re fucking right, you know what though, Dillon? The key word was ‘former’ each time. You’re running away from your life, aren’t you?”

 

Tim gulped; he appeared to be very unnerved for a few seconds. He then reached into his cargo pocket with his left hand, pulling out the whiskey flask. He bit into the contract papers, opening the flask. He then poured the whiskey all over the papers, barely he clung on by the bottom corner.

 

Raynor shook his head in denial, watching Tim pull out his lighter, also with family crest. He flipped the top off, grinning with that dazzling white smile. He lit the top of the contract papers, letting the flame engulf before he dropped the burning paper right in front of Raynor’s shoes.

 

Chris drew back; too anger to think of any good words. Traces of “fucking” and “Mick” are muttered, but it was all an incoherent stutter. Tim Dillon then gave Raynor a shove away from his face, turned around and walked past the corridor to the cheers of some SJL employees.

 

--

"If I escaped, I could fill myself… I don’t think you can.”

 

--

-The death-

 

“Timmy… Tim! TIM! Wake up. H-h-he… he’s gone.” His older brother Sean shook the sleeping Irishman.

 

Dillon wiped the sleep from his eyes, trying to focus in at his brother, who had tears streaming down his eyes. A few rooms across inside the usually peaceful cottage violent sobs were heard. “…What do you mean?” Tim’s heart pounded violently in his chest as his mind reels.

 

“It’s Dad, he’s gone…” Sean told him the news, using the back of his hand to wipe away the tear trails.

 

“What do you mean gone?” Tim Dillon has those few moments of pure denial.

 

“Dead, Tim, dead.” Dillon’s face fell, as it slowly twisted into anger and every emotion charged through him within milliseconds.

 

“…How?” Dillon asked, his throat croaking.

 

“The damn bloody pain killers, he took too many…” Sean looked away, not wanting Tim (even though he was nearly twenty) to see his older brother bawl.

 

--

“Been far and wide, but that hole inside- never really leaves.”

 

--

-The Snap… Tim’s last bare-knuckle brawl-

 

The crowd cheered loudly the match was seemingly endless and the bloodshed also seemed endless. But all chanting the one name that had dominated this loop of sports-

 

“TIM! TIM! TIM!” Dillon threw a hard left hook to his foe and the two of them circle around. The lightweight championship of bare-knuckle boxing is being held inside a deserted huge farm A simple circle made by chalk marks where the fighters fight, massive crowd packed behind the crappy wooden fences. The curly brown haired men throws a wicked right that collides right into Tim’s chin, causing his head to whip back. The man lunges out and as Dillon’s head returns to normal placement he grins wildly. His anger at the problems in Ireland, the Protestants, his first fight, and his dad, all come into one big ball of emotion that surged through Dillon.

 

“TIM! TIM! TIM!”

 

Dillon lunged forward, kneeing his opponent in the gut, followed by a flurry of punches. His opponent slowly reeled back as a powerful punch from Tim knocked him off his feet. Within seconds the crowd went silent as Tim swore up a storm in a muffled yell. The people all inch toward the flimsy barricade in silence, Tim’s foe obviously knocked out cold. But Dillon continued to raise his fist and slam it down, the warm blood splattering from various directions. Their jaws hang open as Tim slams another down, his own knuckles painted red. People leapt over the barricade, prying Tim Dillon off, but Tim had already lost it. He slammed three men down with a clothesline move but finally stops, looking at the carnage he’s created. Slowly he wipes the sweat away, but the sweat seeps into the gash above his forehead and stings. The pain is a constant reminder he always will and always be human, he’ll always have to suffer from emotions, and he can’t be invincible from feelings.

 

--

 

“When I went away, what I really left- left behind was me.”

 

--

 

-Final blessing, the good bye-

 

Tim’s mother sat in the old wooden rocking chair in shambles. “Now yah boys can take your share of the inheritance…” She paused to choke down tears. “Share of your father’s inheritance… and find a new life, a new way.” She glanced at each one of her sons, each unique and having potential in their own way. “Go to America or move out of Limerick, just start a new life.”

