The House Sebastian Built

Part I: Mind

It's a Dreamhouse. A bright technicolor living room, a lasagna-loving child's dream, all decked out in deep scarlets, bright whites, and cheesy yellows.

A plush loveseat sits beside an overstuffed, blood-red sofa. They open eyes where pillows should be. The gaps between the couch and cushion open like a mouth, revealing teeth.

They stare unblinkingly into the void until…MUSIC!

Furniture: Hey, Kids!

The furniture sings a catchy little ditty as Sebanga does a little soft shoe on the coffee table.

Furniture: Who's dreaming his cares away?

Sebanga!

Who's got a smile while he's in a cage??

Sebanga!

He's the greatest,

He's the Goldest,

He's the hostess with the most-est,

It's Sebanga's DREAMHOUUUUUSE!

Sebanga Gold slides in on his knees in full Lasagna glory, his Scotty Pippin jersey and red headband popping even against the saturated colors of the Dreamhouse.

Sebanga: Hi Everybody! It's me, Sebanga Gold, and welcome to my Dreamhouse!

The furniture cheers. Sebanga sits on the couch, smiling warmly at the camera.

Sebanga: We've got a great show for you today. I have very special visitors coming today who will teach us all kinds of lessons. But remember, friends can come into the dreamhouse, but I can never leave!

Furniture: Neeever leave!

He points to the front door, a looming red plastic block that seems too big for its frame and too heavy for its purpose.

Sebanga: There's nothing but pain outside!

Furniture: Everything hurts!

Sebanga: But don't worry 'bout that today! Today is a very special day. It's my Momma's birthday, and I've invited all my friends over to help me bake her a cake. Now I know Momma Sanga doesn't come 'round a ton-

Sebanga's smile fades. He goes still and breathes heavily for about a minute before the smile returns. He continues as if nothing happened.

Sebanga: -But I betcha if we're reaaal good, she'll stop by, because mothers want their sons, right, kids!?

The sound of dogs barking.

Sebanga: The doorbell! Someone's at the door. You know what that means!

He jumps up and starts clapping his hands and singing.

Everyone: There's someone at the door!

There's someone at the door!

Might be a stranger?

But there's no danger!

Unless you go outside!

DON'T.

The giant sofa sings the final note as a low and solemn warning. Sebanga waves his hand in welcome.

Sebanga: Come in, friend!

Whoever's on the other side of the door kicks it open, revealing a…a bull. Except this bull has a cowboy hat atop its horns, spurs on each hoof, and is smoking a cigar.

Sebanga: Oh wow! It's Legen-Dairy Bull Williams!

Furniture: YAAAAAAAAY!

Bull Williams exhales cigar smoke through his nostrils and clops inside.

Sebanga: Good morning, Mr. Bull. What did you bring for us to play with?

Bull Williams starts dry heaving like he's about to hawk up a loogie. Instead, he spits out an old-fashioned lantern, already lit. The flame dances in Bull Williams' hungry eyes.

Sebanga's cheery demeanor cracks. Distress flashes across his face - visible sweat gathers on his brow.

Sebanga: Oh…uh. Okay. Um. KIDS, today we're gonna learn about FIRE SAFETY.

Bull nudges the open flame towards Sebanga, who takes a BIG STEP away.

Sebanga (sweating profusely): It's uh important to keep away from open flames, friends.

Bull Williams, with a growing aura of menace, hooves the flame ever closer.

Bull Williams (menacingly): Moo.

Sebanga sticks himself in a corner as far away as possible.

Sebanga (to Bull): Please….no…not agai-

Suddenly, there's a tap at the window that jolts Sebanga out of his panic.

Sebanga: Oh, thank Fred. There's someone at the window!

The furniture comes to life again.

Furniture: There's a tap-tap-tapping at the window!

Who's a tap-tap-tapping at the window?

Is it a friend or a Mormon, or your mom, who knows??

It ain't your dad!

Because he's dead!

So let's see who's tapping at the wiiinndoooow!

He runs over to the window above the kitchen sink and throws open the flowery curtains with a dramatic flourish to reveal a giant pixelated mass of brown, green, and yellow. It's probably a pineapple of some sort, but it's tough to tell with all this censorship.

Sebanga: Look, friends! It's Pineapple Prick!

Furniture: It's Pineapple Prick!

Piiiiineapple Prick!

The most tropical [bleep]

You ever did see!

What does he want?

What does he need?

That loveable squirt

He would never hurt meeee!

Sebanga leans against the windowsill and offers Prick a sympathetic smile.

Sebanga: You're looking down, bud. What's got you so sad?

Pineapple Prick: gurgle gurgle

Everyone in the house Awwwws in sympathy.

Sebanga: That's so sad! See, everyone, Pinapple Prick hasn't had Kup O' Kai to squirt in for a looong time. So he's full up of pineapple juice, and it hurts!

