'Are you sure?' the voice rings with an irritated tone to it. Malachi pulls the telephone away from his ear, not even sure of what day it is. He glances around before finding the object he secretly lusts for. Cautiously, he leans over and grabs the glass sitting on the edge of the window sill and grabs the bottle of alcohol sitting carefully at his feet. With his right hand, he unscrews the cap, and pours the drink until the glass is full.

'Yeah, I'm sure,' Malachi says groggily, confused as to the conversation taking place in his mind. 'Who are you again?' he asks, not even talking into the receiver. The man on the other line hears his voice and it sounds as if Malachi is a continent away from the phone. He sighs heavily, wishing that it wasn't this difficult to persuade the talented man.

'Smitty T. Duluth, CEO of FUSE. I came by your house over a week ago,' Smitty says. Yet, Malachi isn't even paying attention as in his left hand he's got a bottle of pills. With the quick action of his fingers, he pops off the top and tosses two pills straight from the small canister into his mouth. He grabs the glass and takes another long sip, not caring about the after effects. This time though, it stings on its way down. Without even knowing it, he drops the receiver as Smitty just waits, wondering what the hell is going on.

'Hello?' he asks, wondering if his phone call has ended.

Malachi stands up, disoriented, and asking himself in the back of his mind if he's even truly standing up. He takes a few steps before he loses the entire concept of standing and walking. He lands hard on his knees and can feel that the pain should be there, but it's not. He laughs at this, completely stoned out of his mind.

'Malachi, are you there?'

Malachi hears the voice, but it sounds like a whisper, and he just simply disregards it. With the palms of his hands, he starts moving across the floor as he can feel his vision getting blurrier by the second. He tries to pull himself up using the nearby bathroom door, but as he does, a wave of nausea comes over him. He tries to move over to the toilet, but is unable to make it there as he falls again and cracks his skull on the tiled floor, causing a concussion. The nausea continues to eat at him as he tries to keep his eyes open from the previous shot. Yet, he's powerless to stop it as he can feel every ounce of being inside of him coming up at once.

The bile spews everywhere. He takes a slow look at it before he can feel consciousness slipping away from him, and knows that it doesn’t look right.

'Malachi?! Is everything okay?!'

It's red.

Repent
September 1st, 2007

That's the first thing that he notices as he walks up the steps to the church.

The cardinal is red.

He stops briefly, dressed in a rather nice and expensive suit with his long beautiful hair tied back into a ponytail. On the nearby ledge sits a rather lovely cardinal, just minding its own business, and unaware of the travesties of the world around him. Oh how Malachi wishes he could be that bird instead of having to deal with the plights and prayers of over six billion people in the world. As he just merely thinks about it, his chest begins to get heavy, and he thinks about walking away.

Instead, he walks through the two large wooden oak doors standing before him, walks into the sanctuary of the church, and is shocked to find it empty. He doesn't let this weigh upon his soul though as he walks a few steps and sees a rather large cross with his son nailed to it. Every time he sees that image, it rips his heart to shreds to think about what he had to do to his own son. Tears begin to well up in his eyes, but he's able to hold them back with sheer strength and force. Strength and force that he hasn't had since he found out what it was like to be human.

He takes a few more steps, his legs starting to feel like they're weighed down with lead.

'My son,' he whispers, his voice choked. He takes a few more steps, brushing aside the few strands of hair stuck on his face. He looks in awe and amazement at his dead son, wishing he could've gone about it a different way, but there wasn't one. They had left him no choice. He had to show his mercy and compassion while demonstrating his wrath and absolute power. He put the blame upon them, unable to shoulder it himself. Not something this great or large. Only a God could do it.

And he was only one in a human body.

As he reaches the cross, he feels a feeling overcome as he drops to his knees, his eyes never taking a moment's break to look at anything else.

'My son, how I have failed you. You looked at me as I sat upon my throne, and told me to show them the error of their ways. Have I done that? No, I haven't. Instead, I've become more and more like them as the world has showered me with its despair. I thought I could be stronger than that, but I see that I'm wrong. I've created a world filled with grief and sorrow, and for me to expect anything better then that is absurd. Or is it? I created this world and I know their plights and trials, but it's up to them to overcome those obstacles that I've laid in their way. Yet, I have to set the example. The alcohol. The pills. I haven't done right by you, my son, to show you the kind of father that you've loved for thousands of years. I shall change that my son,' he says powerfully, emotion swept away from his heart as he stands up.

'I shall change that, my son.'

Comeback
September 15th, 2007

'Son, could you change the FUCKING channel already?!'

