Saga of the Calgary Son (Pt. 1)
Jan 10, 2021 19:12:24 GMT -5
Justin, Cross Recoba, and 3 more like this
Post by Jesse Jamester on Jan 10, 2021 19:12:24 GMT -5
“Oh, Alberta.”
“You cold hearted bitch.”
Blue eyes piercing through the front windshield, as the frozen tundra in front of him is met with a whirlwind snowfall. Squinting his eyes, Jesse Jamester keeps both hands on the wheel, knowing full well what to expect in the western province of Canada, having been from there.
“Fitting for a place named after a Princess,” talking to himself Jesse had his temperament with the weather.
Due to the blizzard coming in, planes were grounded. 2,280 kilometers by vehicle, all of which he had about covered this past 3 days.
The western winter’s formed a callus personality for the sort of man that was raised in Alberta, Canada. A bitter cold that didn’t leave you shivering, no, it numbed you to your bones. Moving, being active, was the best way to stay warm and forget about the rigid temperatures this time of year.
Remembering back, Jesse reminisced to pass time as he barreled down the highway.
“Alberta, you beautiful bitch, I’m back.”
Riding along with old rock n’ roll playing on the radio, Jesse sat back, knowing he was hours out from his old home in Calgary, Alberta, Canada.
“All this time I spent away, I missed this. I missed the way this wind hit your face when you stepped out of the vehicle. Some call it bitter sweet, but it’s home sickness to not feel this weather, smell this air, and live away from here.”
Changing the station, Jesse carries on.
“I trained in Calgary, in an old barn in the hills. I married my highschool sweetheart. I bought my first home here. I buried people here. There are ghosts here that still speak to me. I have lived my full life here, and I watched it all get taken away. Today, I go back to see my old house, and see if the buyer will let me in to see what may still be there. Maybe, if the offer is right, I could buy it back, hopeful thinking.”
An ad for a regional wrestling event plays on the radio, a normal occurrence in the great north of Canada; as was hockey and football, yes, American football, not that silly soccer.
“Called Steele and told him I would be back in time. Our match against Desolation was day one, and is our opportunity. People have a lot of hate for the rocket strapped to our backs, bitching and moaning we got handed this chance because of being with Eric Dane… Get the fuck out of here with that nonsense; Scott and I haven’t lost a damn match but the Rumble in our Northern Pro careers. Not to mention, being with Dane is a detriment to management doing us any favors… Trust me, nobody ‘does us favors’ because we ride with the champ, we are earning it, and the more you say that, the more I wanna drive a boot through your skull and claim the teeth as an heirloom of war.”
Cracking his neck as he drives, obviously working some things out; it was a long trip after all, who else would he talk to but himself.
“Regardless, its proof that this company was missing something - us. Ratings have soared, I have secured a decent contract for my efforts, not just a contractor anymore. For a con coming off four years of hiatus, I’m doing alright for myself aye, deserve a lil’ pat on the back for pushing myself to get back in there and leave a legacy worth remembering. Redemption is one hell of a story, and I’d rather be on the succeeding side of that, so it’s bound to be better.”
Exiting the highway, Jesse turns right onto a road, and begins going down a rather country style road. On the left was a wooden fence with mesh chicken wire running the distance. Setup for cows more than likely, but empty at the moment with the weather. On the right, trees as far as the eye can see.
“Nephilim and Necrophage, the Desolation. I have seen your work, and you have had some success. Might have underestimated you before I did my homework and watched your tapes, and saw what you have been up to… and sorry boys, I don’t think you really stand a chance with Scott and I. That’s not me being cocky or arrogant, that’s the supremacy of a confident alpha, there is no fail-safe or backup plan here. Full steam ahead, I’m a one track mind for this match and I know Scott is too; we haven’t lived, breathed, or sweat for anything but this opportunity, and you are the last step on the ladder, for us to get the title shots we have been chomping it to bits for.”
Pulling into a driveway, a winding road goes up to a house on a small inclined hill, a rolling acre of snow with trees throughout, and a big garage built into the basement pull in. A deck wraps around the whole house, and the lights are on. Somebody was home. Stopping the truck 20 feet from the garage door, Jesse stepped out of his truck.
Walking up the wide front steps, white railing, Jesse came to his familiar old front door. Knocking on it, felt odd to him.
Knock, knock.
Wind whipped the snow across the porch, icicles glisten with the sun, sparkling random bright spots on the porch. Footsteps are heard as Jesse fixes his jacket, his hood still up, he tugs at the collar, straightening it.
The door opens up, and a man just a few inches than Jesse, with short blonde hair, and sapphire blue eyes appears.
“Hello?” says the man.
“Hi-” clearing his throat, “Aye, I’m Jesse Fristik - I used to own this house years ago."
