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MILLENNIUM: PRELUDE ONE
As his boots hit the imported
marble floors, they echo
throughout the lavish home on
324 Fountain Way in the
Duckworth Section of Millennium,
East Texas. The smoke around his
hair from his Marlboro cigarette
seem to form a mask around his
sharp face and enhance his
sunken eyes. As he takes one
last draw and puts the cigarette
in the ash tray, the phone on a
nearby table shatters the
silence with its first ring. He
exhales.
Standing in the back of an arena
in Los Angeles, California, one
of the worlds’ most recognizable
stars stands with the receiver
of a phone up to his ears. Tears
roll down his swollen face in
contrast with his tan skin and
purple bruises. As the phone
rings on the other end, for a
second time he looks in a mirror
nearby for the first time since
that morning. He realizes he is
lucky to be walking.
“I can’t believe this is
happening. Not now. Not after
what I have finally
accomplished.”
In the
reflection staring back at MCW
Superstar Rocky Sanchez, the
battle scars are evident, but so
is the prize. Over his shoulder
gleams the Millennium
Championship Wrestling World
Heavyweight Championship belt.
He had won it only one night
before in a vicious scaffold
match with his rival Steve
Swanson. Swanson. The man whose
wife he laid with and family he
had violated all those years
ago. But this call was not about
the Swanson family. Pablo was
dead.
The
caller ID flashed the name of
the caller in the digital LCD
screen, SANCHEZ, ROCKY, and
Domingo Sanchez smiled broadly.
He had not heard from his
brother since his old man died
two months previously. He had
watched his match the night
before and could not wait to
congratulate him. As he picks up
the receiver, two of his closest
associates walk in the front
door and he can tell right away
something is wrong. Their faces
are full of fear.
“Rocky!
Congrats…umm can you hold on a
sec…”
Sitting
down now at a small table full
of water bottles, Rocky wastes
no time delivering the news.
“Pablo
is dead. He was executed.”
Back in
the palatial estate, the color
drained out of Domingo Sanchez’s
skin as he looked at the two
hulking figures before him. One
of them spoke:
“Boss,
we got some bad news…”
As the
lights of Los Angeles began to
sparkle and the sun sank into
the Pacific, Rocky finished the
call he dreaded to make.
“Carlita says they left a Red
Square and Black Glove next to
his body. You’ve been screwed.
Fix it or hide before you die
too.”
With
that, Rocky Sanchez slams his
phone down and throws it across
the room. Exhausted, he buries
his head in his hands and begins
to weep.
2,000
miles away standing in his
foyer, Domingo Sanchez realizes
the horrible truth. A war has
begun, and he was the victim of
the first shot.
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