Post by Smith Jones on Nov 28, 2019 8:41:46 GMT -5
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~ ON CAMERA ~
Fade up on a shot of Smith Jones standing in a very dark hallway. He is dressed in… well, it is very dark in here… um, looks like dark jeans and a gray tee that reads… "hell" on it in white lettering. He is walking through the long hallway that leads to his underground training chamber on the outskirts of Toronto. As he continues down the hall, a bright spotlight comes on, shining at the charcoal gray wall to his right. There, inside a glass case, hangs a title belt that we have never seen before: the HCW United States Championship. The belt is fastened to the wall by a set of snaps that match the size and pattern of the snaps on the belt itself. It hangs behind glass to keep it free of dust.
Jones stares at the faceplate of the first title he ever won on the independents with a wistful gaze. His eyebrows ripple across his pensive visage.
He then walks further down the hall, passing by the HCW World Title as a spotlight shines on it. Spotlights continue to flash on and off as Smith keeps walking. Pro belts now. XHW X-Core. XHW US. The Lord of the Ring rests on a red velvet cushion in a box that is set into the wall. Then, Smith comes to an empty case. He pauses for a moment to think about the legendary witch who burned the belt to ashes before his very eyes. He smiles somewhat fondly at the memory.
Smith then sees the XWA World Television Championship, snapped to the wall like all the others, behind glass. He stops walking and fully points his toes towards the title. His face begins to tremble. A long, low growl emanates from deep within him. He speaks.
“There is no trophy in this hallway from DJS. I never defeated Diamond Jack Sabbath. I never talk about that. I am indeed afraid to talk about that. If you’ve read The Secret, you know how I feel about the Law of Attraction. I’ve learned that it behoves me to focus on the positive things in life. It is important to be grateful for what you have in life. Remember that. That’s a freebie. Use it well. But…
...it is also important, while not wallowing in the sorrows and downfalls in life, to never forget those difficult times. Every important lesson that I have ever learned in life was painful. Pain is a gift if you unwrap it the right way. That's why when people come at me in droves to remind me of the things I've done wrong in the past, I realize that it only stands to illustrate just how far I've had to crawl up out of the pit of dark days behind me and into this white hot spotlight!
And so, with regard to my inability to ever pin Diamond Jack Sabbath in the XWA before he left the business undefeated against me, that stands as my greatest failure ever in my nine years pro. DJS was never, ever my favourite person. We simply could not get along. But, he still had more class in that ring than half the sophomoric pissants who plague the biz these days. He was a respectable player whether you agreed with his methods or not. The art of what we do is dying at the hands of snot-nosed children who weren’t even here when it was being built for them by people like Smith Jones and, dare I say out loud, by people like Diamond Jack.
I never did beat him. I’ve lost a fair amount of sleep to the nightmares that have accompanied that horrific fact. I wanted to defeat him so badly. I have still not fully recovered mentally from that last match we had. I was so sure I’d figured him out. After years of Main Eventing XWA Massacre, of lifting the XWA World Television Championship to nosebleed heights, of being Smith Jones, of bringing my best every damned time…
...of lacing up and showing up for my big, huge, massive wins against guys like TK, guys like Dan Bennett, guys like XWA legend Tempest, guys like XWA Hall of Famer, Rose, guys like that overrated blowhard douchebag Ace Andrews!
So many fantastic, breathtaking… incredible accomplishments, yet… I never did beat Diamond Jack Sabbath. When I was the villain and he was the hero, I never did beat Diamond Jack Sabbath; when I was the hero and he was the villain, I never did beat Diamond Jack Sabbath.
Even though I am surrounded by the trophies of everything else I’ve done right in this crazy game, that dark mark on my record haunts me still. It will haunt me till death.”
Smith catches his own reflection in the glass case. With the sweet silver strap in the background, Jones focuses on his own eyes.
“Wolf. When I look at my own reflection, I see a hero. I have no Earthly idea how it has come to be that so many people choose to adore you over me. I am a paragon of ring prowess. I am family friendly because I'm smart enough to know that creating a household of fans is better than just getting the teenage demographic.
I don't drink on camera. I don't smoke on camera. I don't...”
He cuts himself off mid sentence. His face begins to contort and twist and bubble like a coven's cauldron. His eyes try to pop out of his head, but his musculature flexes and forms to hold them in. Jones growls loud and long before launching into...
“WOLF! You make me lose control of my senses in the worst of ways!!! Do you have any idea how many parents cancelled hospital visits from me because of what you made me say on international television?!?! Do you know how many endorsements dropped off my desk the moment I said the F word on Monday Night Metal?!?!
When I think back on every time I've faced a foe I didn't think I could defeat, I've dug deep within myself and overcome most of them. Except for those very few who've forced me to face the losing side of things every single time we've stepped into the ring. People I have never beaten. People like Diamond Jack. People like Syn. People like Dean Wolf.
