Post by Smith Jones on Sept 25, 2019 9:50:13 GMT -5
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~ON CAMERA~
Fade up on a shot of Smith Jones’ face in stark closeup. The background behind him is pitch black and there is very little light on his face. It appears to be moonlight streaking down from a cloudy night sky as the wind tousles Smith’s hair. He doesn’t seem to notice. His eyes are laser focused on the camera lens, his brow tightly furrowed; his breathing, dead slow. A low growl rumbles forth from the depths of his viscera.
SMITH JONES: “Zombie. The very first time I laid eyes on you the very first time you stepped into an APW ring on the very first day of July on Canada Day of all days, I stood mug to mug with you in the centre of the squared circle and said, and I quote: “Sight unseen, I instantly assess you as a valid threat.” Then… [ shrugs ]I punched you in the face to start a brawl that spilled out of the ring and all the way back to the locker room area. On that night, Zee, you and I peered into each other’s souls and got a glimpse of the calamity that will ensue when you and I step into the ring this coming Monday night at Supremacy for the APW World Heavyweight Wrestling Championship! Since that day back in July, you’ve taken great strides in proving that you are every ounce the threat I pegged you as simply by looking you in the eye. The lines around your eyes, the lines on your face, the scars all over your skin told me volumes about what you’ve done and what you might be willing to do to me to get what you want. I knew then that I had to keep an eye on you and trust me, I’m watching.”
The camera slowly zooms out from Smith’s face and moves back to reveal more darkness behind him.Just then, a fire breaks out about fifty metres behind him. Jones does not flinch from the sound of the massive flames. After a beat, he turns and casually glances back to where there is a wrestling ring burning in a grassy field, surrounded by darkness. There seem to be a few rows of chairs surrounding the ring. The orange glow of the fire now takes over the scene. Smith’s face remains somewhat shadowed as he wears an orange halo. He turns and begins to walk towards the fire as the camera follows closely behind him. The halo effect from the fire intensifies as Jones moves ever closer to the burning wrestling ring.
SMITH JONES: “I watched you on the Hardcore Championship episode of Monday Night Metal when you fought your pitch black heart out for the chance to become the first ever APW Hardcore Champion. You picked up a wrench, man. A wrench. Not the type of match I wanted to have anything to do with. I watched from my home in Toronto while you bastards beat the holy heck out of one another for that glorified piece of scrap metal. I am not hardcore and I never will be. It’s not that I cannot work hardcore. It’s more a matter of why would I? My style is elegant. My skill is unmatched in all of APW. I don’t need a wrench to paint the canvas in your likeness using your very own rotting blood.”
Upon arrival near the front row of the audience, Jones looks up at the flames above him with a smile. He then turns away from the flames and looks down at a ringside gravestone. It is now that we realize the ring is actually completely surrounded by tombstones. The firelight dances across the faces of the gravestones all around him. Jones is transfixed on one of the stones, staring at the face of it, taking in every detail that he can.
SMITH JONES: “You are dead and gone. There’s no such thing as a zombie. When you die, you die. You’re just a memory. Some memories need not linger. Sometimes, we have to let go of the past and move forward without those who fell before us. A zombie is just a nightmare. There is nothing to fear of them.”
Cut to a shot of the gravestone. ‘Here lies Timothy Jones’
SMITH JONES: “I still remember how much of a shock it was to my body the first time you punched me in the stomach. You hit way harder than my childhood nemesis, Rodney. You used to beat the stuffing out of me on a regular basis. It confounded me that someone who was supposed to teach me how to love introduced me to so much hate. The day you ate the business end of a blade on my thirteenth birthday… mother and I exhaled for the first time in a long time. I thank you, father. Your death taught me hatred.”
Jones moves along to another tombstone. Now we can tell that these are not real tombstones. ‘Here lies Brytain Montgomery’. Jones begins to laugh a low chuckle so gravely you’d assume his voice box is lacerating his throat.
