Today.

It's all there is. Living for the past has wasted too much of my time, and thinking I will have tomorrow is selfish and egotistical. Do I want to be God, running the world or knowing when my life might end? No, something much larger than this body dictates whether I wake up and continue, or end up in a coffin six feet below the surface of our earth.

Today.

And yet I think back to my first world title victory. It was OCW, and it was a rocky period in a federation built on tradition. Leaders came and went, and the political bullshit dripped down the walls.

It's a warm feeling to know that seven years later, I am a four-time world champion, and all because one victory gave me the drive to reach for what I had once thought was impossible. And here I am, a two-time NLW world champion. How times have changed.

It was July 2002, and a series of events would lead to my first title victory. I remember waking and kissing my fiance on my way to the airport, Ray. I became the No. 1 contender by taking out Fenix. Back then, we worked to earn our chance at the ultimate gold belt. You should be so lucky that you've done absolutely nothing to get thrown into this fucking match with me. Friends counted for something back when I was a rookie, but fairness always won out, because there were enough people who would take a stand against the administration giving guys like you open shots at gold.

But I digress. In a controversial episode, Goldie had snuck in a world title victory over someone the company claimed was 'Titan 3.' Vincent had actually retired the week prior so that he could mourn the love of his life. An administration suckered its fans into believing Goldie had defeated the real deal, but it wasn't true. And less than a week after handing Goldie the title, OCW booked him against me in a title defense.

The memories of that morning will never fade. Ashley returned the kiss, and I felt alive for perhaps the first time in my young life. I thought about T3's heartbreak, and what I couldn't imagine going through. I brushed the hair back out of her face as she lay beneath the thick covers, and told her how much I loved her. She would be there when I fought Goldie.

I had other plans, too. I'd never felt the feeling I now had for a girl. A woman. I'd hidden the ring in a hundred different places around my small apartment, hoping she would never come across it. And as I thought about the legend in T3, and how the woman he'd loved so dearly had passed away, I knew I couldn't hold off to express my desires toward Ashley. Love knows no boundaries - except death.

When the referee raised my hand that night, and handed me the OCW world championship, I knew it was time. Ray, I knew that I finally had all I'd ever dreamed of, had ever strived for. The cameras had gone off, and thousands of people were exiting the arena. I remember sliding out of the ring and going to the security barrier and kissing her. She returned a hug and I helped her over so we could embrace even more.

Some of the guys from the back - the ones who'd been my true friends through it all - swarmed the ring to congratulate me. Despite political or cliquish barriers. My best friend, Andy Murray, slipped me the box, and right then and there, I dropped to my knees. She cried, and I cried, though I remember laughing my tears off as just more of the sweat dripping from my face.

And she said yes. It was my biggest victory ever. It was the one that I knew would matter more than any others, Ray.

IT WAS MONDAY, OCT. 5, 2009
MY WATCH SHOWED 5:23 A.M.
LOCATION? HOUSTON, TEXAS
MY MOOD: DEFEATED

The cell phone under Josh Allen's face began to chirp and vibrate at the same time. It startled him, and he fell from the cold, hard seats onto the stainless-white tiled floor. The bright lights burned his eyes, and the pain of smacking the hard floor echoed up his spine and to the inner most parts of his body. It didn't help that he was less than 12 hours out from having received such a beating.

'Hello?' He rubbed his eyes and wiped the small bit of drool from his chin. He clawed his way back up onto one of the plastic chairs in the small airport waiting area and looked around to see who'd watched him fall on his ass. Even for Houston, 5:23 a.m. was too early.

'Where are you?'

It was Anton DeAngelo calling from Washington, D.C., where it happened to be an hour later and much more accepted to be awake before 7 a.m. Allen cleared his throat and moved the jacket he'd used as a pillow to the side.

'Houston. I missed my flight after the show last night. Turns out, someone jacked my wallet. I had no cash, no credit card, no ID, and no motel room. All I had were my rescheduled tickets back to Oklahoma.'

DeAngelo paused. Allen could hear him smiling through his tone.

'It's not funny. Yesterday went wrong in so many different ways. And now it's Monday, and this 5 a.m. wake-up call is telling me it could be just as bad as last night. As long as I don't take a beating like I received on Uprising... '

'I saw,' said Anton. 'Couldn't help but watch. I don't want to be the one to break it to you, but you looked a step behind. Was your mind in the right spot, because it sure didn't look as such.'

'I was more than one step behind,' Allen grumbled. 'Had a lot on my mind.'

DeAngelo went off on some rabbit trail. Allen pretended to listen, but instead was focused on a photo he'd pulled out of the small backpack he'd brought along. He ran a finger down its side and glared at the woman in the photo.

What the hell do you want? My level of patience is at the low end of the scale right now,' said Allen.

'Well,' said Anton, 'I was wondering when you were coming back to D.C. I have a dead body that can't be buried until a final report is issued by the medical examiner, and I need your help on that.'

'Sorry pal, but I'm not completely focused on this issue right now,' said Allen. 'You're gonna have to put those big-boy panties on and pretend you're capable of doing your job alone.'

There was a deep silence, until the loud scream of the airport intercom startled Allen. It was announcing the late arrival of a flight from Tennessee.

