Post by Smith Jones on Apr 26, 2020 7:58:54 GMT -5
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“I said that dove isn’t white enough!!! Get me another one or you’re fired!!!”
Fade up on a shot of a Mercedes-Benz 540K moving east along Barren Springs Drive in Houston, Texas. This classic roadster is being driven by none other than “Classic” Smith Jones. The roof is down as the wind whips through his dark hair. He is dressed in a gray suit and tie over a white button-down and he does not appear to be in the best of moods. He stops at a red light and fumes as he waits for it to turn green. The documentary crew rolls as always using cars mounted within the vehicle as well as a chase car.
“I’m so damned tired of waiting for people to figure out how life works. I feel like the only chaperone in a world full of mentally stagnant adolescents. What the Hell is wrong with all of you!!!”
The light turns green and Jonesy peels out. He crosses Ella Boulevard and then turns right into a parking lot. The sign reads NATIONAL MUSEUM OF FUNERAL HISTORY. Smith parks the car and starts to head for the door. He stops to have a good long look at that sexy car.
Cut to inside the museum where Jones is speaking with a curator, who is an older gentleman with gray hair wearing a steel blue blazer and glasses with black frames.
“Like I said before, Mister, um…?”
“I’m Smith Jones.”
“Mister Jones. We don’t sell coffins here.”
“I know. I had simply hoped your expertise may still be of use to me in this matter.”
“This coffin is one of a kind. I have no idea where you would get another--”
“This one is perfect for the person I wish to bury.”
The curator becomes even more uncomfortable.
“Erm… perhaps you’d be interested in this section over here on the seventeenth century burial practices of the--”
“Herman! That’s your name? Herman?”
Herman nods.
“I don’t know what I could possibly do to stop myself from all the way murdering Meghan Kelser when APW presents Gods of Wrestling tomorrow night LIVE!! The least I can do is help her friends and family to prepare for her end. I need to buy the coffin, the tombstone, the plot, I have to book the ceremony. Just in case, y’know? I feel like I might go too far this time. It’s this… cage. I think it’s going to eat me alive if I don’t… I dunno, feed it a sacrifice. Throw it a bone. I’m not keeping normal hours these days. I’m up nights. I sleep days. It’s all topsy turvy and I have no idea how I’m going to set it right. You gotta help me, Herman. I’m under a lot of pressure. You have no idea how close I came to making that my new entrance theme. Don’t worry, I picked something else. Watch the PPV to hear it. Herman, this coffin is perfect! This is the one that will quell the deep guilt I already feel for the things I’m going to do to Meghan Kelser inside that enclosed steel cage. What am I supposed to do??!?”
“Do you need me to call someone for you, errrrr...”
“Herman, I’ve come a long way in my personal journey to become the best possible human being that I can be. I try not to hurt people outside the context of a professional wrestling match and I am, for the most part, successful in that regard. But, there is a ferocity within me that I have not the willpower to contain. I take this all so very seriously! I carry myself with dignity and I cherish the silent respect of others. I am an Architect!!! And that really does mean something around here! We are the measure of excellence to which all should be measured and I take great pride in being a part of that. So, despite all of the rumours of cracks in our foundation, everyone can always firmly believe in the fact that when your North American Champion Lex Collins steps into the ring, greatness happens. When your Alpha World Champion Damon Warrens steps through those ropes, he completely dominates. And when Smith Jones walks that aisle… it is absolutely CLASSIC.”
Smith closes his eyes and imagines Meghan Kelser’s future.
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~ ON CAMERA ~
Fade up on a shot of Smith Jones in stark closeup. Soft white light falls over his textured flesh as he furrows his eyebrows and stares off into the distance. Cut to a wider shot and we now see that Smitty is sitting in the nosebleeds inside the Astrodome in Houston, Texas. The camera is behind Jones as he stares across the vast openness of it all. Smith looks up at that iconic circular ceiling inside the massive stadium. He then closes his eyes. Smitty begins to hear echoes of roars of crowds throughout the stadium’s history combining to create a deafening noise the likes of which one could only ever begin to imagine. In his mind’s eye, he begins to see the place filling up with people, filtering in from their various walks of life and leaving the stress of their everyday lives back at home to enter this sanctuary of hope and realized reverie. Smith imagines what it’s going to be like this coming Monday night when every spotlight in the joint floods the ring upon his entrance. He imagines what it will feel like to have all of these chants and cheers swirling around his head when APW Gods of Wrestling finally arrives!
Smith opens his eyes and all of the people vanish in an instant. The same stadium now falls deafeningly silent as he is violently jerked back to reality. In reality, the stadium is empty. The spotlights are off. The ring is just barely set up and sits with loose ropes in the middle of the floor which does not yet have barricades or chairs or any announce tables. As large and glorious as the Astrodome is, when it's just sitting here empty and hollow, it's just a room filled with dust particles and stale oxygen and a whole lot of--
“Nothing.”
