John J. Jameson Jr. or better known as 4xJ became the newest UFC sensation after a first round T.K.O less than 2 minutes in. His debut match against David D. Doolittle shocked the thousands of spectators into dumbfoundness. Reason being was because of such a simple and clear and absolutely basic left-handed jab that rocked the world into applause. The first minute was like most standard matches, opponents testing the waters with lefts and rights, couple dodges and weaves.
Things were going well for John, his opponent was a bit taller than him by an inch or two with a couple pounds over him as well, but JJ had him beat in speed, agility and reach. John was smart, he knew his stamina wasn't even close to upto standards when it came to the big leagues so, he needed this over in the first 5 minutes. taking a risk, he went in deep and low trying for left hand uppercut...and that was it.
Leaned to far in and got laid flat on his face taking a major concussion with a possibility that turns into a Concurrent Mild Traumatic Brain Injury, otherwise known as mTBI. That possibility soon turned into the dark reality for John Jameson. His doctor stated he had at most 8 years till his head explodes from the pressure of the brain swelling to the skulls absolute maximum capacity. The news went wild on this case. Doctors seeking to spread their names' came and went, none able to give a possible solution except esoteric practices like drilling holes in the skull to relieve pressure.
John, all too used to sudden bouts of extreme bad luck. Didn't take it to heart. 8 years is a lot more than some unfortunate few could wish for. JJ knowing drowning in his sorrows were the weak man's escape, decided to live with purpose and commitment, not shallowness and poor impulse control.
Unfortunately or Fortunately, one day when the searing headaches were getting too much he went down to Bourbon street for a couple drinks. Little beer here, a couple of scores of shots there, he was flat out drunk and a tad bit woozy.
John, not being half bad in the looks department got himself a chick to take him home...her home...she took him to her home. Yep, dude got dragged by the balls to heaven on earth by a little southern Belle named Moxie M. Murkens. Soon to be Moxie M.J Murkens.
Moxie being a 4 ft 9 petite Strawberry blonde and John being 6 ft 6 giant of a man with dark chestnut hair made quite the juxtaposition. It was always funny watching Moxie seeth and sow and their house after John dropped another plate with his clumsy hands.
John refused to let Moxie do any house work for the simple reason he felt an obligation to help anyway shape and form. John was disable, unable to get hired, lacking any business senses to help Moxie run the family estate.
He was a man with a sense of responsibility and baking skills. He did the dishes, laundry, cleaning, gardening, repair work, and ultimately any and all edible cooking. Moxie took over her family estate after her father died in surgery for a brain tumor. Mother died soon after from natural causes, otherwise known as heartbreak.
Life goes on and a year after their fling they marry. John moves into Moxie's Miltenberger townhouse. A group of beautiful houses that their family owned right down the corner of Bourbon street, that shimmered light lightning bugs. Overhanging gardens surrounding the first, second and third floors.
If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.
Again time Flies by, John turning 21 with Moxie falling behind at 20. John starts working out again to stay in shape. He can't do suicide runs anymore with his head as is, in addition to a certain little vixen that'd be breathing down his neck if tried. Moxie saved up enough money to buy a historically haunted house called Lalaurie Mansion, Turning the upstairs into rentals and downstairs into a cafe.
John's head being such a buzzkill as it is, decided to kick it up a notch. In retaliation John begins taking a couple hours each day to meditate and clear his mind of excess thought. Failing miserably like usual while also stumbling onto fortunes lap, he finds that the single thought that prevents him from completely clearing his head, helps calm the spikes of pain and simply turns them into gentle waves of aches.
He meditates on inalienable rights. More specifically the simple truth that most people just want to be left alone in their stable world of bliss. He wishes to live the remainder of his days with his wife with little to no worries. Some wish to be left alone in their bubble of isolation. Others wish to intrude on people, but in the end in a stable and comfortable way. others do not care about stability yet, and are angry when their little slice of heaven on earth is disturbed by those who wish to protect the stability of others.
Yet again, time continues to walk and yet again the world continues to turn. John, as the years go by, continues with his simple routine of housework, loving his wife, keep in good shape, and meditating on random, yet irrelevant ways of life. 8 and a half years. That's how long passed since his tragic accident. A year and a half more then some of the best doctors predicted he'd survive. Was he's head killing him? Figuratively and literally, yes.
He had been suffering greater and great waves of pressure as time passed. The meditation soothed the waves too gentle ripples at first, couldn't hold back the tsunami that was coming. He would've drowned in a months time, if not for the news his wife was pregnant.
A week after his wife's 29th birthday the announcement came. Six month after John's second predicted death date, he was comatose. The eve of his 31st birthday, six months into his wife's pregnancy.
Moxie gave birth 3 months later, to a little girl.
Once she and the baby were stable they went to visit her husband, still in bed deep under his sea of consciousness. She sat down and showed her, their little ladybug to him. She told a story of how strong she was, how deep her lungs must be scream so strong when she was born. Satisfied, she left promising to come back tomorrow, out the door, one final time.
The sirens of death blared their cold continues buzz. The buzz of someone flatlining. Intercoms turned full blast, "CODE BLUE, I REPEAT CODE BLUE!" The nurses being closest came first, defibrillator in hand the hand of one male nurse. Next come the doctors, first one, couple moments later, four.
A Minute turned to five, then to 8. the doctors flowing out first to go to more patients. Out come the nurses one by one with their heads down. Finally the male nurse who had tried his damnedest to save a soul came out. He walked to a crying woman who realized the what has happened. "Your husband has passed away, take your time. We will need you to fillout some papers. Your husband was a man of pure perseverance. may he rest in peace."
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Where da hell am I?" 'waking up in a weird room was definitely not on my bucket list, waking up without a headache was definitely number 22 on it tho.'
Before he went on a tangent about why number 22 was definitely a very significant number, he noticed a Notebook. Deciding staying focused was a priority, he proceeds to not stay focused and began exploring the room, and first up is that table.
The table made of some kind of mahogany or something or similar style had on it a simple cup of multicolored dice, a book that resembles a dnd 1e handbook, pencil and notebook. 'eh, what's the was that could happen? might as well figure this shizzle out.'
Looking though the handbook he found a set of rules to create a character.(1) Decided to try it himself he rolled a good 5 times....but as expected it was less then fortunate.
**********************************************************
(1.) (GnomeBob wrote a whole chapter for these rules, if you wish for the intricacies go to chapter 1 of The Reincarnators' Tavern)
Note from me: this is hopefully a fully dedicated story. writing ain't my forte but I'ma give it one hell of a shot.