Post by Smith Jones on Apr 9, 2020 14:33:43 GMT -5
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“Welcome to the first time you ever saw “Classic” Smith Jones dismantle a giant.”
Fade up on a shot of an everything bagel with butter and jam, cut in half, sitting on a plate. Next to the plate rests a mug that bears the logo of PU Coffee Co. The aroma of steaming hot cocoa wafts through the air. Nummy nummers.
“Dismantle a giant? Did you write this?”
“It’s just meant as a guideline… er, a jumping off point. It’s not a script. You were just having trouble getting--”
“You have any idea how long I’ve been at this?”
“I know, Smitty.”
“I am a genius! I have my methods!!!”
“I know, Mister Jones. No offense intended. Did… you have a…? You know what you wanna…? You said something on Twitter about a ‘declarative statement’.”
“Just roll.”
“We have been rolling. Consider us to be always rolling. Take it away.”
Smith Jones is dressed in dark jeans and a gray tee that reads “classic” on the front of it in elegant white lettering. Smith glares off camera at the documentarian for a moment before he looks again at his bagel. He reaches instead for the hot cocoa and slurps a few sips. Satisfied, he puts it back down and watches the steam rise from its surface.
“It’s been less than two weeks since I lost the Alpha World Championship and already I am starting to feel… directionless. Like I’m allowing my career to be dictated by what happens to me. That is about to change.
So... which championship will I be focusing on next?”
Smitty takes his time eating his entire bagel slowly on camera. The documentarian saves us the wait, fast forwarding us through the meal. We return to regular speed just as Jones finishes the last drop of his cocoa. Smith dabs his face with a napkin and looks directly into camera.
“Lex. Look, I love you too, man. We’ve been at this for quite some time and I have all the respect in the world for you. You’re good people! But, the heart wants what it wants. I’ve spent a lot of time daydreaming about what it might be like to be the APW North American Champion. Not just now, but long before you won it. To stand as a positive avatar for a continent that is often loathed worldwide for our overdeveloped sense of entitlement. And how cool would it be for the APW fan base to get the chance to see Smith Jones versus Lex Collins?!! What a classic encounter that would be! Don’t you think?”
“So, you wanna face Lex for the North Ameri--”
“I’m not finished!!! While Lex Collins versus Smith Jones would be unreal, that is not the route I am planning to go.”
Jones leaves a pile of cash on the table and gets up. He walks out into the streets of Parts Unknown.
The sky is dark and hazy with a hint of purple circulating in the atmosphere. The full moon shines down upon this small city on the outskirts of obscurity. There are people walking the streets here and there, but it is not terribly busy out tonight. Smith stops at a red light on the corner of Missing Link Boulevard and Warrior Way. A homeless man approaches Smith and begs for spare change without uttering a word. Jones reaches into his pocket and flips a quarter mill-- excuse me, he flips a single quarter in the air. The homeless man catches it with a scowl and walks away. Smith stares off at the City Hall building and is awestruck by the elegance of its architecture. The signal changes to WALK. He looks both ways and starts to cross the street, still glancing over at the City Hall building as he walks towards it.
“There is something about absolute power. About knowing that everyone is watching my lead, whether they have the brains to follow my lead or not. About knowing that every move I make has an impact on everyone around me. I love having my own gravitational pull. People felt the pull when I successfully rescued The World Title from vacancy against FPV. They felt it when I defended against Spartan. I felt it all the way back when I defeated ZMAC for the pull the first time around. Absolute power. The kind of power that you don’t even have to wield. Whoever carries the Alpha World Championship… is king.
When I think about potentially becoming Tag Team Champion or Junior Heavyweight Champion or, heavens forbid, Hardcore Champion, I don’t get the same adrenaline spike that I do when I think about getting back to the top of the mountain!!
So, Damon...”
Smith comes to a statue of a famous local politician of old that Jones does not recognize. Instead of reading the plaque, he looks up into the eyes of the great former leader.
“I see how much your ego means to you. You need to be known as the almighty king of APW. Fine.”
Smith kneels at the feet of the statue and bows reverently, closing his eyes and breathing very slowly.
“I bow down to you, my king. Reign o’er me however the heck you see fit, o malevolent lord. I’ll be your jester… for now. But, mark my words, Damon Warrens: I am coming for your Alpha World Championship!!! Just... not yet. I hereby relinquish my rematch clause. Do you hear me?!? I do not want an automatic rematch for the APW Championship. If I am to challenge for the title again, it’s not going to be due to some antiquated auto rule. Send me to the bottom of the roster! I’m going to work my way back up. That’s the kind of wrestler I am. That’s the kind of man I am. That’s the kind of champion I’m going to be when I win it for the third time! That being said, I do have a challenge to make for APW’s most prestigious pay-per-view event of the year at the end of the month.”
Lightning crashes and rain explodes from the sinister clouds above. Smith stands and lifts his face to the skies, allowing the cold rain to wash over his skin. The rain gets harder and harder, drenching him from head to toe.
“Meghan Kelser. I want YOU at God of Wrestling. See, Damon was right when he said that I was letting enemies come too close to the front door. I allowed you to be the Special Guest Referee last week on Metal. I allowed you to Blacken me and leave me for dead in the middle of MY ring!!! And even though we laid Max out as revenge, that just is not good enough. And hey, I get that maybe it would be swell for you to poke at Damon Warrens over the next few weeks and try to get a title match out of him, but you know as well as I do that you will never be able to look yourself in the eye if you duck this challenge from ME.
