We see HENNY leaning back against a bland, grey concrete wall, the sole of one of his boots pressed back against it as he stood, arms folded in front of him, glaring at nothing in particular. HENNY was far less pretty than we’re usually used to seeing him, presumably this being hours, or even minutes after his appearance on PW:NEO’s Volume V. With his hair tied up into a tight, yet rushed bun, average clothes with muted colours and a cigarette tucked lazily behind his ear - a far cry from his extravagant ring gear. HENNY ran his tongue across the inside of his bottom lip a couple of times, presumably ruminating over something less than ideal by his facial expression.
“It’s unbelievable,” HENNY began, speaking aloud to no one in particular “in a couple of months I’m going to be a 15 year veteran. 15 motherfucking years.” He shook his head.
“I’ve seen a lot, done a lot, during that time. Had a shitload of good times, had a bunch of bad ones too. The good paid for by the bad, I suppose.” HENNY sighed. “Whatever the fuck that even means. But lately, during this…run of matches, I’ve asked mysel— fuck it, you know what, not just this run of matches, the past 5 years, I’ve been asking myself, why do you do it? You know, why? I don’t do it for me, I obviously don’t do it for the fans, and I don’t even do it for my family. Monetarily I’m set for life. I’ve got no passion left for this business, as much as I hate to say it that got beat out of me with a railroad spike in 2013.”
HENNY shook his head again, running a hand over his face for a moment before he continued. “I guess I deserved it. Well, I know I deserved it. But I’ve got no love left for wrestling. I wake up in pain every fucking day, and I can’t even take a normal painkiller because I’m a junkie piece of shit. So tell me, what the FUCK am I doing here? Why do I feel compelled to go out there and ruin whatever fucking legacy I’ve deluded myself into thinking that I have?”
He sniffed violently, rolling his eyes at himself. “I’ve never been good enough in anyone’s eyes. Every time I do something good, every time I think I vindicate myself even fucking SLIGHTLY there’s an asterisk. Some black fucking mark on my record. Maybe I earned that asterisk, but I damn sure know that I earned some fucking respect SOMEWHERE down the line.” HENNY uncrosses his arms, dropping one by his side whilst he clenches a fist with the other. “But it looks like my punishment is watching all these kids come through revering the very same people that have shit all over me for years. Meanwhile I’m still here like some fucking gatekeeper masquerading as a headliner getting embarrassed by these kids, because on some level I act like I don’t care when deep down I really do, and I hesitate because of that, and when you hesitate, it’s over.” HENNY inhaled sharply, feebly trying to keep his emotions in check as he spoke.
“You gotta have thick skin to make it, but damn, it eats away at you. All those murmurs of doubt, so fucking loud. That’s how it is, right? When it’s about anyone else it’s fucking…I don’t know, background noise. But when it’s you they’re doubting, it becomes this piercing fucking ringing that never ends - but the words are still crystal fucking clear. You close your eyes and it’s just on repeat. Shit people were saying a decade ago, almost. I can’t leave all of this behind because I’m trying to prove myself to people who’ve long retired, and even if they haven’t retired yet, they don’t spend a second of their fucking day thinking about me. But here I am. Trapped in my own bullshit fucking head, and it’s any fucking wonder I can’t function sober.”
He reached up for his cigarette, almost going through the motions in placing it between his lips before he scrunched his face in revulsion - crushing it in his hand before discarding what remained of it with a frustrated throw.
“So with that…addictive personality, I try to replace all the bad shit with…not so bad shit. I smoke too much I guess. Tried religion too. Tried getting a hobby, but of all the things I’ve gotten addicted to over the years, why can’t I be addicted to professional wrestling? Huh? The one thing I’ll be judged on for whatever remains of my piece of shit life, why can’t I be addicted to my own fucking career? To actually do well for myself, to do right by myself. I pissed fifteen years down the drain and that’s a lot more than most people get in this thing. I don’t know if I’ll see 16, 17 or 18. Whether it’s my mind or my body, whatever breaks for good first, I guess.” Another sigh. “What am I going to remembered for? Being a ‘personality’? Some semi-decent pretty boy worker that says ‘send nudes’ to people to make them uncomfortable? Whilst my counterparts are really putting the work in to become the benchmarks of this industry. To, like I said, be the kinds of wrestlers that the kids aspire to be. No one wants to be HENNY. Not the wrestler, that’s for sure.”
“I keep asking myself if the whole bravado act is real or not, and I can’t really come up with an answer. I’m so up and down, there are days where I truly do feel like the king of the world - then others I’m so fucking worthless that I can’t bare for anyone to hear me, let alone see me. So if my self-perception is so inconsistent how can I expect my career to be steady too? I’m on this big fucking slide and I really don’t see it ending any time soon. I could arrest it by just hanging up my boots but then, they’re all right. Then those murmurs of doubt are validated and I’m fucking nothing.”
He rubbed his eyes. “HENNY and Henrik Kanensson were supposed to be separate people but somewhere down the line one infected the other and I don’t know which one it is. Every day just runs into the next, every match just runs into the next, and it’s all the same to me. Just one big blur of disappointment.” HENNY instinctively raised a hand to tuck his hair behind his ear, but stopped himself after realising it was tied up. He cracked the tiniest hint of a smile at that before he continued on with his thoughts. “I’m not here to tell you that it’s going to change. I’m not going to tell you that I’ll be the world champion I was, but I can promise you this. If I’m going down, I am taking everyone else with. You saw it tonight with Chris Strike’s little girl. Up next is Hagen Lecktor with his Mr. Positivity bullshit. Spike, chair, cane - this shot through the heart - whatever I’ve got to do to cripple these kids, I’ll do it. After that, we’ll see where I stand.”
HENNY shrugged, kicking himself off the wall. He stood, his arms by his side for a few odd seconds where it looked like he may have more to say, but Heartache simply shook his head, and disappeared out of shot.
