Post by Jimbo on Jan 25, 2024 7:17:36 GMT -5
MOUTHFUL OF CAVITIES
The wind blowing rustles the trees, carrying the leaves across the grass. It produces a crisp sort of static when the breeze picks up and catches the mics.
The camera cuts from the grass to a close shot of NOMAD. From the chest up, he fits in the frame. He is wearing a gray coloured hoodie with a red TAPOUT logo on the chest, the hood drawn up over his head. The hard features of his face are only just obscured by shadow.
“I nearly drowned once.”
“Coulda died.”
“You know how many funerals I've been to?”
The cold breeze is the only response he gets.
“Lots.”
His voice is an unusually calm and almost somber tone.
“Death ain’t as final as people think it is. Like it’s a light that goes out and that’s it. It’s all over. Funny thing about death is that it’s only over for the dead. We, the living, are the ones it don’t end for. We grieve, we remember, we process, we heal. And if the dead are those who hurt you? Well…”
“That process is hard.”
The wind picks up again. Sirens blare and fade soon after somewhere in the distance.
“I’ve been processing for a while. I’ve grieved. I’ve remembered. You know, I keep seein’ people sayin’ that I talk about this shit too much. I talk about this shit so much because it’s real. It’s my life. It’s why I lived the way I did. It’s why I was the way that I was. Started to realize that I was leadin’ myself down a one-way path to self-destruction. When I first came to TAPOUT, I was a monster. In fact, I was the monster. I pushed myself to be that guy. I pushed myself hard to be that guy. All I was doin’ was wearin’ myself out.”
He presses a finger against his temple.
“My mind wanted to go, but my body couldn’t keep up.”
His arm drops out of frame. He clears his throat and looks east, at the sunrise.
“Coulda never lasted bein’ that way. I’d have been dead by now. I did somethin’ that I thought I’d never be able to do. I changed. Gotta better. Just feel like a man on a mission now.”
“I made my peace with dyin’ a long, long time ago. I’ll be honest, the thought of it used to scare the shit out of me. I think because I became aware of death at such a young age, it hardened me to the fact that it happens. If you ask me now? I ain’t afraid of dyin’.”
“But, if it turns out that goin’ into this Texas Death Match at Supremacy is a bad idea, I won’t find out ‘til it’s all over and done with. But goin’ into it has me thinkin’ a lot about death, you know? An’ I’m sick of it. I’m sick of dwelling and reflecting and remembering. I’m sick of feelin’ like I’m stuck in the past. I’m sick of thinkin’ about the shit that happened to me. I’m just sick of all of it. I’ve told my story enough. So what am I gonna do about it?”
“I’m gonna do the only thing that I know how to do. The only thing that I’ve ever been any good at.”
Taking a moment to shift his sitting position, NOMAD begins raising his tone of voice.
“I’m gonna wrestle my way out of it.”
“I’m gonna fight my way out of it.”
“I’m going into Sunday, ready to lay it all out there, puttin' in every ounce, every drop of sweat and effort and determination that I got, into winnin’ that TAPOUT Openweight Championship. Because that’s what TAPOUT is built on as promotion. Two guys in the ring, the best that the company has to offer, givin’ each other their all, to be the best.”
NOMAD starts rocking frantically in place, becoming uncharacteristically animated.
“Pushing each other to the limits, to the extremes, giving each other everything they got, makin’ the people stand up and makin’ ‘em say that THIS IS WHAT PRO WRESTLING IS MEANT TO BE!”
Sighing, he takes a moment to calm himself.
“That’s what TAPOUT is about. That’s why I wanna be in Merric’s spot so bad, that’s why I want to take his title. Because I am all about what TAPOUT is about.”
Looking back to the camera making direct, intense eye contact with it.
“I’m hunting the hunter.”
“An’ I know my prey is dangerous. He wouldn’t be where he is without bein’ a threat. But there’s nothin’ that he can do to me that is any worse than the things that I’ve already dealt with, and the demons in my head that I fight on a daily basis. I’ve had guys like Merric barkin’ in my face my entire life. Guys who think that they’re tougher than me, or meaner than me, and it’s funny to me how they always seem to end up flat on their face the same way."