Meg, I am going to put an end to your wacky games at Gods of Wrestling. In fact, I want YOU to choose the match stipulation!! I will say yes to whatever you propose. It will be my pleasure to snuff you out in the method of your choosing. What’ll it be???”
The documentarian risks interrupting Smith Jones a second time.
“Are you really looking past Soul Reaver, Mister Jones? You’ve got a big match this Monday night on Metal. The biggest!”
Smith raises his hand to the sky and the rain stops as quickly as it had started. Soaked, Smith sits on a park bench and watches a worm come popping out of the ground nearby.
“Soul Reaver. Wait. I should be addressing you, Doctor Fischer, shouldn’t I? You have a way of communicating with Reaver that I can’t pretend to understand. You explain it to him. Explain just exactly what I’m going to do to take him down. Tell him that squashing Smith Jones is not going to be as easy as simply reaching for a sledge hammer.”
The wind shifts and Smith gets a whiff of something foul. It smells like rotting bacon and body odour. He immediately looks around, worried that Soul Reaver himself might be here in his hometown tonight. Jones stares at the lens as the camera slowly zooms into his face. He is hyper aware of his surroundings as he speaks.
“Something stinks here in PU, and it surely isn’t me!
Doc. I’m not going to act like I’m not afraid of the threat that your monster of a client poses to my well-being. You talk about the darkness that Reaver has faced in his lifetime. He was made fun of for being such a freak. I understand what that feels like, to perhaps a lesser degree.
I, too, have been ostracized from many a social event or activity due to my awkward approach to human interaction. No, I am not a giant or a gargoyle or an oversized troll like your client, Soul Reaver. But, I can most definitely identify with his feelings of being an outlier, unique to the environment regardless of your location on any map. Even in a place like Parts Unknown, he and I are not your normal individual. We stick out; a pair of sore thumbs in a world of pointing fingers. I get him, Doc. Tell him that I get him. Tell him that you get me! Make it clear to him that I always speak the truth and that what I say is as good as gospel. Tell him that I know what it’s like to experience deep sorrow at the fact that no matter how much he just wants to blend in, he will never be like the rest of them. How unsettling to sit there weeping in a bathroom stall while reading weak puns scrawled on the door. I know what it feels like the moment that sadness turns into rage. To look around in search of someone to blame, someone to target whose annihilation will resolve your inner agony. I know how it feels when something inside of you breaks, forever altering you from that moment on, causing you to seek to do great harm to anyone who gives you a sideways glance. I know that kind of hatred. Hatred of self. Hatred of all others. I know that kind of sadness. That is the story of my life too!”
A single streak of rainwater leaks from each one of Smith’s eyes. Yes, rainwater! He sniffles and sobs for a moment.
“Explain to Reaver that the roster purge you’ve been selling to him is a complete load of horse puckey! Tell him how Smith Jones injured three wrestlers out of this biz within Smith’s first five matches! I comprehend the mentality of thinking everything will be okay if we kill off all the bad guys. I’ve learned that it is far more satisfying to make them suffer than to allow them the freedom of death. Let’s have a tête a tête this Monday Night Metal. Let’s get together and reevaluate how we deal with the darkness within us. Get used to the fact that you, Soul Reaver, are not going to crush my skull like a pig. You are not going to thrash me about and drive me into the mat with your Jackknife Powerbomb. That’s not going to happen. What also isn’t going to happen is me flipping you upside down to drop you with The Classic. Five hundred pounds, eh? Mammoth.
Here’s what’s going to happen when Smith Jones and Soul Reaver step into the ring on Monday. In yet another classic confrontation, I’m going to chop you down to size! I’m going to… Um… Excuse me, ma’am. I’m a little busy here.”
An old woman sits down right next to Smith and immediately hands him a cloth handkerchief.
“Quit yer blubberin’.”
She stares straight ahead as she talks to Jones.
“I seen much bigger challenges in my day than you ever will. You think life’s so rough, superstar? Ya gotta fight someone bigger’n you? Know what I do when somethin’ big comes at me out of nowhere? I stare ‘em right in the eyes and chop ‘em down ta size!”
“Yes, lady. I was just saying--”
“Crying ain’t gettin’ ya nowhere. Toughen up and climb that mountain one step at a time!”
“That’s exactly what I--”
“You are the master of your future, Smith Jones.”
Her face is dead serious as she looks him in the eye.
“You man enough to topple the giant?”
Smith gets up from the bench, leaving the old woman behind. His confidence is rattled, but only lightly. He starts to wander aimlessly through the park.
“The truth is, I have no idea how I’m going to get past you, Soul Reaver. Even if I were to double my body weight this week, you would still outweigh me by over forty pounds!! You tower over me by more than a foot!! And here I thought I was overpowered by Sitch last week. I’m going to have to go as hard as I can and try to hit low and then hit high and then maybe a submission? Can I even get The System on you?? Do I even have a plan??? I have no idea!! I’m going to try everything I can to show you the importance of sharing your suffering with those around you. Hurt has taught me the greatest lessons in life. Hurt is how we as humans best learn. Sad, I know. But, true.
I’m going to find a way to hurt you, Reaver. I want to show you suffering like you’ve never felt before so that you can pass it on to those you face after me. This Monday Night Metal, Soul Reaver, you and I can share just ONE NIGHT of knowing what it’s like to share the ring with someone who understands the intricacies of agony as well as you do. After Metal, we can both ripple out across the locker room and show everyone else how much it hurts to be Soul Reaver and to be “Classic” Smith Jones!”
Fade to black.
“The company of misery is right here.”
