The grass was still wet from earlier that day. It had been raining nonstop, and showed no signs of stopping anytime soon. It wasn't until nightfall that it actually halted, although nobody really knew it was nightfall for the sole fact that it had been a darkened day. The sky was scattered with dark clouds and little nooks of blue. The crickets were just now starting to play, and there I lay in the cold grass, just thinking.

Thinking about life, and what has happened so far in mine. Not much, considering I had only lived to see 20 years and a few months. I had been in school for most of my life, and that was it. Doesn't seem to interesting. Not at all like other people I have met along my journey.

But I guess when you're in school for thirteen years of your life, it doesn't leave much time for adventure.

Rolling over, I could smell that somebody went dog walking that day, so my first thought was to get up off the grass. The moisture of the grass and gone right through my clothes and onto my skin. I didn't mind being wet, although it was a bit cold.

For almost a week now, I've watched how the DW interact with each other, and I have to admit it is pretty interesting. You have insults flying every which way, and nobody wants to accept them. It's like an ongoing chain of name calling that ceases to end. It's pretty barbaric and amateur. But I guess I'm not one to talk, these people I have been wrestling for years, while I've only been wrestling for about half a year.

Some part of me wasn't surprised though. I mean, it is professional wrestling. It seemed all it ever was, was talking trash and then seeing who could back it up. The problem with that is, if you can't back it up, then you look like a fool. It was a bit more than that for me though. For me, professional wrestling is a passion, and more than just a way to make a lucrative living.

Of course, it was always in my mind that more than fifty percent of professional was fake anyway. That's what turned me off of the mainstream federations such as the WWE. Don't get me wrong, I don't like getting the shit kicked out of me as much as the next guy, but there's something about making someone else bleed that gets my blood pumping.

Hmmm...I suppose that sounds a bit sadistic? To some, yes. But to others, I'm guessing it sounds perfectly normal. The ones such as Rielle Hawke or Gabe McKearns. I'm not comparing myself to them, I'm just attempting to make a point.

The black clouds were moving now, clearing up the night sky, and revealing the stars that were hiding behind. I found a nice spot under a small clear dome. I suppose it was used by the science fanatics who liked to look at the sun but without coming away with that bright circle everywhere you look. The dome had kept it dry, and it was nice to look up at the stars. This would be a nice place to sleep. I had a nice warm bad to sleep in back at my apartment, but somehow this seemed better.

Ultraviolence was coming up pretty soon, and it will be very entertaining to watch. The only problem I have with watching it, is knowing that I'm not here. True, I had failed to actually debut before the card was posted, so I only had myself to blame for that one. To watch the promos without the nervous feeling in my stomach was wonderful though, and the promos were oh so appealing.

One of the promos cut over the past few days was about setting goals, and it got me thinking. What exactly do I set out to accomplish in the DW? I'm not exactly sure. The Television championship does look tempting, but I'm not exactly sure wether or not that's what I want. So, if it's not a title I'm after, than what am I after. Nothing comes to mind. I'm just kind of a drifter at this point, going wherever the wing blows me. Last time it had brought me to a man named Darren De Le Cruz, who taught me the art of professional wrestling. This time, it had landed me in Deathcore Wrestling. At this moment, I suppose I only have one goal.

To live my life, and see where it takes me.