Paternal

~ON CAMERA~


Fade up on a shot of the dark. Suddenly, a bright white light blinds the entire viewing audience, turning your screen plain white. The silhouette of a familiar face moves in front of the light in perfect 50/50 profile. The light streaks towards the camera. The man looks directly to the left of your screen. The details of his face are largely draped in the safety and solitude of a dark shadow with hits of texture here and there to confirm our suspicions about who this is. He inhales a slow breath, filling his lungs deeply. He closes his eyes and lives in the perfect silence of the moment a little while longer before he parts his lips and he speaks.


SMITH JONES: “I don’t think I ever said Happy Birthday, did I champ?”


He chuckles to himself for a long beat. His exhaling disturbs the haze in the air around him. Jones turns his face slightly to camera, turning his eyes even more to meet the camera lens with a smarmy sneer.


SMITH JONES: “Masuda Jubei. I can see you much better than you think I can. The spotlights render some people darned near translucent. Not everyone who believes they can hide in plain sight is as well hidden as they think. It’s like when a child covers her eyes and thinks her parents can’t see her anymore. Most parents play along if only once in a while, don’t they? Even the bad parents will humour a child once in a while. You looked… cute with all that icing all over your face, Jubei. Adorable in a toddler’s-third-birthday sort of way. You and all your little friends and playmates who want to know what it’s like to rub shoulders with greatness for a time. Your time runs, Masuda, as the incredible Smith Jones gives chase.”


The light behind Smith vanishes and is immediately replaced by a bright white light directly from the side. Half of his face is left in shadow. Smith does not flinch as he squares up to the camera and glares directly into your soul. His icy blue eye is locked on and there is no viable escape. The camera very slowly creeps in.


SMITH JONES: “You run your championship reign by masterfully manipulating those around you. You skillfully suggest various circumstances and fully expect people to wholeheartedly perform your every request. You are adept at giving people ideas and making them think they are their own. Pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. All of you acolytes, go ahead and pretend I only spout crazy talk. I’m not one of your fools, Masuda Jubei. I’m not a fame-starved blowhard like Allen damned Anderson. I’m not naive and misled like Tsukiko. I don’t have personal spin doctors on the APW microphones helping to spew my message all over the underdeveloped and simplistic minds of those who choose to follow you around. I have only one voice and I ALWAYS speak the truth!”


The light on Smith’s face goes out. Cut to a shot of the arena bowl inside the Nutter Center in Dayton, Ohio, where two young local APW hopefuls utilize their scheduled ring time to the best of their abilities. One is in blue tights and the other in red trunks. They are preparing for a dark match tryout that could lead to a bright future in Alpha Pro for either or both. Smith Jones slowly emerges from the backstage area under the regular fluorescent work lights inside the arena. He is dressed to compete in his trademark all white ring gear comprised of white patent leather boots, white kneepads, and white trunks, accented at the wrists with white tape. He is not wearing his shiny white robe with sparkly silver trim. He has a serious scowl on and he’s very slowly stalking down the ramp to the ring to face two unsuspecting and very focused young trainees.


SMITH JONES: “I always, always speak the truth. And so, it should be very easy for you to believe me when I say that this is almost over between us, Masuda. At APW Supremacy, I am coming for you. I am coming to take that sense of pride you have for the fairy tale kingdom you daily pretend to oversee. I am coming to undermine your solid sense of security like a father who beats his child with select weaponry in the horrifying privacy of their own home. I come to shake your psyche to the ground or six feet lower if you’re lucky. I come to shake the foundation from beneath your cozy feet and bury you in pile of your own crumbled ivory. I topple towers; I knock walls down. In fact, you shouldn’t act as though I am on my way to you, Masuda. You should start conducting yourself as though I’m right here; as though I’ve been right here next to you, very quietly whispering in your ear all along. I require not that you admit to the fear. Simply that you submit to the fear. That always seems to happen at some point. Perhaps the Point of Controversy. Perhaps last week at Jubeilation II when I dented the back of your head with the PoC for the very first time, maybe that was when fear crept in through one of the cracks I made in your cranium. Perchance through a break in the brain. The fact of the matter is that once fear creeps in, it’s damned near unstoppable No, wait. That’s… infringement on my part, right? Isn’t it? It’s hard to keep things all PC these days. Everyone is offended by some thing or other in this crazy world. No offense intended, Noris. If anyone out there has missed the brief career of ‘The Unstoppable’ Noris Cranley, you’ve missed out on a whirlwind of an ascent. This kid came out of nowhere in plain sight. A couple of tough losses along the way, but Noris Cranley seems to be the type of wrestler who fully intends to live up to his moniker. I used to call myself the Monday Night Workhorse back in my independent days ten years ago. I see that young fire in Cranley that reminds me anew why I ever signed my very first professional wrestling contract when I got called up to the pros all the way back on October 16th, 2010. Lately, I’ve been spending so much time trying to tape these old bones together in between matches that I’ve been neglecting my absolute responsibility as a professional wrestler to relish every single moment that we are allowed the privilege of stepping foot inside the squared circle. Even more so, I would proudly boast that we here in Alpha Pro Wrestling under the guidance of Irina Ivanova enjoy a particularly sweet version of this insane game we all play where everything is always at stake and there are no true days off. We must always be working. We must always be grinding and striving to be better than we were the day before.”


