Post by Smith Jones on Sept 29, 2019 9:49:08 GMT -5
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~OFF CAMERA~
Smith Jones is sitting on his white leather couch in his living room just outside Toronto, Ontario, Canada. He's dressed in dark jeans and a gray tee with solitary written across the front of it in white lettering. He stares straight ahead at a diamond ring sitting in the middle of the glass coffee table in front of him. He looks utterly tortured. Smith’s eyes begin to redden. Jones struggles to hold it all in, but a single tear escapes and runs down his cheek.
SMITH JONES: “Belle.”
He suddenly gets up and walks across the room, returning quickly with a poker from the fireplace. He raises it above his head and swings down at the diamond ring, shattering the glass coffee table! Shards fly in every direction! Smith drops the poker and leaves the room.
~~~
~ON CAMERA~
SMITH JONES: “You clearly don’t understand me.”
Fade up on a shot of Smith Jones sitting on a bench next to a very nice, quiet old lady who just wants to get home. It appears that Smitty has been talking her ear off. She looks at him politely, her eyes glazed over and her mouth frozen in a polite half smile. Smith is dressed in a black suit and tie with his hair coiffed and gelled and his brown shoes shone up real nice. Jones ignores the sirens of the city as he speaks on.
SMITH JONES: “I’m not trying to be a babyface; I’m not trying to be a heel. I’m Smith Jones. I do what I do and people react how they choose to react. It’s a phenomenon that’s followed me most of my career. I get into the ring and masterfully dismantle as many ill-fated physiques as possible using whatever means I feel necessary and the fans at ringside chant my name. It happens all the time, long before Zombie McMorris and I ever met in Alpha Pro. It’s a career-long curse that I have come not only to accept, but to understand. Y’see, I don’t have to dress up in a Halloween costume year-round to look tough to those who happen to be watching me. I am as authentic as they come and people can feel that. People can see little pieces of their own lives in my struggle.”
The bus pulls up and the woman is more than a little eager to get up and pay her fare. Smith waves at her. She does not look back as the door closes and the bus pulls away. Smith slouches into the bench a bit and stares off at nothing with a dejected look on his face. Eventually, the nothing he’s been staring at comes into focus right in front of him. EMERGENCY. The siren he had been hearing was that of an ambulance which is now pulling up to the hospital. Jones gets up and slowly walks across the street towards the hospital, narrowly missed by passing traffic. He doesn’t notice the cars honking whizzing by. He walks on.
SMITH JONES: “Inside… I am ugly.”
Jones makes it across the road alive and walks directly over to where he can see the ambulance crew. He watches as they unload an unfortunate soul with a gaping gunshot wound to the chest so big that it soaks the bandages in crimson. Must’ve been a shotgun. The man wails and cries out for sweet relief. Morphine couldn’t even come close. Jones follows them as they wheel him in through the emergency room past hordes of coughing patients with gawking eyes. As the gurney disappears through a set of double doors, Jones makes a sudden left turn while everyone is distracted and winds up walking down a dark hallway that maybe he shouldn’t be walking down. No one is around. He takes a staircase and begins to descend.