Pineapple Prick: gurgle gurgle!

Sebanga sits on the kitchen counter and nods wisely at the "camera."

Sebanga: You know, I like to do when I'm about to blow?

Pineapple Prick: Gurgle gurgle?

Sebanga: No, Pineapple Prick! Driving recklessly is never the answer, no matter how much fun it is.

The pixelated blob droops.

Sebanga: We make a cake!

Furniture: Hooray!

Bake Bake bake!

Bake your anger into a cake.

Careful not to burn your face

As you bake the pain away!

During the song, Sebastian whips up a sickly purple dough and pours it into a cake pan. He places it in what appears to be an industrial Easy-Bake oven. The oven light clicks on (that means it's working!).

Sebanga: Now all we have to do is wait.

Sebanga smiles. Everything is still. No music or guests. There shouldn't be the sound of the wind, but there is.

Then Sebanga's mouth starts talking, independent from his still body.

Sebanga: You know, PP, I've been dealing with some hard feelings too. Last night, I had a nightmare that I was locked in a dog cage, in a kennel.

He forces out a laugh that might've been a scream if it stayed inside too long.

Sebanga: Everything smelled like shit. I couldn't tell if it was the dogs' or my own. And I was sooo hungry, so I reached for cake, and all I found was kibble.

DING! Cake's ready. Sebanga snaps out of his trance.

Sebanga: Cake's ready!

Sebanga opens the oven and takes out a perfectly baked cake.

Sebanga: Can you imagine? This cake was actually dog food! In what reality??

He and the furniture laugh and laugh and laugh and laugh until tears stream down Sebanga's face.

Sebanga: What crazy thing will I think of next-

BOOOM. A widescreen television falls from the sky and lands comfortably in front of the couch.

Sebanga: What… what's that?

The TV is black, sleek, and functional. No eyes or mouth. It is not of this world.

It clicks on by itself, and Sebanga jumps. He watches what unfolds on the TV with the wonder of a child seeing a moonsault for the first time.

Vince Howard (on TV): "He is merely a physical expression of Fred Dick's absolute will! SEBAGNAAAAAAAA… GOOOOOLLLLDDDD!!!"

Sebanga: Who the [bleep] is that on the screen?

Furniture: You.

Sebanga: Uh…no…I'm here...and my name is...is…

The bell rings. Anna hits a drop toe hold that sends Bash into the turnbuckle.

Sebanga: Ow!

Sebanga clutches his nose in pain.

Sebanga: Why does it hurt…why does it…

Anna slaps the shit out of Bash on TV, and Sebanga goes unconscious.

On the widescreen, we see Sebastian "wake up" during his match with Anna Daniels. There's no time to question reality. Reflex kicks into gear. He's a wrestler and he's gonna wrestle. He takes in the crowd's cheers and clocks Anna in the jaw. He climbs the ropes like he's ascending to heaven. GOLDENSTEINER. The crowd cheers! Could this be real?? Am I winning a wrestling match?? Am I Sebas-

Jing-a-ling, jing-a-ling. 

All it takes is a few jingles of Fred's little dog bell, and Sebastian fades from the match.

Sebanga springs back to life in the playhouse. He gets up clutching his back…which Anna Daniels is about to curb stomp in reality. Just as her foot comes down with a crack onto Sebastian's back...

CRASH!!!

A giant pineapple truck with pineapple nuts hanging off the front crashes into the house, hitting Sebastian's back and pinning him between the car and the floor.

Sebanga (in great pain) : Wow…that hurts….see kids…this is what…unsafe driving…can you spell…Vehicular Manslaughter?

He crawls from under the wreck of the Pineapple truck and collapses in front of Bull Williams.

Sebanga: Why does it hurt so much??

Bull Williams drags over the lit lantern with his hoof.

Sebanga: No…please…

With total joy, Bull kicks over the lantern onto Sebanga's back just as Anna Daniels hits her finisher on Sebastian Gold. She goes for the pin, and the TV goes black.

Meanwhile, Sebanga is on fire. He screams in pure agony and flails like…well, like a man on fire. The furniture provides background music.

Furniture: You deserve this!

Sebanga: AHHHHHH!

Furniture: You deserve this, you little bitch!

Sebanga: MAKE IT STOP!

He runs to the faucet, but no water comes out.

Furniture: The truth is, he could make it stop

Whenever he wants to

But he's just too weak!

So, there's no escape!

On fire, Sebanga runs to the giant front door and tries to pull it open.

Sebanga: GET ME OUT! LET ME OUT!!

The door flies open. A shining light blinds Sebanga and the furniture. A hand extends from the light.

???: It's okay. Calm yourself. Come outside.

Sebanga: But I'm on fire!

???: No, you're not.

Sebanga: What?

Sebanga looks down at his burning hands. They're still pretty intact, considering they are on fire.