"I don’t think that Aiden is willin’ to suffer the way that I’m willin’ suffer.”
“Already said that I’ve crawled through Hell to be where I’m at, I don’t mind crawlin’ a little bit extra to get to where I wanna be. I will do whatever it takes for however long it might take. I’ll crawl through the mud and blood. I’ll crawl through barbed-wire and landmines. Whatever it takes, to climb that mountain, and make it my own.”
Narrowing his eyes, the strong confident expression on his face doesn’t change.
“Whatever it takes, I don’t care. I don’t care because I don’t care if I have to die to do it. I know that Aiden can dish it out, and he knows that I can take it. That’s why I wanted it to be this way. That’s why I accepted it bein’ this way.”
Leaning back, he glances up toward the sky. The wind returns with a steady, short breeze.
“I remember reading an old Japanese pro wrestling magazine as a kid. I remember seeing an image there of this guy, he was tangled up in a mess of barbed wire. The white shirt he was wearing was torn nearly to shreds from his body, and the bits of fabric that weren’t white were stained red with his, and probably his opponents, blood. His blue tights were turning purple from how much blood had been spilled on them. I remember looking at the expression of pure agony and torture radiating from his face. I remember how it made me feel. Honestly, it made me feel a little bit sick.”
Sitting a moment, he weighs the choice of words in his head.
“Because I liked it.”
In the short pause, another gust of wind blows in.
“Because there was something in that man’s pain that reached out to me and pulled me in. The pure will to survive that he had etched across his face as he was in the middle of trying to pull himself from this tangled web. On the next page was another picture of this man. A large centerfold shot. Still in the same blood stained purple tights and the shirt that was completely torn from his body and was more just a pink fabric necklace. Beside him was this massive trophy almost half his height and above his head he held this big golden championship belt with tears running down his bloodied cheeks. Going from the last picture of this man fighting his hardest to survive, to the next picture of him in all his blood stained glory inspired me.”
“I wanna ask you, Aiden: What are you capable of doing? How far are you capable of going? How much pain are you willing to suffer? Unlike what a guy like Poe is capable of, I can take you to the depths of a real hell. One that makes you question yourself, one that makes you second guess yourself, one that makes you doubt yourself. What happens if you hit me with your best shot and I power through it again? What happens when you keep putting me down and putting me down, but I keep getting back up? What happens when you make me bleed my own blood, but I like the taste of it? What happens when you realize how much you have to lose?”
“Because for me? I ain’t got a damn thing to lose.”
“See for me, those questions have been asked and answered. I’ve been asking ‘em to myself my entire life.”
Reaching back, NOMAD pulls the hood from his head.
“When I sat down here, I started talkin’ about a healing process. Everyone’s process is different, you know? How they handle death, how they grieve, how they heal. We grieve different. We process at different rates. Think that now I’m at the end of my process. I want you to know something important.”
“My last step is beating you, Aiden.”
“The very last thing I need to do to prove to myself that I have healed, that I have changed, that I have grown, is to beat you within an inch of your life on the 28th and take that championship of yours. That championship which means so much to you, and to me, and to everybody else in this company that we represent.”
“I don’t just want to beat you, I don’t just have to beat you, Aiden Merric, I need to beat you and I’m willing to sink to whatever depth I need to sink to in order to accomplish that. If it means spillin’ blood, I’ll spill it. If it means breakin’ bones, I’ll break ‘em.”
“A life of pain and regret and depression and abuse has led up to this exact moment in time. If I don’t beat you on the 28th, Aiden, then it may as well all have been for nothing. And if that’s the case, then I sincerely hope you kill me to do it.”
“Because I wouldn’t be able to live with myself otherwise.”
The close up shot of NOMAD pulls back and turns. He is sat cross legged on the grass, and as the camera keeps turning it comes to rest on two nondescript marble tombstones.
The wind picks up again as NOMAD pulls himself to his feet. He brushes himself off and pulls the hood back over his head and spends a few moments in silence at the foot of his parents' graves.
The wind blowing rustles the trees, carrying the leaves across the grass. It produces a crisp sort of static when the breeze picks up and catches the mics.
