(YLC - RD 3) - Bray Wyatt's Last Stand


My name is Windham Lawrence Rotunda, and I am 32 years old but I have had many names. The sweat of my palms dripped from my brow due to the lashing of my character being punished deep into my dreaded locks. It is no wonder where I sit down today, being this Jekyll blood-colored jumper host of Firefly Fun House to "The Fiend" monstrosity that is Hyde, that I am in the midst of an identity crisis. Deep down, I feel that I don't have the whole wide world in my hands anymore.

It wasn't easy growing up in the nest of golden eggs that's my family lineage. My Grandfather was Blackjack Mulligan. Distinct and full of identity, he got over during his illustrious career even in losing efforts to Andre The Giant in the historic Madison Square Garden in a squash match. Like me, Grandpa Robert changed, became masked as the "Big Machine, I guess change runs in the family. Despite it being brief, he had the faith and the direction from Mr. McMahon. He was the puppeteer to his string as he fastened that bow without the hassle or the drivel that caused me to feel confused and befuddled today.

I am paid handsomely, so why am I so scribbled in the mind? There is no smile in my mirror, as I know that money can't buy you happiness. I contain a well of ideas, yet they scarcely allow me to seek my reflection. It's intriguing to not merely make comparisons to my flesh from yesterday-year, but also my younger brother. You may know him as Bo Dallas, but to me, he is Taylor Michael Rotunda.

We blazed a trail of victory in our youth, winning the Florida Championship Wrestling tag-team belts together. Taylor was the only one to claim the top Heavyweight crown, on three occasions no less. You think at that trajectory by this point he would reach "Big Dog" or "Kingslayer" levels but that isn't the case my friend. My brother was left out to dry, falling into obscurity by literally being a B-plus player with fellow generational talent Curtis Axel. While I am grateful I get consistent TV time these days, there's no pleasure to witness someone with so much promise and push has been shoved into a black chasm of mediocrity. I know how that feels.

We all need balance in life. So it is important amidst an identity crisis to reflect over my accomplishments to date. I was the top of the tree as your WWE Champion, my fireflies by vanquishing prime-time John Cena as well as The Miz, Baron Corbin, Dean Ambrose, and AJ Styles within the demonic Elimination Chamber. Few reach the top of the mountain. With names such as Bruno Sammartino, Stone Cold Steve Austin, and Hulk Hogan filling me with pride, I hold my baby boy Knash Rotunda in my arms because at the very least I can look at him in the eye and say to him -

I teamed up with the legendary Matt Hardy.

I led my faction named The Wyatt Family.

I was one of the earliest jigsaw puzzles to the NXT we witness today.

I have a lot to be thankful for. Yet, the wick of the candle burned out and it has liquidated me into a puddled mess. The more I dissect my success, the more it smacks me in the face that my crisis has been deep-rooted from the damaged roots of this tree. While I smiled at my accolades, I fell into a pile of rotten muck in the dawning reality of brutal assault of my identity.

The compound torched by Randy Orton was a fitting metaphor of the foundation of my house burned to ashes. Here I was, finally holding this rope of dreams. Disappointing, it blackened to the stuff of nightmares as the gasoline-filled flames choked all my oxygen. After suffering defeat at the hands of The Viper at that godforsaken bout at Wrestlemania 33, I felt like a robot ready scrapped into the heap. Watching a seasoned veteran nearing his curtain call go over, punting the prime soldier ready to go to war for many years into the desolate desert, reeled me into an uncomfortable corner. There was no way out.

Speaking of Wrestlemania, I was soon once again lured into a scene of embarrassment by the old festering guard. I waited in the wings whilst Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson was in the egotistical form of applying a flamethrower to blowtorch his name. I knew what was about to happen benefited nobody except the man of the past. My brothers The Wyatt Family, alongside yours truly, were made a mockery and a joke in this nonsensical segment. Detractors would say that one should be honored to be in the same ring as The Brama Bull. I was not. To see Erik Rowan squashed like a bug in mere seconds gave me no pleasure. To think of it, not only does this identity crisis afflict the eater of worlds, but also Luke Harper and Erik Rowan. Away from the fireflies and shadow scripters, I call them Jonathan Huber and Joseph Rudd.

The cauldron pot, once stirred, can transform the potential to excel. Jonathan could have been as prominent as one individual that was completely lost in the shuffle and discarded out of a pack of cards. The name being Lance Archer. Lance has shone brightly in the land of the rising sun and shares similar physical attributes as Luke Harper. Magnificent and valuable like a million-dollar mansion. My brother Jon, yet, is displayed as a knockoff dilapidated boat. Bitterly disillusioned, his World Wrestling Entertainment became the prison that many of my peers and yours dwell in. Lance, once nurtured, can steam up great recipes and stories for the audience and universe to devour. Jonathan Huber was and still is malnourished.

Lest we forget the misguided Bludgeon Brothers with the loss of their first names to Harper and Rowan. Joseph, like Jonathan Huber, was unlucky with injury. However, he has unfortunately been an afterthought even with the recent Smackdown Tag Title victory with Daniel Bryan. The sheep mask my brother wore during the Wyatt Family could be personified as trying his best to follow the flock. He was never allowed to be the shepherd. It is upsetting to witness that shelf life in wrestlers has resulted in talent festering away. One can argue that if you insert many people in one house, then not all will be fed accordingly. I'm sorry but you shouldn't invite humans into your abode if you cannot satisfy. This results in neglect and death within their coffin.

Before I discuss the present-day within my "Yowee-Wowee" persona, I'd like to reflect on one more individual. My Father Laurence Michael Rotunda, but known to you all as Irwin R. Schyster. 'stories have' in Story-lines and arcs have a beginning, middle, and end. whereby there needs to be a hook and a level of emotional investment from the fans to gain notoriety and frivolous energy of your stock moving forward. Okay, I admit that I may have achieved more in my career in terms of gold, yet, him going from a tax collector to then at Money Inc. shifting to The Million Dollar Corporation is four years of consistency and booking of my Dad. This was a four-year arc of my Father whilst looking back using cobwebbed tapes as I was a cherub back in those days...IRS had a distinctive identity. I stand before you as a 32-year-old man in crisis.

Now all my words may have darted through various paradigms like a rambling rabbit, but I can assure you that is how convoluted my mind is to date. I have been off TV cold-turkey for months on end with a complete reboot. I am still sat down today with this blood-colored jumper of mine wondering if this is my second coming. Over and over I have been let down by the creative process is not allowing my character to breathe, resulting in the story of Bray Wyatt convoluted and having more questions than solutions.

Will I fulfill my full potential?

Will I lead my flock again?

Will I find my identity in the long term?

These are the questions that run constantly in my mind. Soon I will embark on my first match in around a year against Finn Balor and I shake my seat in anxiousness. Winning or losing is not the be-all and end-all in wrestling yet, with talking a tough game and having the whole wide world in my hands, I need to be credible. I need to make sure this all goes swimmingly well. I need to make sure it is all right.

Otherwise, I will lose my identity forever and I will sink so deep I won't be able to come back. This is my last stand

Let me in.



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Writer's Note -

Just want to say thank you to all the mentors that have helped me throughout the process - BEAR, mizfan, RyanLeafPlant, SirSam, Skulduggery as I'm truly grateful. In addition I want to say thanks to PRIME TIME for running this tournament alongside judges Doc, Samuel Plan and Maverick, you all that i've stated have written amazing articles for many years and have inspired me to take the plunge and write wrestling articles. No matter what happens moving forward I am honored to be a part of the LOP Family and I would want to continue improving and doing the best I can to the best of my ability.

Much love x