 

Sean moved in to console his now weeping mother. “Yah heard her, go, leave.” Sean glanced up at Tim, the youngest, “Stay.”

 

Dillon paused, watching the others leave to converse.

 

Sean walked over to Tim, putting an arm around him. “Have a good life… you’d be the one who make us proud.” He shook Dillon a bit and grinned, Tim grinned back, though it was forced.

 

--

 

-The airport in Newark, New Jersey-

 

Tim Dillon slowly stepped out of the plane, weary from the weather they hit and being redirected. Feeling quite alone Tim made his way towards the shuttle towards the rental car.

 

--

 

“It’s telling me to be on my way home. Million miles away…”

 

--

 

-Times Square Brawl-

 

WAIT!” Axis cried as Dillon delivered a leg drop the second before Matthew hand’s hit. Leon rolled off onto his stomach on the side and everyone waited for Kivell’s call. Kivell then shot two fingers in the air to a “Bullshit” cry from King, and an up-rise from the fans! Leon then shot up with such an adrenaline high he didn’t care about his aching body. Dillon merely took a few steps in retreat, and Sharpe took the very last drops of reserved energy as his hands clutched Tim’s armpits and he squeezed hard as possible. Tim yelled out in anguish from the enduring pains of his match as Leon tipped his head up signifying he’s trying to toss Tim Dillon into the scrolling marquee that read “Wind In the Willows.” Leon Sharpe then strained yet succeeded in tossing Dillon upwards in to air. There was an eerie silence from the audience. Tim then harshly slammed into the very edge of the marquee, but his right arm grasped the top, and he quickly swung his body weight up. He then rolled onto the marquee. Sharpe then took a few steps into the open, away from the marquee to investigate where the Irishmen went.

 

“NO! IDIOT! MOVE UNDER IT!” King warned.

 

Leon paid no attention what so ever and he suddenly saw a flying AND moonsaulting Irishman. The casual fans with cameras took another classic photo, and Tim collided with Leon! There’s a sudden hopeful split second as Leon nearly grabbed Tim and landed in a tombstone, but Leon toppled over. The two are entangled into a human wreck, and everyone cheered on Tim. Leon shoved Tim off and slowly turned for the cover. But right as he goes for the pin Dillon grabbed him by the throat and then rolls onto Leon released the hold and then hooked both legs up into the air while he’s seated upon Leon’s chest!

 

ONE! The fans nearly foamed from the mouth in glee.

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREE! The bell in Madison chimed. Matthew Kivell held the belt up high and he awarded it to Tim Dillon. Tim stared at the prestigious belt in awe. Tim Dillon staggered to his feet and heaved the belt up high with both hands. “Dillon is our NEW European Champion!” Axis proclaimed drowning out the fans and Funyon.

 

--

“Each passing day, every passing face- seems like such a blur. I long to be home silently, lying next to her. Just to get back, by her side is all- all I need to be.”

 

--

-The hotel room-

 

Tim Dillon, the now former SJL employee, reached for the hotel phone. He dialed a very long string of numbers before he plopped onto his bed, laid down, his shaggy blonde hair parted to each side- revealing the scar that he got from the opponent in his final bare-knuckle match. Forever cemented in his memory, more matter how hard he tries to forget it, the scar remains there. The reason he grew out his hair.

 

Maybe Raynor’s right… I’ve ran away from everything… I ran away from the woman I love… I’m no hero, I’m just Dillon… another drunken failure. He thought, listening to the phone ring as his mouth goes dry.

 

The phone continued to ring until, “Hello?” Candice’s voice made his heart skip a few beats.

 

“Oh God honey, I’ve missed yah’.” Tim could die of happiness, Candice actually moved into his old cottage when he was being healed for his neck injury.

 

“Tim?” She squealed.

 

--

 

“Cause when I went away… but what I really left- left behind was me…”

 

--

-Newark, New Jersey airport-

 

Tim had made a point of it to come back to where he originally came from. He sat unnerved, thinking to himself, waiting for his flight to board. Soon the stewardess announced the seating of first class. But Dillon paused and he knew it was his row next. Sure enough, few minutes passed and his row was called. Tim stands, Dillon stares.