Sebanga: …No...I’m not.

The fire fades away. Sebanga hesitates, then walks towards the light.

The dreamhouse melts away.

Everything melts away.

Sebanga floats in a void of tiny golden light, each with its own voice. They whisper around him, unintelligibly, almost threateningly, but then they speak in one, nearly unified voice.

???: He has broken free.

Sebanga: Who are you?

The balls of light swirl around Sebanga and coalesce into a Face that looks much like his own but dwarfs him in its enormity.

???: We are Bayani Sebastian's consciousness. Shattered. At the will of another.

Sebanga: But…the dreamhouse… It's not real?

???: To you, to us, it is as real as anything else. It was where we locked away our pain and tried to make it funny. Rob burning you at Colossus. Dawkins and his car crash. Your father's death. Your mother's rejec-

Sebanga: Stop!

The dreamhouse appears behind him in a violent whirl. Sebanga turns and gasps. For he sees, for the first time from outside, his dream house was the biggest Fred Dick he's ever seen.

A door swings open in the giant Dick's red jerseyed chest. The furniture crowds around the open door and tries to sing Sebanga home:

Furniture: Come home, Sebanga….Come hooome.

Sebanga squirms.

???: I know it hurts. But locking away the pain just locks you inside with it. No matter how much you try to make it sing.

Sebanga looks back at the dreamhouse filled with his brightly colored traumas.

He hesitates and considers giving in. Living in the pain so as never to confront it. The feeling is so warm, so appealing.

???: What are you afraid of?

Sebanga: I've been a thrall. Who...who will want to know me, when they know how weak I am?

???: Weak? You think Fred would have done this to us if he thought we were weak. Nah. he gave us his space, his time, his drugs, sooo many drugs. The fear you feel right now is nothing compared to what he lives with every day. It must be a miserable existence. Now, will you run and hide like Fred? Or rise to your destiny like Jackie Chan.

It's true, Sebanga thinks. Giving up is not what Jackie Chan would do.

More importantly, it's not what Sebastian Gold would do.

Sebanga leaps at the Fred Dick dreamhouse and, with one perfectly placed punch, he makes a single crack that shatters the whole of it like a porcelain doll.

All the demons of Sebastian come out to play, their claws showing. In front of him, unembellished, stand Rob Williams and Bryan Dawkins; they both crack their fists and advance on Sebanga, who looks at them calmly.

Sebanga: Bring it.

"Bash!" A voice yells from somewhere else.

Immediately, Sebanga's entire body erupts in fire. He screams but doesn't put it out.

"Remember, Bash!" the voice screams again. It's familiar, but there's too much going on to place it.

Sebanga: I…I… I'm strong enough.

The lights of an oncoming vehicle glare in his eyes.

Sebanga: I'm stronger than you.

The lights of the oncoming vehicle get brighter.

Sebanga: I SAID BRING I-.

The car hits him head-on. Sebanga disintegrates, pixel by pixel, until he is golden dust, drifting upward, joining with the rest of his consciousness.

He rises towards the sound of the voices, the sound of Jackie Chan in Police Story, the sound of Vin Diesel telling Paul Walker they'll always be family, the sound of me, the sound of:

"We're you're family!"

A flash of a photograph. A reflection in a mirror.

All the lights of Sebastian's consciousness expand to form a face, then hands, legs, torso. In a spark of electricity, the parts become one, once again.

Part II: Body

"BASH!" Someone was shouting.

My eyes opened in a concrete hallway, backstage at an arena. TAL and Crash were above me. Did I make it? Am I in reali-

Then I looked past maybe-real TAL and maybe-real Crash and saw that the walls had eyes.

Nope. Not real. Still dreaming.

They opened their mouths to sing at me. I ran.

My mind may have been free, but my body was still absolutely loaded with Fred's drugs. I bounced between realities, some where the furniture didn't sing, some where I was a knight fighting a great dragon that turned out to be a traffic light. Sometimes, a soldier mowing down the bad guys with just his bare fists. Thankfully, the bad guys were just trees.

At some point, I must've collapsed. Miguel probably found me and dragged me to the arena.

It was all darkness.

Until there was nothing but light.

When I woke up, I was outside the ring. Fred Dick had just beaten Ivan Stanislav.

People were booing Sebastian Gold. This can't be real, I told myself. How could it be?

Not many people can say they've made their dreams into reality; fewer can say they've made their reality into dreams. I'm special like that.

Only I can say that I beat Fred Dick's face to a bloody pulp while thinking it was the greatest dream of my life.

Would I have done it if I knew I was awake? No.

Do I regret that it happened? Never.

Cuz Fred, you know, what happened when your bones started to break? You know what beauty you brought upon yourself?

Your drugs made my tire iron sprout a mouth and eyes.

And with every hit, it sang:

Tire Iron: Hey Fred! Got your nose!

