The Book of America 2.3 - Fortunate Son
Aug 2, 2020 22:42:23 GMT -5
Vonn Richter and Andrew Barnes like this
Post by america on Aug 2, 2020 22:42:23 GMT -5
It had been years since America Jackson had been knocked out.
It’s never like you see it in the movies. Not usually. You’re in the moment and then the moment is gone, replaced with several moments later and the disorientation of having nothing in the patchwork of your cognition to connect the two. He stumbled toward his feet, disoriented and swinging at nothing while the referee told him that the fight was over. He watched his opponent’s hands get raised in the air while outside the hum in his ears he could almost hear their name echo over the loudspeaker. He heard it was over and he collapsed back down to the mat. Tired right to the heart of him.
They checked him out in the back. Shone lights in his eyes, tested his cognition, all while he iced down muscles sore from pulling double duty. He knew he had overextended. He told himself that for his ma’s sake he could keep working the farm and keep fighting without letting either one slip. He told her that too, of course, but he wasn’t really sure how much of that was just talking to himself nowadays anyway.
It was over now.
A third straight loss, this one not by decision but a decisive knockout in the middle of the cage. While he may still get fights in smaller promotions, America was done as a serious contender. They’d cut his pay, work out ways to slip his final few fights out under the radar, and he’d be left to his own devices. Without the money, he wouldn’t be able to keep the farm running. Six generations of his mom’s family and he’d be the last to tend the land. He didn’t speak through any of the analysis. Nodded and shook his head as appropriate. He couldn’t say anything. He was too angry.
Angry at his father for what he’d done.
Angry at the business for cutting him loose.
Angry at himself for failing everyone.
He didn’t remember being driven home. Not fully. Just fragments of looking out at the lights and the stars and seeing everything drift by him. Losing a match and losing his life. He never thought when he started down this path that the two would become so closely entwined. He thought that he would find glory that would make his family name one that people would remember. Make some money. Find someone to love, have some kids…he didn’t expect the weight of keeping everything going on his shoulders at so young an age. It was crushing.
He thought about his father. How it crushed him. How he pushed and fought against it until everything outside himself was the enemy. The hurt he caused. The blood on his hands. America knew that he could never forgive his father but as his felt his hands shake and his jaw go tight under the tension of carrying his whole world on his shoulders America thought that maybe now, he understood him a little better.
As he crawled into the darkness of the hotel room, America thought about the old advice about staying awake with a concussion. The medical team had checked for signs of brain bleeding, but he had declined visiting the hospital to confirm. It didn’t matter. He was done. His life was over and everyone in it would soon have to deal with repercussions of his failure. Maybe it was better this way. To die alone and devoid in a hotel room. A final failure. He was so tired. Tired of hurting. Tired of living. Bruised and bloody under a thin sheet on a summer night, he was done.
America Jackson closed his eyes and hoped they’d never open again.
Sometimes opportunity calls at unexpected times.
I’m sure you’re thinking that, Ms. Lacklan. After all, you squeaked out the only win someone’s managed thus far over our boy America Jackson, albeit with the dear departed Jubei taking the fall. And now here you come to the table for the forthcoming contest of champions, just one defense away from getting your shot at the pinnacle.
America would be the first to admit that fall or not, you got him. But you have to understand that much like yourself, he grew up in an environment that coloured his perception of a certain type of person. He thought of you as an affront to his god and in so doing took his eye off the ball regarding you as a competitor.
Rookie mistake.
That said, he’s already setting himself up as one of the best in the world. So good in fact that within a month of his debut in the sport itself, not just APW, he’s gone undefeated in tag team matches and captured one of the greatest achievements this company has to offer and made it his own. The American Title. You have settled as all of you do with mediocrity. A belt of working-class ambition that highlights you as the queen of fools, dragging yourself through the muck and the grime to prove yourself over and over again instead of simply being exceptional.
I know what you’re thinking.
Lightning will strike twice and you’ll beat America again tonight. Maybe you’ll get a win over the world champion to get a leg up in the lead to the big day. This will be a step for you on the long road to greatness and the day where all that hard work pays off is just ahead of you.
But you’re lying to yourself.
You have the misfortune of being paired with Vonn Richter, an irregular partner for you who my employer Zaigon Carter has already overcome. Why not our illustrious Junior Heavyweight Champion in a redux of the Storm’s previous victory over the reigning Junior and Hardcore Champions? Why not your regular tag team partner in a match that could jockey for position against our reigning tag team champions? Why would management put a champion and a nobody against the two best wrestlers in the company when they together sit as an undefeated team?
I almost feel sorry for you Sarah because the fix was always in for you here.
APW will do anything to keep the great from becoming greater.
Since the moment we entered this company, the Storm have been calling for a match against reigning Tag Team Champions the Man Made Gods only to hear SILENCE. A constant cowardice because they know that if the Storm comes for them, we’ll leave the match with every top title in hand. So what do they do? Give us all a match to keep us occupied without a shot. If we beat Sarah Lacklan and Vonn Richter, well…it’s hardly the 5’2 Mafia. And if you can pull off the upset of the century? Well, you may have beat the clear number one contender’s but…not with the team you’ve built your wins with.