 

…But I’ve made his my home; I’ve made the SJL my new life… He thought as he almost was going to sweat, the whole course of his life all hinged on whether he stayed or leaved. Tim Dillon paused, weighing the pros and cons and makes a definite decision…

 

--

 

-SJL locker room-

 

Danny Conklin stared at the door that slowly opens, expecting Tim. But, perhaps even better, Janet walked in. He stood up and goes to give her a hug, but she outstretched her arm, which held a gift-wrapped up in all green tie.

 

“It’s from Dillon.” She confirmed.

 

“That was bloody nice of him, he got the show off, I think…”

 

He slowly opened it, lifting the lid and a wave of coldness sweep across his face. He found his way back to his seat, he stared, before he plopped into the easy chair and put it on the table. Janet curiously approached, staring down. Danny then sorted through the gift, seeing the card. He read it out loud.

 

“I guess you’re wondering where I am…” He began. “But no matter, I got the shows off.” He paused and then glanced at Janet.

 

“He said shows…” She slowly pointed out.

 

Danny nodded with a slight gulp.

 

“But enjoy. Oh, the final gift is fresh from our mother land.” He finished reading the card, and then his eyes skimmed past the signature. “Erin go braugh.”

 

Janet raised her eyebrows.

 

“Means ‘Ireland forever.’” Danny muttered.

 

He slowly revealed out two cans of Guinness, chuckling at Tim attempt of a clever way of insisting he at least had two drinks… minimum. He then almost sniffled as he reached further into the box and pulled out a genuine four-leaf clover.

 

--

“Getting on my way home.”

 

--

In a rather remote section of Limerick, Tim Dillon slowly lugs a few duffel bags, filled with various items. Slowly but surely he walks up the stone laid path, dropping the duffel bag in his right hand as he slowly twists the doorknob. With a gigantic sigh he opens the door to the shock of the few inhabitants inside- but now he’s home, back where he feels fulfilled.

 

 

~Finish~

 

OoC: Yeah, I'm gone for good. No really, I mean it this time. I hope. I'm leaving TSM on a whole to make sure I don't just reappear. But hey, this isn't quite the grand finale, so you'll have to put up with me a BIT longer.

 

Basically my social life has engulfed the extra time I'd usually use on the federation, and I like that fact. Somewhat. I've been here for nearly three years, never got bumped, never got World belt. But meh, I had a fantastic time no matter what. You all have talent, potential, and you're all awesome and cool. Hell, who knows, one day I'll come to school with toilet paper trailing behind my shoe- my friends leave me and my grades are already in the shitter and soon I'm back to being a lovable jobber.

 

Thanks everyone.

[muzz 0]

You Rule. So Much.

[HarleyQuinn 0]

That...was a damn great promo *sheds tear*. Sorry to see ya go laddy, hope the world gets to see the best of ya.

[Dace59 0]

TIMMY! TIMMY! TIMMY! TIMMY! TIMMY!

 

I'm gonna miss you dude.

[Crowe 0]

OoC: Yeah, I'm gone for good. No really, I mean it this time.

BBBUUUULLLLLLLSSSSSSHHHHHHHIIIIITTTTTTT!

 

BBBUUUULLLLLLLSSSSSSHHHHHHHIIIIITTTTTTT!

 

BBBUUUULLLLLLLSSSSSSHHHHHHHIIIIITTTTTTT!

 

You should know better than anyone that you cannot escape the grasp, the addictiveness, the figurative nicotine of the SWF.

 

You'll be back. They always come back.

 

That said, you just wrote an excellent promo. One of the best I've read in recent times (better than Silent's~!) and it made me shed a tear. Figuratively of course, no promo ever make me cry. I'M A MAN!

[Guest SupaTaft]

Bloody sad to see ya go.

 

You'll be back eventually, but when you leave then... don't write another promo like that. It made me cry.

 

Here's to ya, brother. Enjoy having a social life. Come back into chat and tell us stories of what it's like to have a life.

 

-Taft