Post by Smith Jones on Jul 18, 2019 20:47:11 GMT -5
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~OFF CAMERA~
We see the reflection of a hazy blue moon rippling in a puddle late at night in the middle of a drizzly night. Cold rain lightly tickles the surface of the Earth. With a flash of lightning and a loud clap of thunder, the intensity of the rain increases a hundred fold. Thunder rolls across the sky as rain pelts the pavement. Car tires splash the puddle and speed off into the night as we struggle to keep up. The vehicle is a white Dodge Charger with a silver stripe down the middle of it. The car speeds through the rainy streets with little regard for the road conditions. The engine revs loudly. As we move in closer, we can hear the bassline of Eminem’s ‘The Way I Am’ getting louder and louder until we can clearly hear Marshall’s voice spittin’ sick lyrics like normal. Through rain-soaked, heavily tinted windows, we can see Smith Jones rapping along with the track.
SMITH JONES: “...Dispensing these sentences, getting this stress that’s been eatin’ me recently offa this chest so I rest again, peacefully...!”
The more Smith gets into the music, the heavier his right foot gets. The gauge creeps up higher and higher and the engine growls. The tires start to slip on the slick asphalt just a little bit as Jones tests the limits of safety. Suddenly up ahead, he sees flashing lights. Orange flashing lights. A pair. Hazards. Smitty waits and then stops at the last second, screeching to a halt slightly askew right next to a blue Pontiac Sunfire. The lone occupant of the Sunfire has stepped out into the rain to investigate a flat tire. A mid-thirties male with thinning brown hair dressed in beige pants and a brown sweater. His shoulders remain shrugged in the chill of the rain. He squints over at the Charger. Jones revs the engine a couple of times. The man waits with cartoon question marks over his head and leans in closer, squinting harder. The man then turns back towards his car. Just then, Jones opens the driver’s side door and looks over the roof of the car, completely unaffected by the rain. His icy stare is more chilly than the weather.
SMITH JONES: “Rough night?”
Smith flashes back in his mind to much darker days. He briefly shuts his eyes and opens them again. More of a slow blink than anything. A moment to banish old thoughts. A smile awkwardly slithers onto Smith’s face.
SMITH JONES: “Need a hand?”
The man pauses for a micro second. He shakes his head.
MAN IN NEED: “I couldn’t ask you to--”
SMITH JONES: “I’m right here. S'that your tire iron?”
Jones begins to slowly step towards the rear driver’s side tire where rests a crowbar on the ground, lightly pinging under the raindrops. Smith takes a deep breath.
MAN IN NEED: “Flat. I musta run over a… I dunno, tree branch or… d’ya ever hear about people propping up nails in an empty coffee cup?”
The man looks down the road in the direction that they both came from, squinting again with a hint of a shiver. Jones steps up directly in front of the man in need, startling him. The man leans slightly away as Jones leans slightly forward, tire iron in hand.
SMITH JONES: “I...”
Smitty laughs to himself for a moment. A hearty chuckle. He then loses all signs of levity and leans in ever closer to the man.
SMITH JONES: “...could leave you out here in this freezing cold rain and there might be no one along for hours compassionate enough to stop and help you out. There would be no one to hear you scream for miles and miles. Rough night to be caught out here all by yourself, wouldn’t you say?”
The man is creeped out and at a loss for words. He slowly backs away, now noticing Smith’s tight grip on the tire iron. Jones’ icy blue eyes remain locked on the fearful eyes of the man in need. They take each other in.
MAN IN NEED: “Rough night. Yeah.”
Smitty’s smile abruptly returns.
SMITH JONES: “Let’s have a look!”
Smith kneels right now on the wet pavement and gets to work with the tire iron. He has a little trouble. The man stands over him and tries in vain to shield Smith Jones from the rain.
MAN IN NEED: “Much luck?”
SMITH JONES: “Aaaarrrghhhhh!”
Smith stands up, scratching his head with the tire iron.
SMITH JONES: “You should get down here and have a look at this.”
The man freezes in his tracks and looks at Jones with confusion. Should he really bend down in front of this kind stranger? Or should he try to drop Smith Jones right now where he stands?
SMITH JONES: “I mean, I could just--”
MAN IN NEED: “Sure… Yeah, I’ll have a look. Is there some sort of damage?”
Smith takes a deep breath and stretches his arms up in the air, crowbar in hand. He quickly lowers his arms as we cut to black.
~~~
~ON CAMERA~
Fade up on a shot of Smith Jones wearing a white tie under a white suit with white shoes, standing in front of a white background, bathed in bright, white light. The image is essentially monochromatic save for that signature scowl anchored by those icy blue eyes, peering into the private depths of you. He steps right up close to the camera and stares blankly.