SMITH JONES: “Brytain Montgomery. The woman I feared. The woman I struck with fear on more than one occasion. The real Brytain. The pink-haired one. The real one. The one before the Rollins. The one before the stretch marks and crows feet. I miss you. I barely remember you. There was that one time I threw you off the top of your infamed Cage of Death and killed the rattled remnants of the old you. I miss that fire from you, darling. I miss that rage of youth! I really miss the hair. I miss the smell of your soft skin rotting in the trunk of my white limo for a day or two at a time. You are one of the best I’ve ever ever, if you catch my drift. Nothing sexual, of course, but your beauty is obvious. Still, you never were my type romantically. I just loved to wrack your soul with pain. Fun. Now that you’re just the Rollins Brytain, meh. I thank you, Miss Montgomery. Your death taught me perseverance.”
Smith moves along to another tombstone. His own. ‘Here truths Winston Smith Jones’. Again, not really his own. A visual representation of what his stone might look like had Smith literally died. This is a figurative display. The wrestling ring disintegrates further and further, engulfed in flame.
SMITH JONES: “Winston. I failed you altogether. I couldn’t figure out how to stand idly by and watch you make a fool of us for the rest of our lives. I grew so tired and sick of your whining and sobbing and crying… blecch! Who the heel were we back then?! Fodder for those who needed a neck to step on; a name to destroy. Young Winston, I don’t know that this could have turned out any other way for you and for me. I had to kill you. You had to die in order for me to go on and take our simple name to the dizzying heights of greatness. I’m Smith Jones. The first time I ever said that, it meant nothing. Look at us now, Winston. I’m greater than you ever could have made us. I thank you, Winston. Your death taught me confidence.”
The next pseudo tombstone is that of none other than the recently former APW World Heavyweight Wrestling Champion Masuda Jubei. Jones’ expression is quite grave. The muscles in Smith's face tremble as he thinks back to his first APW Title shot at Ascension. He was just that close to taking the title, but he fell just a step short. This was not going to be the case at Supremacy. He looks down at the engraving: ‘Here lies Masuda Jubei’.
SMITH JONES: “Jubei. You just couldn’t hold out, could ya? I was next in line and you knew… you KNOW deep down in your soul that I was poised to take that gold strap away from you. Admit it, Master. I assassinated you with anxiety. I smothered you with self doubt. The timing of your death was a coincidence to your circumstances. You were thinking about ME. I know it. I reached into your chest and ripped out your heart like Dumb and Dumber. I gave you the Five Point Palm Exploding Heart Technique like Kill Bill. I demolished you like a sixth grade heartbreak. You’ve simply ceased to be and I simply cannot stop myself from believing I had something to do with it. You have no idea how much I wanted to take that belt from YOU, Masuda. You had it coming. And now you’re gone. I thank you, Jubei. Your death taught me that I truly can do anything.”
Jones moves over to another stone. Smith Jones takes a deep breath as he closes his eyes and tries to see the future the way he often does. He raises his right fist into the air and looks up at it. Smith opens his hand and spreads his fingers out wide, feeling the gentle breeze move between his fingers. With a new peace washing over him, Smith casts his eyes down at the tomb in front of him. ‘Where lies ZMAC?’
SMITH JONES: “I am now tasked with the responsibility, the duty of killing a man who refuses to die. Zombie McMorris. I am in no mood for jokes about me having female genitalia in place of my male genitalia. This is not high school anymore. Smarten up and make grown man sense. Your ridiculous slang gets on my nerves. The putrid stench of you sickens me to the core. You finished with hardcore? You think you’re going to step up and become the face of the company? You want the big gold now, eh? You wanna play.”
Smitty cracks a smile and giggles to himself. The fire behind Jones now burns down to ash. The scene is now mainly moonlit once again. Smith looks over his shoulder at the rising smoke. He sits on the Jubei tombstone and stares at the few embers that try to outburn the rest.