'Besides,' said Allen. 'I'm really not the kind of guy who can try explaining why a guy would kill his own brother. Family's important, man. I thought Jordan was a great friend of mine, but then all of this shit went down, and then finding out he had a twin - er, triplet - he'd been drugging... beyond my comprehension.'

DeAngelo had a snide reply, one he hadn't thought about before just yelling it out.

'What would you know about family?' he asked. 'For God's sake, Allen, your dad was a nutjob, and let's not get into siblings and mothers and any of that horse manure. '

Allen closed his eyes tightly and applied pressure to the photo he was holding. He jammed it back inside the backpack and opened his eyes again.

'Fine,' said Allen. 'Here's what I'll offer. Something came up and I need to fly out to Vegas and then on into California. I'm promoting a new general manager at the magazine so I can keep my efforts focused elsewhere, and then I have some personal items to address in California. But while I'm out that way, I'll try to make contact with Brock. He grew up there and I'd bet money he's hiding out in his comfort zone. Shouldn't be too hard to find. Keep me posted, and I'll do the same for you.'

IT WAS SUNDAY, OCT. 4
MY WATCH SHOWED 7:35 P.M.
LOCATION? HOUSTON, TEXAS
MY MOOD: READY

'Have any of you seen Eriq yet?'

Allen visited with NLW staff outside the large venue before Uprising was to begin. He pulled his Oklahoma State University ballcap from his head and pulled his sunglasses off. The small, older-model woman said she hadn't.

'I'm guessing he'll be here shortly, though, Mr. ...'

'Allen,' said Josh. 'Mr. Allen. World champion. Forefather of this company that pays you a salary most CEOs don't make.'

She nodded and grinned as Allen walked on into the arena, but flagged him down.

'I almost forgot, I'm on mail duty tonight. Here's yours, Mr. ...'

Allen paused, giving her a look. She fumbled with the mail.

'Smith,' said Josh. 'It's Mr. Smith.'

'Right, Mr. Smith. Here you are.'

She tiptoed back to her corner desk post and Josh flipped through his usual assortment of letters from fans, enemies and all in between. One name stuck out though. He took a second look, convinced he'd misread. Perhaps it was a coincidence, he thought. With billions of people in the world, it was very likely someone else had the same name as she did.

He couldn't help himself. He ripped the top of the envelope in one swift swoop and dug the crinkled letter from inside. It had been wadded up, perhaps many times before, and Allen knew she'd fought with herself in deciding whether to send it.

'It's been a long time,' it started. And sentence after sentence, Ashley spilled her soul to Allen. She talked of how she'd moved year after year, thinking she would find some inner peace she'd missed out on, but that she'd never succeeded. Allen drifted along her cursive words until he finally found her signature, and a post-script note scribbled at the bottom. It appeared to be in a different ink pen style, perhaps added later.

'P.S. He's doing fine, and asks about you often. But we need to talk about him soon. Please call.'

Those words echoed through Allen's mind as he folded the note and put it back in the envelope. He looked around to see if anyone was watching and giggling as if they'd pulled a good jab on him. There wasn't. He began walking to his locker room when a stagehand approached quickly.

'Mr. Allen, all ready?'

'Ready for what?' Allen asked.

'Uhm, your match, sir. You're up after commercials in four minutes!'

'Match? Oh, right. Yes, just a second. Gotta grab my gear. Is Roxy already out there?'

The man gave him a funny look.

'Uh, Roxy was last show, sir... you have that new guy Vincent tonight, yes?'

IT WAS MONDAY, OCT. 5
MY WATCH SHOWED 8:02 P.M.
LOCATION? LAS VEGAS, NEVADA
MY MOOD: BITTER

Allen walked amid the chaos of activity that was known as the strip in Vegas, and even still, felt all alone. His right hand held tight to the photo in his right pocket, his left hand held his cell phone, with his thumb hovered over the 'send' button. He opted to take one more look at the photo, but as he removed it from his pocket, a passing tourist brushed against him, sending the photo to the pavement. Most didn't even notice it, but instead walked over it as Allen frantically tried to grasp onto it. Finally, an older gentleman bent over and helped Josh secure it.

'Thanks,' Josh acknowledged. 'It's nice to know someone still cares.'

The old man grinned and gave the photo a quick glance-over. He handed it back to Allen.

'Your family?' he asked, quite quietly.

Allen paused and grinned. He felt his eyes get a bit moist. He shrugged, which told the man all he needed to know.

'Good day, sir,' the man said. Allen thanked him again, looked down at his phone and pressed the send button. A few seconds later, Ashley answered.

'Hey.' That's all Allen could manage at that particular moment. 'Uhm, it's, it's me. I got your letter.'

He kept walking through the crowd, pissed at himself for allowing his eyes to shed a few tears. He wiped them away quickly and avoided eye contact with anyone who passed, though they wouldn't have known a thing.

'Please tell me you've had a change of heart, and that you're inviting me to have limited custody or just a weekend or two... '

The muteness hurt. Ashley sighed.

'Josh, can you just meet with me sometime this week? There's a lot to discuss and it's not something to be done over a phone.'

Allen swiped his security card on his large Vegas towers and entered the staff elevator.

'Fine. Would you also tell him I lov- ...'

'Don't... just ... just call me when you're in California.'

Fade.