The camera cuts from the grass to a close shot of NOMAD. From the chest up, he fits in the frame. He is wearing a gray coloured hoodie with a red TAPOUT logo on the chest, the hood drawn up over his head. The hard features of his face are only just obscured by shadow.
“I nearly drowned once.”
“Coulda died.”
“You know how many funerals I've been to?”
The cold breeze is the only response he gets.
“Lots.”
His voice is an unusually calm and almost somber tone.
“Death ain’t as final as people think it is. Like it’s a light that goes out and that’s it. It’s all over. Funny thing about death is that it’s only over for the dead. We, the living, are the ones it don’t end for. We grieve, we remember, we process, we heal. And if the dead are those who hurt you? Well…”
“That process is hard.”
The wind picks up again. Sirens blare and fade soon after somewhere in the distance.
“I’ve been processing for a while. I’ve grieved. I’ve remembered. You know, I keep seein’ people sayin’ that I talk about this shit too much. I talk about this shit so much because it’s real. It’s my life. It’s why I lived the way I did. It’s why I was the way that I was. Started to realize that I was leadin’ myself down a one-way path to self-destruction. When I first came to TAPOUT, I was a monster. In fact, I was the monster. I pushed myself to be that guy. I pushed myself hard to be that guy. All I was doin’ was wearin’ myself out.”
He presses a finger against his temple.
“My mind wanted to go, but my body couldn’t keep up.”
His arm drops out of frame. He clears his throat and looks east, at the sunrise.
“Coulda never lasted bein’ that way. I’d have been dead by now. I did somethin’ that I thought I’d never be able to do. I changed. Gotta better. Just feel like a man on a mission now.”
“I made my peace with dyin’ a long, long time ago. I’ll be honest, the thought of it used to scare the shit out of me. I think because I became aware of death at such a young age, it hardened me to the fact that it happens. If you ask me now? I ain’t afraid of dyin’.”
“But, if it turns out that goin’ into this Texas Death Match at Supremacy is a bad idea, I won’t find out ‘til it’s all over and done with. But goin’ into it has me thinkin’ a lot about death, you know? An’ I’m sick of it. I’m sick of dwelling and reflecting and remembering. I’m sick of feelin’ like I’m stuck in the past. I’m sick of thinkin’ about the shit that happened to me. I’m just sick of all of it. I’ve told my story enough. So what am I gonna do about it?”
“I’m gonna do the only thing that I know how to do. The only thing that I’ve ever been any good at.”
Taking a moment to shift his sitting position, NOMAD begins raising his tone of voice.
“I’m gonna wrestle my way out of it.”
“I’m gonna fight my way out of it.”
“I’m going into Sunday, ready to lay it all out there, puttin' in every ounce, every drop of sweat and effort and determination that I got, into winnin’ that TAPOUT Openweight Championship. Because that’s what TAPOUT is built on as promotion. Two guys in the ring, the best that the company has to offer, givin’ each other their all, to be the best.”
NOMAD starts rocking frantically in place, becoming uncharacteristically animated.
“Pushing each other to the limits, to the extremes, giving each other everything they got, makin’ the people stand up and makin’ ‘em say that THIS IS WHAT PRO WRESTLING IS MEANT TO BE!”
Sighing, he takes a moment to calm himself.
“That’s what TAPOUT is about. That’s why I wanna be in Merric’s spot so bad, that’s why I want to take his title. Because I am all about what TAPOUT is about.”
Looking back to the camera making direct, intense eye contact with it.
“I’m hunting the hunter.”
“An’ I know my prey is dangerous. He wouldn’t be where he is without bein’ a threat. But there’s nothin’ that he can do to me that is any worse than the things that I’ve already dealt with, and the demons in my head that I fight on a daily basis. I’ve had guys like Merric barkin’ in my face my entire life. Guys who think that they’re tougher than me, or meaner than me, and it’s funny to me how they always seem to end up flat on their face the same way."
"I don’t think that Aiden is willin’ to suffer the way that I’m willin’ suffer.”
“Already said that I’ve crawled through Hell to be where I’m at, I don’t mind crawlin’ a little bit extra to get to where I wanna be. I will do whatever it takes for however long it might take. I’ll crawl through the mud and blood. I’ll crawl through barbed-wire and landmines. Whatever it takes, to climb that mountain, and make it my own.”