The management here wants their false Gods to keep their titles even as they conspire to strip ours away from us. If I lay the challenge for Showdown that the Man Made Gods defend their titles against us and risk their precious main event being down to only four competitors, they would balk at the challenge because the elites here have already decided who their best in the world should be and they will throw anything in our path to take our rightful glory away from us.
You are a great talent, Sarah.
You deserve better than this.
Hell, Vonn Richter deserves better than this.
And the Storm?
They deserve MUCH better than this.
So I’m sorry, but your dreams of success must be put on hold.
Vonn Richter’s dream of redemption has to take a backseat.
The Storm WILL beat your makeshift team and they will do so commandingly.
Because they are THE top champions of APW.
Because they are the rightful tag team champions.
Because they are the BEST wrestlers in this WHOLE COMPANY and they WILL NOT BE DENIED.
So go ahead APW management.
Keep lining up your idols.
WE’LL KEEP KNOCKING THEM DOWN!
ONE BY ONE THE STORM WILL DESTROY EVERYTHING IN ITS PATH!
UNTIL FINALLY WE HOLD EVERY DAMN TITLE WORTH A THING IN THIS PLACE!
UNTIL YOU RECOGNIZE THE GREATNESS THAT STANDS BEFORE YOU!
It doesn’t matter if you’re good.
It doesn’t matter if you’re GREAT.
THE STORM
IS
COMING
AND WE WILL MAKE ALPHA PRO WRESTLING GREAT!
…or we will bring it down around us.
America Jackson woke up.
His head ached. Without grace, he fumbled on the bedstand for some water and ibuprofen. Gulping them down, he felt thankful to his past self for planning ahead before a fight. Seeing the clock sit at noon, he also felt grateful to himself for booking another night in the room. The major concussion symptoms were gone but the pounding in his head reminded him quickly of his failure.
He didn’t know what to do.
Amateur wrestling didn’t pay even remotely close to well. Even at an Olympic level, he’d be striving for glory more than anything. He knew full well that glory didn’t pay the bills. The farm pulled in some money but not enough to keep the lights on forever and the money he had been making as a fighter wasn’t enough to hire regular help after expenses. A factor which had played into his mistakes. With mixed martial arts looking more and more like a washout, he needed a new solution.
He started with breakfast.
By the time the knock on his door hit, America was ravenous. When he opened it, he saw the face of a stranger he would soon be well acquainted with. Zaigon Carter stood in his doorway ahead of the server, wearing a full suit.
“Hello America.” Zaigon said. “My name is Mr. Zaigon Carter. I was hoping to talk to you about an opportunity for the future.”
It’s never like you see it in the movies. Not usually. You’re in the moment and then the moment is gone, replaced with several moments later and the disorientation of having nothing in the patchwork of your cognition to connect the two. He stumbled toward his feet, disoriented and swinging at nothing while the referee told him that the fight was over. He watched his opponent’s hands get raised in the air while outside the hum in his ears he could almost hear their name echo over the loudspeaker. He heard it was over and he collapsed back down to the mat. Tired right to the heart of him.
They checked him out in the back. Shone lights in his eyes, tested his cognition, all while he iced down muscles sore from pulling double duty. He knew he had overextended. He told himself that for his ma’s sake he could keep working the farm and keep fighting without letting either one slip. He told her that too, of course, but he wasn’t really sure how much of that was just talking to himself nowadays anyway.
It was over now.
A third straight loss, this one not by decision but a decisive knockout in the middle of the cage. While he may still get fights in smaller promotions, America was done as a serious contender. They’d cut his pay, work out ways to slip his final few fights out under the radar, and he’d be left to his own devices. Without the money, he wouldn’t be able to keep the farm running. Six generations of his mom’s family and he’d be the last to tend the land. He didn’t speak through any of the analysis. Nodded and shook his head as appropriate. He couldn’t say anything. He was too angry.
Angry at his father for what he’d done.
Angry at the business for cutting him loose.
Angry at himself for failing everyone.
He didn’t remember being driven home. Not fully. Just fragments of looking out at the lights and the stars and seeing everything drift by him. Losing a match and losing his life. He never thought when he started down this path that the two would become so closely entwined. He thought that he would find glory that would make his family name one that people would remember. Make some money. Find someone to love, have some kids…he didn’t expect the weight of keeping everything going on his shoulders at so young an age. It was crushing.
He thought about his father. How it crushed him. How he pushed and fought against it until everything outside himself was the enemy. The hurt he caused. The blood on his hands. America knew that he could never forgive his father but as his felt his hands shake and his jaw go tight under the tension of carrying his whole world on his shoulders America thought that maybe now, he understood him a little better.
As he crawled into the darkness of the hotel room, America thought about the old advice about staying awake with a concussion. The medical team had checked for signs of brain bleeding, but he had declined visiting the hospital to confirm. It didn’t matter. He was done. His life was over and everyone in it would soon have to deal with repercussions of his failure. Maybe it was better this way. To die alone and devoid in a hotel room. A final failure. He was so tired. Tired of hurting. Tired of living. Bruised and bloody under a thin sheet on a summer night, he was done.
