In the desert there are not many things to occupy your time. Clear sky, bright, beating sun, heat swells and ebbs like waves of the ocean. Sand and dirt flow for miles as far as the eye can see in every direction. Tumbleweeds roll through towns where the people never leave their homes or businesses, providing a ghost town vibe, not unlike those in movies.

Scott Boothe lives in the desert, his life is boring, and his mind is slowly crossing the fine line between genius and insanity He dresses in full professional wrestling garb every day, and he preforms full pay-per-view scale matches; cage, four man, tag-team, chair, ladder, midget and so on. These matches are of main event caliber, Scott is the reigning “Underweight Middle-Incontinental Peoples Champion” for the greater desert area.

Without these daily matches, these daily forays into the world of professional wrestling, Scott “The L-Bolt” Boothe would have little to nothing to do in the desert, where he was born, raised and abandoned by his parents due to two unfortunate and untimely, completely unrelated on the job accidents; first time involving his father, a tire iron and a flat big rig tire on the side of the interstate, they never found his head. Second time involved his mother, bread and a confectioners oven, they only found her dentures in a pile of flour. Both events tragic, both rocking and shaping the beliefs and life of our young protagonist.

Sans parents with a house, land and fortune inherited through his father via his grandfather, Scott decided that the only thing to be done was to start an international wrestling league in which to harness his incredible skills and acrobatic prowess and rise to the status of World Underweight Champion.

Scott has been wrestling professionally since the age of fifteen, now twenty-five and on top of the world. Tonight is Scott’s most important match of all. Tonight’s match is for the World Underweight Champion. If he wins the championship he will become the first wrestler in the history of the Outer Desert Wrestling Federation to hold two championship belts at one time.

The crowd gathers–as they always do–and the lights go up, the sun begins it’s long journey to the other side of the planet, the loud speakers crackle and spark to life with the voice of the ring announcer opening the match, the main event for this evening. “Ladies and Gentlemen, children of all ages…”

Scott is waiting in his locker room, he’s pumped up, he’s dripping a mixture of sweat and body oil, a full color reel of the action to come, every move, every counter move flashes through his head as he listens to his iPod shuffle and the blasting tunes of System of a Down. “…Why’d he leave the keys on the table? ’Cause he wanted to…” Bouncing gently on his toes, shiny and worn the teal boots that come up to his thighs are laced from toe to top and ready to stomp his opponent flat with the thick black soles.

In the ring his opponent awaits. nervously, but with an outward air of complete confidence, he will prevail in tonights match. He does his signature crowd move and the crowd goes wild he does it again on the opposite side of the squared circle, the crowd explodes with applause, with only the slightest hush of boos coming through the louder cheers and raucous excitement that now fills the tiny desert arena in the middle of the tiny desert town, where the only thing to really do is sweat buckets and watch Scott’s wrestling matches.

“…are you ready!?…” continues the ring announcer. The crowd returns their loud responses in the affirmative.

“Are you ready!?”

“Yes!!”

“Let’s get ready to rumble!!”

The crowd goes insane at this point when from the far corner of the arena Scott bursts through the doors leading to the locker rooms, he throws out a series of body flattering poses each punctuated by a giant, deafening burst of pyrotechnics. Each pose, each burst sending the crowd into a frenzy.

Scott’s the face, his opponent the heel. And though the crowd loves to hate his opponent, Scott is whom they’ve all come to see, and their cheers and yells for him outweigh the cheers for his opponent by leaps and bounds. The crowd is absolutely rabid for this match and they can’t wait to see Scott blow The Heel out of the ring with his signature move “The Desert Twister”.

Scott leaps into the ring above the top rope landing perfectly with another sculpting pose and another enormous burst of sparks, his opponent is mocking him to the crowd, and playing the usual heel games to cover his intense fear of the man that just entered to take his glimmering, golden belt away.

“Introducing from…” the announcer is unable to continue as Scott flies past him and lands the first drop kick of the night square in the chest of The Heel, sending him reeling backwards into the ropes in the opposite corner, Scott quickly recovers, pushing into The Heel pressing him against the ropes he unloads with a wild fury of chops across The Heel’s chest each time leaving behind a hand shaped mark, redder than the mark previous.

The announcer scrambles from the ring to safety outside the ring, but just as he makes it back to his announcers table The Heel lands hard on his back a top the announcers table smashing it to splinters, and sending the announcer backwards into the cheering crowd.

Holding his lower back and begging for mercy The Heel circles the outer ring area, searching for a weapon to help him turn the tide, because as he and everyone else there knows, he couldn’t possibly win this match without a steel chair, a trash can or some other illegal tactic.

Scott is in the ring with the ref who is performing the standard countdown that will win the match for Scott if The Heel doesn’t return within 20 seconds… “fifteen, sixteen, seventeen…”

The Heel slides back into the ring, under the bottom rope, on his belly, where Scott grabs a sturdy handful of hair and throws The Heel into the ropes as he’s pulling him up from the gray and worn mat. This maneuver is the standard setup for “The Desert Twister” as the heel bounces off the ropes and comes back to Scott, he grabs him behind the neck and in the crotch lifting and spinning him in a three hundred and sixty degree circle, ending in a back breaking body slam which allows Scott to roll The Heel into a pin, which The Heel is unable to break.

The Referee drops to the mat slapping it with his right hand “One!”, again “Two!” and half way through the third swing the heel kicks out sending both the Referee and Scott flying backwards.

The heel gets control of the match for a while with standard wrestling moves, couple of well timed chops and a drop kick. This epic match of matches continues for the next twenty minutes with control ebbing back and forth until, with a swift chop and a solid head butt Scott sends his opponent dazed and confused into the ropes on the opposite side of the ring, where from The Heel bounces back towards Scott, and with a swiftness and grace that can only be described as catlike he lifts his enemy into an upside down position, spinning around three hundred and sixty degrees making The Heel even dizzier he lands with the force of a cargo train slamming through a check point barrier on top of The Heel slamming his back and head into the mat where completely unconscious The Heel becomes.

Scott stands upright to loud cheers, puts one foot on the chest of the former champion, striking a well known body-building pose. As the Ref’s slaps and count (one, two, three) blend with the cheers and excitement of the audience, Scott is filled with endorphins and excitement himself. The Ref jumps up and awards Scott with his new golden championship belt and his current belt as well, Scott drapes them over his ample shoulders and plays to the crowd until they’re both hoarse from screaming and topping one another.

It’s only back in his locker room when Scott’s secret is revealed and he is seen for truth.

His belts now laying side by side on the bench before him their golden shine merely spray paint, cracked and dull upon the leather weight-lifting belts, the jewels, plastic and scratched glued to the cardboard circle with the words “World Underweight Champion” scrawled across it’s girth in sharpie marker.

His tights and boots, spray-painted work boots and a cotton sheet.

The locker rooms, an old, red barn full of hay stacks.

Scott’s entire match against the bag of long grain, in front of the small herd of cattle and scarecrows, was amazing tonight.

Yet it was only amazing within Scott’s own mind, where his life, he lives.

This weeks Alternate Friday entry, with a story… This weeks topic was “Oblivious”, I think Scott was/is oblivious to the fact that he is not really a wrestler. I hope you enjoyed it.