SMITH JONES: “I’m ugly inside. Astute of you, Zed. You’re onto me! You’ve done your research on me, haven’t you? You’ve taken a small glimpse into the extensive past of the incredible Smith Jones. I’m flattered. It’s great you had to reach back more than half my career into the past to compose a half-cooked insult about how I won Storyline of the Year 2012. You peeped my online profile. Fantastic work, Zed. Did you swipe left or right? Since my very first promo back in October of 2010 wherein I portrayed a violent murderer and stabbed someone to death in a cold, dark field on Halloween night, not one single person has ever suspected that I am… ugly… inside. Solid scoop, McMorris! Thanks for blowing my cover!! What in the wrestling world am I gonna do now??? You’ve exposed my whole gimmick! ZMAC, It was a true pleasure for me to watch you, Charmaine, and Cranley battle it out for the chance to face me for The World Title. But, there’s a reason why I was already the official Number One Contender while you’re showing up late to the party bragging about one win where all you did was get help from Charmaine to pin a guy I pinned single-handedly the week before. Bravo. Face facts, LA-Z-MAC. You have not been able to show the same sort of staying power, consistency, or continued drive that Smith Jones has been showing. It was not easy! I won my debut match here in APW and then I went on an embarrassing losing skid that made it seem like I had already slipped into my muddy grave. I looked up at guys like Braxton Locus and Odin Balfore as the future rulers of the APW World Heavyweight Wrestling Championship. I wanted the title like everyone else does, but I had no chance of ever being that great. Still, I promised myself to lace up and show up every single time. I worked my tail off every damned day in my basement training ring just outside Toronto. I’ve shaken off the ring rust of retirement through a regimen of trial and error; by pushing myself as hard as I can to do the best I can every Monday night and coming back the next chance I got, win or lose! I ignored my fiancée who loved me very much until the day she put my diamond ring on the coffee table and walked out my front door. I ignored the adoring fans who were turning out in droves for my motivational speeches. I needed to concentrate on becoming the very best that Alpha Professional Wrestling has to offer! I am the BEST. I never wavered from my desire to get to where I stand today. I didn’t flake and jump at the Hardcore Championship like so many people on the roster, including you, Zed; including Jubei, may he rest. No. I remained steadfast and I started winning matches again. Real wrestling matches. No weapons required. No surrender.”
He comes out of the staircase into an even darker hallway. Jones steps up to a door. MORGUE. He peers in the window. The lights are off. No one is home. No one alive, that is. He steps into the room and closes the door behind him. There is very little light in here. A few streaks of sunlight sneak in through tiny little windows near the ceiling. One of those streaks lands across his face as he looks into camera with those icy blue eyes.
SMITH JONES: “I don’t win matches by crook, I win matches by HOOK! There was a time in my career when I would have been rattled by the things you said to me this week. You keep saying (and I am paraphrasing here) that I’m not good enough to be champion. That I was faking my fear of Jubei. That I’ve spoken my last words. All stated very convincingly and poetically. All presented in colourful fashion, but nothing you’ve said to me has as much backbone as this, and I quote: ‘I’m so gross, that I’m clean. I’m so hated that I’m face. I’m so crude that I’m lovable. I’m so disloyal, I’m the most trusted. How does a man like me exist?’
Smith walks over to the large metal drawers and does not hesitate to open one down low. Thankfully, it is empty. Smith unties his tie and lays it on the vacant examination table. He then removes his suit jacket and begins to unbutton his cuffs. Before long, his shirt, too, has been removed. Smith Jones continues to disrobe in the dark of the morgue.
SMITH JONES: “How? Your answer to that question was that you exist by not being Smith Jones. I agree. I’m not gross and I’m not clean. I’m not crude and I’m not lovable. I’m not disloyal and I’m not trusted. I’m not heel and I’m not face. You can’t tell me in one breath that I’m nothing but a gimmick and then demand in your next breath that I play one part or another. What world do you live in? Since when is everything either black or white? Since when is any person all good or all bad? There is more than one reason why a person like you can exist. There are literally millions of you walking the streets of North America every day! Do you have any idea how many versions of Zombie McMorris I’ve taken down in my day? At least Jubei had the balls to get up after not winning the Hackcore Title and ameliorate his status. He didn’t run away. He ran ahead. He surrounded himself with mind-washed minions who would do anything to get to the top. You watched. Right? From your couch? You saw. I had reason to fear Masuda. I feared him because his Masuda Corp threatened to change the very way we had to compete inside the ring. His many arms and branches were out to make it impossible to win without breaking the rules. I prefer to adhere to the rules of the ring.”
Via creative camera angles and well-placed shadows, we cannot quite see the entirety of Smith Jones' now completely nude body. His eyes are up here, people. He glares through the lens into your soul.