Dean Wolf.
I'm tired of the very sound of your name and I truly want you dead. There goes another endorsement. There goes more money out of my pocket just because I HATE you so damned much!!! You've brought every ghost and spectre back from the dead to plague my mind with thoughts of my own inadequacy.”
He can’t stand to look at himself any longer. He walks further down the hall as lights continue to flash on and off. SCW Heritage Championship. EPW World Championship. Scattered along are also all of his “Of The Year” awards from various companies along the way. Jones comes to The World Title belt, snapped to the wall behind a glass case. He reaches into the shadows and pulls out a sledge hammer. The scene goes to slow motion in black and white as he swings hard at the case, shattering the glass. Shards fly in super slo-mo towards the camera and in every direction. Might look cool in 3-D. He drops the sledge hammer and rips the belt off the wall, cradling it in both hands, staring at the faceplate with wonderment and a hint of melancholy. The scene remains black and white, but the speed returns from slow motion to normal speed. The only thing in colour is the gold of The World Title belt. Exasperated by his memories, Smitty speaks with a slight hint of doubt in his voice.
“In every case with each of the small handful of superstars I was never able to beat, I went into every one of those matches BELIEVING that I was going to WIN. I flew to whichever town, I drove to the arena, I laced up my trademark white patent leather boots, I walked that ramp, I wiped my feet on that apron, I locked horns for battle… and it wasn't enough to get the job done.
Heartbreak hurts most when it's a total blindside.”
He thinks back not only over his wrestling career, but his personal life as well. Smith starts walking down the hallway again. There are no more trophy cases; indeed, no more trophies. No more spotlights. The hallway is now dark ahead with a dim light at the end of it. He focuses on that light as he slings the belt over his shoulder and walks on.
“How can I be so sure that this time will be different from before?
I've said so many times that I can see the future. In most cases, no matter how dark the hallway, no matter how grim the circumstances, I can see my path to victory plainly and clearly. This is just one of those times when I'm gonna have to go by feel. Find my footing in the moment. I've been inside steel cages, death cages, I was even in a Ladder Cage Match for the 2015 Lord of the Ring, which I won.
But, never have I ever been locked inside Hell In A Cell with the likes of our Hardcore Champion. I've never been trapped inside with a caged Wolf. This will not be for the faint of heart because only one of us is going to walk out of this one in one piece.
Dean, you call your mighty finisher The Kill. You assume that you will hit that move and your opponent will cease to be. I feel very much the same way about the PoC. Most times, when my knees crush the back of their skull, they stay down. You seem to be a different breed of competitor. You come at me with a fiendish indestructibility that I can no longer abide. This Main Event is the biggest match of the night. The biggest match of the year. The biggest match I've faced my entire career. I am not going to let you walk out of Hell In A Cell with my gold!”
Smith comes to the end of the hallway where there is a large, wooden door with an oversized handle. He reaches out to grab the handle and stops short of opening it.
“Within this chamber… freedom. From your judgments of me. From your unsolicited opinions. From your misunderstanding of my actions. I feel surrounded by your eyes and ears as you all feel the need to choose sides in a battle that will surely end in someone's demise.
If Wolf were to lose, he would go on dominating the hardcore division. If I were to lose, I would surely tumble down the roster to the very depths of obscurity while history tries to erase all of the hard work and sacrifice I've poured into becoming and continuing to be the Alpha Pro Wrestling World Heavyweight Champion!
Dean Wolf. People often feel the need to paint me as the villain. I'm going to take that as carte blanche to do whatever I want to you inside Hell in a Cell come Monday night at Omega. I'm going to unravel a strand of chain link and wrap it around your neck or bury in your eye socket or BOTH. I'm gonna grind your face against the cell walls and feed free hamburgers to the front row. I want to climb up the inside wall of the cell with your lifeless carcass across my shoulders and come crashing down with a Samoan drop on the edge of the ring apron or the ring post or the stairs.
I'm looking to put you completely out of the game, Dean. I want you to be forced into rehab to re-learn how to walk and talk and wipe your own ass and I want you to fail at all three for the rest of your life. It's been a long time since I've truly hated someone. You qualify!”
“Hate is a strong word.”
A muffled voice comes from behind the door. Smith pulls hard and the door swings open. We do not see who is standing there. Only Smith’s face can be seen as his eyes widen and his jaw hangs agape.
“What are you doing in here? CUT THE CAMERAS!!!”
Cut to black.
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~ OFF CAMERA ~
“Hell In A Cell?! What were you thinking???”
“What are you doing inside my training chamber? What are you doing at the house at all?!?”
“Sam let me in.”
“She did not. She knows better. How did you…?”
“I broke in.”
Smith’s eyes go dark with seething rage. Fade to black.
~ TO BE CONTINUED ~