Both rookies watch with amazement as THE Smith Jones mounts the steel ring steps and wipes the soles of his white patent leather boots on the ring apron before parting the ropes and meeting them both mid-ring. They all smile awkwardly at one another, nodding politely. The gentleman in the red trunks extends his hand to Smitty for a shake. The other watches on.


SMITH JONES: “Did you wipe?”


ROOKIE: “Did I… um… huh?”


Smitty’s smile sinks into that signature stone scowl and it is too close for the comfort of either rookie.


SMITH JONES: “Did... you... wipe?”


Jones gets down on all fours in front of the red rookie and leans all the way down to kiss the canvas just past the end of the young man’s toe. From down on his knees, Smith looks up at the confused young man.


SMITH JONES: “Well, did you?! Did you wipe your fetid little footsies on the edge of the ring before stepping foot in here and making a mess of this sacred stage? Did you make any effort to cleanse thyself before tromping around on hallowed ground within the sanctified confines of these ring ropes? DID YOU WIPE?!”


The blue rookie eagerly replies.


ROOKIE: “I wiped, Smitty!”


Without a word, Jones hops to his feet and hits the rookie with the blue tights under the chin with a surprise headbutt! He then quickly ducks in behind and grabs him by the throat, dropping him with a sudden Backstabber to the neck! Smitty yells out.


SMITH JONES: “PoC!! The Point of Controversy connects!!! Nobody likes a suck up!! You want some, red?! Are you a suck up?”


The rookie in the red trunks shakes his head.


SMITH JONES: “Wipe your feet next time. Every time! Now, take a hike.”


The red rookie scrams quite quickly all the way up the ramp and out of the arena, leaving his compadre behind. Smith Jones stands over the freshly harmed noobie.


SMITH JONES: “Noris Cranley. I understand how good it must have felt for you to have the champion telling you words of encouragement so early on in your career. I know how much it resembles that elusive pat on the head from a deadbeat father who dumped you in the darkest corner of your life and left you to just figure it all out for yourself. Jubei is a master manipulator. Charming even, like a dictator or a serial murderer. You’re smart enough to steer clear of that sort of influence in your life, eh? You’ve got a good head on your shoulders. You seem to understand the importance of hard work and respect. But, that’s not nearly enough to make me feel like I can trust you! I’m in a war against Masuda that I simply cannot win alone and I am suddenly faced with the prospect of needing to lean on the people around me. I need to know that there are people I can turn my back to who won’t plunge a dagger through my ribcage when I’m focused on the task at hand. I trusted Tsukiko for just a split second at Jubeilation and it earned me a Tsukibureekaa running knee strike to the back of my head! If I had trusted you to make a statement of any true importance in Yokohama, Noris Cranley, I would have been very disappointed. But, this week’s Monday Night Metal Main Event is your chance to redeem yourself by a small increment in my eyes. Can I trust you to lace up? Can I trust you to show up ready to defend yourself against any and all? Can I trust Noris Cranley when it really counts?”


Jones picks the blue rookie up into a fireman’s carry and hurls him over the top rope with a Death Valley driver! The kid’s head and shoulders bounce off the ring apron before his lifeless carcass tumbles violently and hits the ringside floor. Jones shrugs off his rage and calmly finds the camera lens.


SMITH JONES: “Time is a secretive soul. I suppose we will see who you are to me come Monday night. Wipe your feet before you enter this ring...”


Fade to black.


SMITH JONES: “...or don’t bother to show up at all.”