SMITH JONES: “You’re right, Zed. I didn’t murder Masuda. I wasn’t even the one to run Allen Anderson out of APW. I did nothing to end Masuda Corp. But somewhere along the way, I became a better wrestler for my troubles. I am not the same Smith Jones who faced off for the World Title in the Ascension Main Event. I’m even better.”
Jones grabs a blank tag from a nearby desk and writes his own name on it. He then attaches it to his big toe and steps into the open body drawer. He cringes as his bare skin meets the cold steel. The camera now looks down from directly above him.
SMITH JONES: “A man like you exists, Zed, because it’s easier to dress yourself up in some costume and pretend to be something you’re not than it is to bare your soul and be as real as can be. The people don’t cheer for me because of and sort of pandering or pretence. They cheer because I talk about things that are real. Every word I say can be applied to your real life. For example, here’s a tidbit for you. After Supremacy is over; after I decimate you in our epic Two Out of Three Falls World Title Match, don’t run and hide from the humiliation. Stand up and face it like a man. Stop talking about how great you’re going to be and do something to prove it. Don’t give up. Don’t surrender. Life is hard for all of us. You are not special. You are not as unique as you think you are. You’re the antagonist in my ongoing storyline. I am the hero. Don’t let the fact that I won Storyline of the Year in XHW back in 2012 blind you to the fact that I’ve proven myself over and over again in many different matches against many different opponents in many different countries in many different feds. I am a competition fighter. I don’t win my matches in the boardroom. I win them in the ring! I’m coming to get you now. I will wip my feet respectfully on that apron before I part the ropes and take centre the way I always do. My spotlights will sear my skin and yours while the whole world watches. I do not plan to take this match lightly by any means. You will try to brawl with me. I may bite for a time, but you will falter and I will latch on and make you pay with a pound of flesh for every super mean thing you said to me this week! You will reach for weapons. I will reach into your soul and stomp that damned fire out with my white patent leather wrestling boots! I’m going to old stretch you old school and leave you drawn and quartered, leaking permanent stains into the canvas. This is APW. Alpha Pro Wrestling is about the heat of competition. It’s about working our bodies to the bone week after week. If you think you can get by with some goofy gimmick, come stand toe to toe with me and show me how that works? I hated you the moment I first saw you, ZMAC. I feel no ways about damaging you beyond effective repair. The alignment listed in my bio says face value. Take me as you want to. I don’t give a damn! I will walk out of Supremacy with The World Championship locked safely around my waist because I am purely the best wrestler in this company. If you don’t wanna be Smith Jones, I’ll keep doing it myself. You’re your own worst enemy, Zed, just like so many others exactly like you littering the face of the Earth, defeated before they even begin. You hope the smoke and mirrors and dreadlocks and makeup and fake nails and suits and ties and shoes and cars and houses and ‘likes’ and smiles will keep the world believing that you’ve got it all together. That you’re worthy of their praise. You’re just a guy just like I’m just a guy. The big difference is I’M the guy who’s going to be your next APW World Heavyweight Wrestling Champion. My skills are unquestionable even though my principles are sometimes on a sliding scale. I’ve never claimed to be perfect. Despite my best efforts, I am only human...”
Smith reaches up inside the drawer and pulls, sliding it shut with him inside.
Fade to black.
SMITH JONES: “...and so are you.”
~~~
~OFF CAMERA~
DIRECTOR: “Aaaaaaaaand cut! Great job, Smitty! We got it. That’s the one!”
Smith is still inside the drawer.
SMITH JONES: “Eh?”
DIRECTOR: “That’s the one. Camera was good. Lighting worked well. Your performance was...”
SMITH JONES: “Incredible?”
DIRECTOR: “Exactly!”
SMITH JONES: “Incredible, eh?”
Jones slowly slides the drawer open. A production assistant hands him a towel just as he gets himself up and out of the drawer.
SMITH JONES: “You sure?”
DIRECTOR: “We nailed it. You nailed it!”
SMITH JONES: “Show me.”
DIRECTOR: “Erm...”
SMITH JONES: “You’re fired. Reset the camera! We’re doing one more take!”
Everyone scrambles.