America Jackson closed his eyes and hoped they’d never open again.
Sometimes opportunity calls at unexpected times.
I’m sure you’re thinking that, Ms. Lacklan. After all, you squeaked out the only win someone’s managed thus far over our boy America Jackson, albeit with the dear departed Jubei taking the fall. And now here you come to the table for the forthcoming contest of champions, just one defense away from getting your shot at the pinnacle.
America would be the first to admit that fall or not, you got him. But you have to understand that much like yourself, he grew up in an environment that coloured his perception of a certain type of person. He thought of you as an affront to his god and in so doing took his eye off the ball regarding you as a competitor.
Rookie mistake.
That said, he’s already setting himself up as one of the best in the world. So good in fact that within a month of his debut in the sport itself, not just APW, he’s gone undefeated in tag team matches and captured one of the greatest achievements this company has to offer and made it his own. The American Title. You have settled as all of you do with mediocrity. A belt of working-class ambition that highlights you as the queen of fools, dragging yourself through the muck and the grime to prove yourself over and over again instead of simply being exceptional.
I know what you’re thinking.
Lightning will strike twice and you’ll beat America again tonight. Maybe you’ll get a win over the world champion to get a leg up in the lead to the big day. This will be a step for you on the long road to greatness and the day where all that hard work pays off is just ahead of you.
But you’re lying to yourself.
You have the misfortune of being paired with Vonn Richter, an irregular partner for you who my employer Zaigon Carter has already overcome. Why not our illustrious Junior Heavyweight Champion in a redux of the Storm’s previous victory over the reigning Junior and Hardcore Champions? Why not your regular tag team partner in a match that could jockey for position against our reigning tag team champions? Why would management put a champion and a nobody against the two best wrestlers in the company when they together sit as an undefeated team?
I almost feel sorry for you Sarah because the fix was always in for you here.
APW will do anything to keep the great from becoming greater.
Since the moment we entered this company, the Storm have been calling for a match against reigning Tag Team Champions the Man Made Gods only to hear SILENCE. A constant cowardice because they know that if the Storm comes for them, we’ll leave the match with every top title in hand. So what do they do? Give us all a match to keep us occupied without a shot. If we beat Sarah Lacklan and Vonn Richter, well…it’s hardly the 5’2 Mafia. And if you can pull off the upset of the century? Well, you may have beat the clear number one contender’s but…not with the team you’ve built your wins with.
The management here wants their false Gods to keep their titles even as they conspire to strip ours away from us. If I lay the challenge for Showdown that the Man Made Gods defend their titles against us and risk their precious main event being down to only four competitors, they would balk at the challenge because the elites here have already decided who their best in the world should be and they will throw anything in our path to take our rightful glory away from us.
You are a great talent, Sarah.
You deserve better than this.
Hell, Vonn Richter deserves better than this.
And the Storm?
They deserve MUCH better than this.
So I’m sorry, but your dreams of success must be put on hold.
Vonn Richter’s dream of redemption has to take a backseat.
The Storm WILL beat your makeshift team and they will do so commandingly.
Because they are THE top champions of APW.
Because they are the rightful tag team champions.
Because they are the BEST wrestlers in this WHOLE COMPANY and they WILL NOT BE DENIED.
So go ahead APW management.
Keep lining up your idols.
WE’LL KEEP KNOCKING THEM DOWN!
ONE BY ONE THE STORM WILL DESTROY EVERYTHING IN ITS PATH!
UNTIL FINALLY WE HOLD EVERY DAMN TITLE WORTH A THING IN THIS PLACE!
UNTIL YOU RECOGNIZE THE GREATNESS THAT STANDS BEFORE YOU!
It doesn’t matter if you’re good.
It doesn’t matter if you’re GREAT.
THE STORM
IS
COMING
AND WE WILL MAKE ALPHA PRO WRESTLING GREAT!
…or we will bring it down around us.
America Jackson woke up.
His head ached. Without grace, he fumbled on the bedstand for some water and ibuprofen. Gulping them down, he felt thankful to his past self for planning ahead before a fight. Seeing the clock sit at noon, he also felt grateful to himself for booking another night in the room. The major concussion symptoms were gone but the pounding in his head reminded him quickly of his failure.
He didn’t know what to do.
Amateur wrestling didn’t pay even remotely close to well. Even at an Olympic level, he’d be striving for glory more than anything. He knew full well that glory didn’t pay the bills. The farm pulled in some money but not enough to keep the lights on forever and the money he had been making as a fighter wasn’t enough to hire regular help after expenses. A factor which had played into his mistakes. With mixed martial arts looking more and more like a washout, he needed a new solution.
He started with breakfast.
By the time the knock on his door hit, America was ravenous. When he opened it, he saw the face of a stranger he would soon be well acquainted with. Zaigon Carter stood in his doorway ahead of the server, wearing a full suit.
“Hello America.” Zaigon said. “My name is Mr. Zaigon Carter. I was hoping to talk to you about an opportunity for the future.”