Narrowing his eyes, the strong confident expression on his face doesn’t change.
“Whatever it takes, I don’t care. I don’t care because I don’t care if I have to die to do it. I know that Aiden can dish it out, and he knows that I can take it. That’s why I wanted it to be this way. That’s why I accepted it bein’ this way.”
Leaning back, he glances up toward the sky. The wind returns with a steady, short breeze.
“I remember reading an old Japanese pro wrestling magazine as a kid. I remember seeing an image there of this guy, he was tangled up in a mess of barbed wire. The white shirt he was wearing was torn nearly to shreds from his body, and the bits of fabric that weren’t white were stained red with his, and probably his opponents, blood. His blue tights were turning purple from how much blood had been spilled on them. I remember looking at the expression of pure agony and torture radiating from his face. I remember how it made me feel. Honestly, it made me feel a little bit sick.”
Sitting a moment, he weighs the choice of words in his head.
“Because I liked it.”
In the short pause, another gust of wind blows in.
“Because there was something in that man’s pain that reached out to me and pulled me in. The pure will to survive that he had etched across his face as he was in the middle of trying to pull himself from this tangled web. On the next page was another picture of this man. A large centerfold shot. Still in the same blood stained purple tights and the shirt that was completely torn from his body and was more just a pink fabric necklace. Beside him was this massive trophy almost half his height and above his head he held this big golden championship belt with tears running down his bloodied cheeks. Going from the last picture of this man fighting his hardest to survive, to the next picture of him in all his blood stained glory inspired me.”
“I wanna ask you, Aiden: What are you capable of doing? How far are you capable of going? How much pain are you willing to suffer? Unlike what a guy like Poe is capable of, I can take you to the depths of a real hell. One that makes you question yourself, one that makes you second guess yourself, one that makes you doubt yourself. What happens if you hit me with your best shot and I power through it again? What happens when you keep putting me down and putting me down, but I keep getting back up? What happens when you make me bleed my own blood, but I like the taste of it? What happens when you realize how much you have to lose?”
“Because for me? I ain’t got a damn thing to lose.”
“See for me, those questions have been asked and answered. I’ve been asking ‘em to myself my entire life.”
Reaching back, NOMAD pulls the hood from his head.
“When I sat down here, I started talkin’ about a healing process. Everyone’s process is different, you know? How they handle death, how they grieve, how they heal. We grieve different. We process at different rates. Think that now I’m at the end of my process. I want you to know something important.”
“My last step is beating you, Aiden.”
“The very last thing I need to do to prove to myself that I have healed, that I have changed, that I have grown, is to beat you within an inch of your life on the 28th and take that championship of yours. That championship which means so much to you, and to me, and to everybody else in this company that we represent.”
“I don’t just want to beat you, I don’t just have to beat you, Aiden Merric, I need to beat you and I’m willing to sink to whatever depth I need to sink to in order to accomplish that. If it means spillin’ blood, I’ll spill it. If it means breakin’ bones, I’ll break ‘em.”
“A life of pain and regret and depression and abuse has led up to this exact moment in time. If I don’t beat you on the 28th, Aiden, then it may as well all have been for nothing. And if that’s the case, then I sincerely hope you kill me to do it.”
“Because I wouldn’t be able to live with myself otherwise.”
The close up shot of NOMAD pulls back and turns. He is sat cross legged on the grass, and as the camera keeps turning it comes to rest on two nondescript marble tombstones.
HERE LIES
WILLIAM
JOHN
SLOANE
“BILLY”
1953 - 2007
Father, husband, brother, son.
&
LISA
ANN
SLOANE
nee ROBERTS
1957 - 2002
Mother, wife, sister, daughter.
WILLIAM
JOHN
SLOANE
“BILLY”
1953 - 2007
Father, husband, brother, son.
&
LISA
ANN
SLOANE
nee ROBERTS
1957 - 2002
Mother, wife, sister, daughter.
The wind picks up again as NOMAD pulls himself to his feet. He brushes himself off and pulls the hood back over his head and spends a few moments in silence at the foot of his parents' graves.