Malachi looks over his right shoulders and sees the seventeen year old kid grumpily get out of his chair and walk over to the nearby television. Malachi then turns back and faces the trainer before him, Greg.

'Sorry about that. Ya know how they are, right?' he asks him and Malachi just simply nods his head. His son had given his life for him and was nailed to a cross, so he honestly didn't know how they were. Greg moves towards his and Malachi is quick and swift with his movement as he promptly puts Greg into a side headlock and performs the simples of hip tosses. Greg is right back to his feet as he pushes him into the ropes and then whips him across the ring. Yet, Greg is able to reverse and Malachi goes flying into the ropes. The feeling is good as he can't feel any pain from his surgically repaired knee.

Greg goes down low, but Malachi is able to leap over him with just pure grace. He runs into the ropes and as he goes back towards Greg he attempts a hip toss, but Malachi is able to land on his feet and knocks him down with a clothesline. Slowly, Malachi is starting to get back into shape, and this just makes him happier. He helps Greg up and as Greg gets up, he can see a smile on his face.

'Havin' fun out there?' Greg asks Malachi and he can only nod his head. He then exits the ring to signal for a brief timeout and walks over to his gym bag. The last two weeks had been about getting into ring shape, and trusting his knee. The damn thing had been fine for weeks, but it was only now that Malachi could trust it. He's ready to get back in that ring, and hopes that Smitty will allow him to do so. He has worked his tail off these past few weeks, not even taking time to sleep much more than a few hours a day. Exhaustion is slowly starting to settle in.

Slowly, he pulls out his cell phone and dials a phone number. He hears a quick click and a man answers the line.

'Smitty, its Malachi. I want to talk to you about your offer,' Malachi says and he can almost hear Smitty smile on the other end.

As he closes his eyes though, he wishes that sleep would come sooner than later for him.

The Night Before
October 11th, 2007

His eyes open without warning. He's breathing hard and heavy, wondering what could've shaken him out of his dream. In less than twenty-four hours, he's going to be returning to the wrestling ring, and the fear has taken over him. At least that's how he rationalizes it in his own head. He sits up, the sweat beads rolling off of his chin. He tries desperately to control his breathing, but he's unable to do so.

60 days.

That's how long since he's had a sip of alcohol; how long it's been since he's had some pills.

Yet, as he stands up, and tries to balance himself after the stupor he's just shot up from, it's all that he can think about. He takes a few steps and turns on the lamp so he can find his travelling bag. In the far corner, he can see it.

Too far, he thinks to himself. Yet, he drags his feet over to the bag and feverishly tosses everything out of it to find what he desperately wants; what he desperately needs. He continues to feel around for it, hoping that it's there. His fingers graze over a plastic cylindrical bottle, and he knows he's found it. He grabs it and pulls it out in a rush before he walks over to the mini-bar that's in his room and grabs a bottle of whatever is closest. He unscrews the top as he walks into his bathroom and hits the switch on his way to the sink.

He looks at himself in the mirror. He had made it this far. What would a few pills do?

He tears the top off of the bottle and sees he's down to his final four pills. No other thoughts enter his brain as he empties the bottle and as if his final moments are drawing near, he grabs two of them, and drowns them with alcohol. He can feel a small comfort come over him as he feels the pills slide down his throat. As he looks at himself in the mirror, he feels calm, at ease, and one with himself. He slowly puts the other two pills back in the bottle and puts the lid on tightly.

In that moment, he thinks of nothing. No pressure, nothing. He walks out of his bathroom slowly before he flicks on the television. The news comes on.

'In other news, Seattle had one interesting day as they had record rainfalls in a few short hours,' he hears the voice say, but it never registers with him.

He's gone.

The Night After
October 13th, 2007

'John.'

He turns his head, having just walked into his hotel room, and is rather surprised at the woman standing there in the room. The woman looks like she's been crying for hours on end as the mascara runs down her soft cheeks. In her right hand is black shawl as she just stands there, unable to believe the sight before her. Malachi just stands there, trying to find out who this insane woman in his room is.

'What?' he says, puzzled.

She takes a few steps towards him and he tries to move, but is unable to do so. Almost as if another part of him is forcing him to stay right there, almost yearning for her.

'John,' she whispers again, mere inches away from him. The back of her right hand grazes across his cheek, and by surprise to him, he doesn't flinch back yet enjoys it. She raises a few inches and as his eyes glance down briefly he sees that she's on the tips of her toes. Her neck cranes closer and closer to him as he can feel her breathe, shallow and uneven. He wonders what she's going to do to him as her lips tremble with emotion.

She kisses him as if it's the last time she's ever going to kiss him.

Fin.