The camera starts to slowly move around from its position directly behind Smith towards one side. Slowly.
“Every week, we as wrestlers have taken on the responsibility of creating something from nothing. We step out there onto an empty canvas… I mean how much more cliché an analogy do you need?! This violent art is an obsession to me. All I want to do is step into that ring as often as possible and do great harm to whomever is laden with the misfortune of standing across the boards from me. Then… every now and then, a match comes along where I really and truly despise the person across the boards from me. Those nights I look forward to where I have the privilege of being the one to finally SHUT PEOPLE UP and make it clear to them that I’m far more real than many people would prefer to admit.
Meghan Kelser. You and those damned Cowgirl compadres of yours have been the bane of my existence since the moment you showed up here in APW. And now, I see I’m gonna have to deal with Mad Max over in XHW. Okay. Fine. Stay tuned for more on that front. But, that’s for another time and another place. Gods of Wrestling is upon us. And when the trumpets sound and the skies open up, I want to be in that number when the saints go marching into battle against all that threatens to destroy this world that I love so very, very much. Kelser, you are dangerous, but not for the reasons you may want to think.”
The camera is now parked in perfect profile.
“The biggest thing wrong with you, Meghan Kelser, is the same thing that’s wrong with so many people in this world.
You feel.
You have a heart and you allow it to lead you around in whatever direction that it wants you to go. Your superego defers to your id. Your passion possesses you. So, when you and I step out there on that oh, so treacherous canvas under that oh, so ominous enclosed steel cage, I am going to take full advantage of the fact that you feel. I cannot wait to grind you into that chain link cage wall and turn you into ground beef. I’m going to be right there enjoying every moment of your pain. I’m going to show your hometown crowd what happens when one of their own crosses the line with me and makes me all the way top level livid. They’re going to do a lot of learning. You are going to do a lot of learning. I am going to teach.
I’ve learned in life that the very best way to learn something is to have it cause you enough pain for the lesson to stick. I don’t expect you to learn quickly, Meghan. In fact, I hope you learn real slow. I hope you learn at a snail’s pace so I can take my time and savour your sweet screams. I am starving for the chance to be the one to control what stupid sounds fall out of your putrid maw.”
The camera begins to move in closer beside Jones, still in profile as he speaks on.
“You cost me a win. You made me lose a match that I’m sure I could’ve won if you hadn’t interfered. I had that dumb giant right where I wanted him and EVERYBODY KNOWS IT! I can beat Soul Reaver any day of the week and when it happens, I think I’ll do it on a Monday. Monday is my day. Convince me otherwise, Meghan. Come at me with everything you’ve got! Prove to me that you have every right to run your mouth as much as you want ‘round these parts!
I’m so damned sick of you!!! I wish you would just leave me the Hell alone! I am tired of your immature garbage. GROW UP!!! There really was a time when I thought you were the type of person that I was happy to see around here. Your passion. The way you looked at the world. But, y’know, it was just that thing with new people where you just want to see the best in them. Over the short time I’ve known you, you’ve proven me wrong and then some! You are NOT the Cowgirl I thought you were. You’re a pain in the ass and that very passion I thought would make you a superstar here in APW is going to bury you alive…
...and I am going to help.”
Jones snaps his head towards the camera and locks eyes on the lens.
“Welcome to the first time you ever saw "Classic" Smith Jones send a Cowgirl to the coroner.
One of two things is going to happen here.
One.
I will strike you down at Gods of Wrestling.
Bury you in a shallow grave.
Then, you will go into a downward spiral that may last a few weeks, maybe just a day or two. After I kill your defiant spirit, you will lose your ability to walk around with that overdeveloped sense of confidence anymore. You’ll fade away. You’ll vanish.
Or two.
I will strike you down at Gods of Wrestling.
Bury you in a shallow grave.
Then, you will go into hiding for a brief time to collect your thoughts and learn from your mistakes. After I kill your defiant spirit, you will do whatever you can to regain your confidence and approach this sport from a slightly more elevated perspective. ”
You’ll finally see that “Classic” Smith Jones is not your equal. I am your superior. I’m better than you at the most basic level and at the most advanced echelon and every point in between. I don’t have to walk around begging for the attention of others. I just do what I do and people just WATCH ME. I am the embodiment of how you are supposed to conduct yourself in this world. I am the standard. And you, Meghan Kelser? You are… gone. You’re already gone. I’ve done away with you and your games. We are already starting to forget you; you are already beginning to fade.
The camera zooms in closer and closer to Jones’ face. His icy eyes look into your soul.
“We cannot all be gods of wrestling. Some of us will live forever. Some of us are not so blessed.”
Fade to black.
“Which are you?”