SMITH JONES: “Worthy. That MUST be your real name because NO ONE would buy that as a gimmick name. Must be a random accident that you fell out of the womb and into a noble sounding name like Worthy. Frankly, you’re still too moist with amniotic fluid to have the wherewithal realize the gift you’ve been given in a world like this one. So, it saddens me, nay, it enrages me to my very core that you haven’t made good on your noble name while I... I had to struggle and scratch and claw my way to making my common two last names mean as much as possible. I will never be Worthy! I’m still just plain old Smith Jones and I'm warning you, Bryan, and everyone else in this crazy match to back… off.”
Jones steps back from the camera and applies a pair of goggles.
SMITH JONES: “Just because you and I won our tag team match last Metal doesn’t make you worthy of anything in my eyes, Bry Bry. You saw how well things went when you finally got out of my way and allowed me to do what I do best. Point of Controversy. Pinfall. One, two, three. That’s how I want people to remember each and every Smith Jones match!!! Well I… haven’t been doing such a great job of proving myself worthy of anything around here either. I’ve suffered some crushing high profile losses on Metal. The most recent Main Event was seventy-five percent guys who stepped on my head to get there. I am NOT proud of that. That is what drives me to be. They’re all gonna laugh at you anyway. Might as well be yourself.”
Green paint falls from above and rains down on Jones’ all white suit! Smitty smiles.
SMITH JONES: “Chroma key green. Knock yourselves out! Paint me whatever colour you want with as broad a brush as you can find. Tell elaborate stories of my epic failures across the land. Talk about me like I’ve never amounted to anything and that my recorded history is a farce. Be better than Smith Jones. Make me a fool. I am whatever your imagination tells me I am until I’m… not.”
Smith's smile fades in an instant as he steps right up close to the camera again. Green paint drips down his face.
SMITH JONES: “I guarantee that I will win myself a Number One Contendership spot this Monday at APW Alpha Showdown. Doubt me? There isn’t a single person in that Supershow Main Event with the figurative stones stop that from becoming a reality. I will win myself a shot at gold this coming Monday night. I believe that. It’s the future. If I have to fracture every skull base out there, I am coming for GOLD and you already know it. DOUBT ME! Call me crazy. I’m off my rocker again. I’m one log short of a cord. I’m out of my mind if I think that this particular Smith Jones has what it takes to be a champion here in Alpha Pro Wrestling. I know which one I’ve truly got my eye on. That’s why this Monday at APW Alpha Showdown, I am going to fight as hard as I can and crush heads and pulverize dreams, drawing a few bloody tears along the way. It’s gonna be a rough night for a lotta people and I am why! This is not a night for hopes and dreams and wants… This is a night for skill and prowess and gumption and good ol’ fashioned raw ‘git some’. I’m right here like always! Don’t turn your back on me. That’s when I’m most dangerous. How paralyzing to know that something awful is going to happen to you and you cannot stop it. I have no friends. I have nothing at all to lose. I am more me than I’ve been in YEARS and I want to tell everyone that to their putrid human faces one by one by slovenly mouth-breathing one until there is nobody left to dent.”
Jones steps back from the camera with a heavy sigh. He shrugs and then scratches his head. He chews on the inside of his cheek for a moment.
SMITH JONES: “Who are you when no one is watching? What would you choose to get away with if you knew that you really could? Who are you? And why the hell should I let you breathe another day? In my bio it lists ‘face value’ as my alignment. Why? Because who knows whether I am the good guy or the bad guy? How the hell should I know!!! You tell me!!! Chant my name or jeer me. I don’t have enough damns in me to just hand them out for free. You’d better get up in my face and earn it. Make me care about you. Matter to me. Go! No, wait. I’m not ready.”
The lights go out and the entire screen goes black. We can only hear Smith’s voice at this time.
SMITH JONES: “I never step into the ring without wiping my feet on the apron. I never start a match without letting go of everything that impedes the flow of my rage. I am not the Smith Jones you thought I was.”
The lights come on and Jones is dressed in a clean white suit on a clean white background just like the start of the promo. The green paint is gone. His toothy grin is bordering on awkward.
SMITH JONES: “I’m the Smith Jones that I am.”
Cut to black.
SMITH JONES: “And there is nothing you can do to stop me.”
~~~
~OFF CAMERA~
Smitty’s white Dodge Charger rolls into the parking lot of an all-day breakfast diner not long after dawn. Smith gets out and walks through the front door with a ding-a-ling-a-ling! He glances at the television set and then makes a beeline for the server.
SMITH JONES: “I wanna watch the news.”
SERVER: “Can I get you a menu, sugar?”
SMITH JONES: “The news, dear. Local. Paper and television. And yeah, I’ll have a look at that menu.”