SMITH JONES: “Is nothing sacred anymore? You’re here to take down the incredible Smith Jones and you plan to make it look easy. You can beat me with one arm tied behind your back, right?You are out of your mind. Open your eyes, ZMAC. Look at the perilous set of circumstances by which you've become haplessly surrounded. Wanna know my choice of stipulation for the first fall of our Two Out of Three Falls Match? You say I failed against Masuda Jubei. You talk about me like my dreams of becoming World Champion are dead and gone. My dreams, McMorris, are indeed undead. I didn’t have to ask around. I don’t trust people anyway. I looked around for myself and I can see exactly who you are. I know that I’ve got my work cut out for me. Despite your best efforts, you will not be the flash fire that burns Winston Smith Jones to the ground. I’m going to lock onto you and drag you forcefully down to where you truly belong.”
The camera crash zooms into Smith Jones’ face as he greets it with a smug smirk and wildness in his icy blue eyes.
SMITH JONES: “Let’s have us a test of technical proficiency. I choose for us to grapple in a Submission Match! At first thought, perhaps a boring choice. But, once you are trapped between those ropes with someone as skilled as I am, Zombie, I’ll rip your arm clean out of its socket. I’ll twist your leg off at the knee and swing it like a baseball bat through your rotted ribs. I’ll put a bullet through your head with a particularly passionate Point of Controversy before I trap you in The System and sever your skull from the rest of you. Answer me this, Zombie McMorris. Why in the wrestling world did you even bother to step foot out of your grave if you aren’t planning to do anything? I’ve been watching for you to finally do something worthwhile with your time and I see NOTHING worth writing the netherworld about. You lost your shot at the Hardcore Title and you, what, went sightseeing in SouthAmerica? Backpacking through Europe? And then, you show up out of the darkness straight out of a low budget horror film trying to stand up real tall like you could ever stand up to the absolute barn burner of an APW career that I’ve had so far?! Your nicknames don’t intimidate me. Your yellow eyes are Halloween novelty gimmick. I will be damned to the fiery depths of Hell if I can’t beat Zombie McMorris for the APW World Heavyweight Wrestling Championship at Supremacy this coming Monday night. Get too close to me, Zombie, and I’ll shove you back down into your grave.”
Suddenly, a sinkhole collapses next to ZMAC’s grave. Flames instantly shoot up from the perfectly rectangular Zombie-sized hole. Jones looks down into the hole and smiles. His eyes slowly move up to meet the camera lens.
SMITH JONES: “I choose a Submission Match for the first fall at Supremacy because I want to remind you how much life hurts! I want to ever so slowly peel your muscle away from the bone. I wanna hear your tendons snap within you while I tear you apart in slow motion. I want to hear the perfect pitch of your sweet scream. I want for you to know what it feels like when Smith Jones puts you through so much agony that you cry out for sweet death to return. I’ve been here every single week. I am part of every single APW broadcast in history. Watch the Network. Catch yourself up. I’m right here always, whether I wrestle the mid card, work yet another high profile Main Event, or just stop by to make groundbreaking statements. I’m… right… here. Who do you think you are, ZMAC, to talk to me like you can see the future as well as I can. Keep your fart jokes and the accompanying farts to yourself. Wipe your disgusting feet on the ring apron Monday night before you step into the ring with me. They’ll need the DNA evidence to ascertain your whereabouts when you vanish once again by MY hand. Say it with me. Point of Controversy. Pinfall...”
Fade to black.
SMITH JONES: “...one… two… three… four… five… six... seven… I’m counting shovelfuls… eight… nine… eleven… twelve… thirteen...”
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~OFF CAMERA~
We see young Winston Jones, maybe about eight years old, asleep in his bed in the middle of a normal night. As we look closely at his face, his eyes bolt open. He looks to be stricken with terror. He tries to look around his room for the monsters under his bed. Have they come out? Winston is unable to move a muscle, save for his eyes. He looks left, right, up, and down as much as he can, but he has not the ability to move an arm, a hand, a finger. Winston suffers from sleep paralysis and he will be unable to-- Shhhh! A noise. He can’t see where it is coming from. He simply has to wait and see what unknown evil is set to befall him.