Crack-Crack! There it goes!

Hey Fred! You like to chew?

Sorry, buddy, teeth ain't for you!

Hey Fred! Clap along with me!

Enjoy the last moments you may ever see!

You were a nasty fuck!

A hateful cuck!

And nobody will miss you!

And nobody will miss you!

Everybody sing it!

And Noooo-bo-dyyyy will misss yyoooooouuuuuuuu!!!!!

…Da-dum.

For some reason, TAL and Crash don't want to get ice cream afterwards.

They shove me in a taxi and drag me through a hotel lobby populated by singing flowers. I don't understand why TAL wouldn't let me sing with them.

We get to the room, and I make myself comfortable. There are a few 'whoah's behind me, as I guess I don't usually take off all my clothes when I enter a room, but this is my dream domain. I'm in control.

Dio comes rushing out of another room.

"Oh, thank God you got him-whoah. Okay. You want a robe, Bash?"

"No, I prefer to fly naturally," I say, speaking like some detached god of greater knowledge.

"Fly?"

"Yes," I say. I head to the balcony door and fling it open. Flying is my favorite thing to do in dreams. Well, second favorite it turns out.

Everyone yells some version of "NOPE!" and tackles me to the ground. Dio's knee accidentally surges into my chest as we struggle.

And it hurts like hell.

Oh shit. I think. I notice there is no more singing in the air. Nothing is sprouting eyeballs anymore. I am not a knight. I am not a soldier. I am a cold, shamed man lying naked on the floor.

I stop struggling, and my bros back off.

"Tom…is this all real?"

"It is, buddy," Tom says.

"But…my dick is out."

"Yes. Yes, it is." He says. "If you could just-"

"And I-I actually did that to Fred. In front of the world?"

TAL nods again.

"Was my dick out then??"

"No, thankfully not." He says.

Crash runs over with a robe, and I wrap myself tight and collapse onto a couch I'm pretty sure is real.

I have a panic attack.

Then another.

They help me through it.

When TAL comes over with another water, I grab him and hug him like a father. The tears let loose before I can rein them in. Soon, I'm sobbing, shaking, face tired from the sadness, but not empty of it yet.

“He…he…” I mumble.

"Shhh. It's okay. Just be here, Bash. That's all you gotta do right now."

TAL puts his arms around me, and there I stay till the tears stop falling.

Crash hands me water, and I tell him I love him. He pats me on the back and repeats the same.

That was two weeks ago.

Your drugs are out of my system now, Freddy.

I've reclaimed my mind.

Reclaimed my body.

Only one thing left.

Part III: Spirit

I love making people happy, no matter how much it hurts. Plenty of trainers have said I care too much about playing to the crowd, but I think most wrestlers don't care enough. Wrestling makes beauty from the ugliest thing there is: pain. It's our job to make our pain into a show. And I got so good at it, it's all I know how to do.

All my baggage, every terrible thing that's been done to me...I made it stupid so it wouldn't scare me. I made it funny to seem clever. But all I was doing was setting broken bone with ribbon.

All I was doing was making myself vulnerable to demons like you.

Why, Fred? This could have just been about a belt. It could have just been a normal match between you and me. But no. You had to put me in a cage. You had to treat me like a dog. Eat kibble. Lie in dirt, I had to dream was plush.

At Revival, I will take you apart in ways you will not recover from. But not for revenge, that I did in my sleep.

No, I need to make you feel the hurt, the desperation, the all-consuming panic that comes from being caged. And when I am done, I will take your belt, that Intense title, worth so much to you, that you robbed a man… me of my body and mind.

I will make you feel how I felt. Trapped. Alone. Hopeless. I will take your peace, your safety, everything. Maybe then… you'll contend with the-the way you broke me…

I can admit that now.

You broke me, Fred Dick.

You, who took me away.

You, who injected drugs into an addict who was fucking clean! THREE YEARS, FRED. DOWN THE FUCKING DRAIN.

And the kicker? You still have a piece of me.

Something is gone. I don't see the world the way I used to. I fear every corner, every blind spot, every footstep behind me. A world I once filled with color and light is nothing but gray and shadow. I barely know I am now. I look in the mirror, and the old Sebastian isn't there anymore.

I know that time and help will get me close to where I was. But I will not be the same.

I know Crash and TAL sense it too, that I am different.

I just…pray they'll still accept…when they figure out the Sebastian Gold they love is dead.

He's been replaced by me, brand-new Sebastian, now with a thousand-yard stare and a hand that twitches for no fucking reason.

Crash sees it most in my smile.

There's something missing there. Something that was taken from me. Something you stole.

I practice it in the mirror every morning, and he's right.

I haven't been able to smile the way I used to.

But maybe, just maybe, when I stand over your defeated corpse with my Intense Title,

I'll get damn close.