“Aye, I see. Well step inside, I think we have a lot to talk about -- Dad."
Door opens wider. End scene.
“You cold hearted bitch.”
Blue eyes piercing through the front windshield, as the frozen tundra in front of him is met with a whirlwind snowfall. Squinting his eyes, Jesse Jamester keeps both hands on the wheel, knowing full well what to expect in the western province of Canada, having been from there.
“Fitting for a place named after a Princess,” talking to himself Jesse had his temperament with the weather.
Due to the blizzard coming in, planes were grounded. 2,280 kilometers by vehicle, all of which he had about covered this past 3 days.
The western winter’s formed a callus personality for the sort of man that was raised in Alberta, Canada. A bitter cold that didn’t leave you shivering, no, it numbed you to your bones. Moving, being active, was the best way to stay warm and forget about the rigid temperatures this time of year.
Remembering back, Jesse reminisced to pass time as he barreled down the highway.
“Alberta, you beautiful bitch, I’m back.”
Riding along with old rock n’ roll playing on the radio, Jesse sat back, knowing he was hours out from his old home in Calgary, Alberta, Canada.
“All this time I spent away, I missed this. I missed the way this wind hit your face when you stepped out of the vehicle. Some call it bitter sweet, but it’s home sickness to not feel this weather, smell this air, and live away from here.”
Changing the station, Jesse carries on.
“I trained in Calgary, in an old barn in the hills. I married my highschool sweetheart. I bought my first home here. I buried people here. There are ghosts here that still speak to me. I have lived my full life here, and I watched it all get taken away. Today, I go back to see my old house, and see if the buyer will let me in to see what may still be there. Maybe, if the offer is right, I could buy it back, hopeful thinking.”
An ad for a regional wrestling event plays on the radio, a normal occurrence in the great north of Canada; as was hockey and football, yes, American football, not that silly soccer.
“Called Steele and told him I would be back in time. Our match against Desolation was day one, and is our opportunity. People have a lot of hate for the rocket strapped to our backs, bitching and moaning we got handed this chance because of being with Eric Dane… Get the fuck out of here with that nonsense; Scott and I haven’t lost a damn match but the Rumble in our Northern Pro careers. Not to mention, being with Dane is a detriment to management doing us any favors… Trust me, nobody ‘does us favors’ because we ride with the champ, we are earning it, and the more you say that, the more I wanna drive a boot through your skull and claim the teeth as an heirloom of war.”
Cracking his neck as he drives, obviously working some things out; it was a long trip after all, who else would he talk to but himself.
“Regardless, its proof that this company was missing something - us. Ratings have soared, I have secured a decent contract for my efforts, not just a contractor anymore. For a con coming off four years of hiatus, I’m doing alright for myself aye, deserve a lil’ pat on the back for pushing myself to get back in there and leave a legacy worth remembering. Redemption is one hell of a story, and I’d rather be on the succeeding side of that, so it’s bound to be better.”
Exiting the highway, Jesse turns right onto a road, and begins going down a rather country style road. On the left was a wooden fence with mesh chicken wire running the distance. Setup for cows more than likely, but empty at the moment with the weather. On the right, trees as far as the eye can see.
“Nephilim and Necrophage, the Desolation. I have seen your work, and you have had some success. Might have underestimated you before I did my homework and watched your tapes, and saw what you have been up to… and sorry boys, I don’t think you really stand a chance with Scott and I. That’s not me being cocky or arrogant, that’s the supremacy of a confident alpha, there is no fail-safe or backup plan here. Full steam ahead, I’m a one track mind for this match and I know Scott is too; we haven’t lived, breathed, or sweat for anything but this opportunity, and you are the last step on the ladder, for us to get the title shots we have been chomping it to bits for.”
Pulling into a driveway, a winding road goes up to a house on a small inclined hill, a rolling acre of snow with trees throughout, and a big garage built into the basement pull in. A deck wraps around the whole house, and the lights are on. Somebody was home. Stopping the truck 20 feet from the garage door, Jesse stepped out of his truck.
Walking up the wide front steps, white railing, Jesse came to his familiar old front door. Knocking on it, felt odd to him.
Knock, knock.
Wind whipped the snow across the porch, icicles glisten with the sun, sparkling random bright spots on the porch. Footsteps are heard as Jesse fixes his jacket, his hood still up, he tugs at the collar, straightening it.
The door opens up, and a man just a few inches than Jesse, with short blonde hair, and sapphire blue eyes appears.
“Hello?” says the man.
“Hi-” clearing his throat, “Aye, I’m Jesse Fristik - I used to own this house years ago."
“Aye, I see. Well step inside, I think we have a lot to talk about -- Dad."
Door opens wider. End scene.
