Post by "Perfection" Evan Cartwright on Jan 27, 2007 2:42:35 GMT -5
[The air is cold tonight in Kamloops; a light snowfall blankets the ground near the Thompson River, confluencing into its two distinct branches. The NAPW Champion is spotted here, trudging along in his ankle-length overcoat. His demeanor is that of one shamed--almost defeated--and seeking solitude as a refuge. Ever the ultimate loner, nobody else can help him deal with his demons but him. He sits upon a boulder at the edge of the river bank and is reminded of his hometown of Cairo, which is also seated at the fork of two river branches--the Ohio and the Mississippi. What would they think now of this Illinois country boy, holding the top championship gold north of the border, west of the Mississippi. Champion of North America? Pffft, more like a champion of reluctance and pageantry.
Evan is feeling tired for the first time since he can remember. He's not getting any younger--but he's still not that old. Since when does a man in his late twenties start to feel like a beaten-up old veteran of war? Well... he does if his name is Evan Cartwright, self-proclaimed "Perfection," and he has been in this business for over ten years now, wrestling week in and week out with few breaks in-between. Injuries come and go, some remain and nag, some are advertised and others are more well hidden--they all hurt and frustrate him the same. But retirement? That's still a long way off... there is so much more to do and experience... or is there?
Doubts, doubts keep plaguing his mind. Is this even healthy? Is it proper to try and be ones own psychiatrist? But who else to tell and who else to trust like the camera? The people watching... those who desire to know every morsel that they're allowed. Evan used to be one of those people. He loved this business, he ate it up with a passion, he would dream about it and fill his waking hours with everything and anything that he could when it came to wrestling and backstage insider stuff. Now, now that he's lived it and been through so much... it's not the way it used to be anymore. Has that fire extinguished itself? Doubt, doubts, doubting mind. It's all coming down upon him like a crashing rain. Oh, if only to die right here... to plunge oneself into the river. The thought crosses his mind as he gets off the boulder and falls backward, landing in a snowdrift and just laying there on his back, prone... open.]
Evan: Is this why you threw yourself in the river, dad? Was it as bad for you as it is for me at this point in my life? I mean, I have it all... I am the top dog in NAPW, I've achieved that goal that I set out to do! But now, now that it has come to pass, it just seems... hollow at times. Like it's merely my name at the top of a friggin list on a website. And then this...
[Evan opens his coat front and unfastens the NAPW Championship--in all its glimmering glory--and stares at it, holding it above his face. His name is on it.]
Evan: You drove Patrick Bickle further into his reclusive insanity. You turned D! from NAPW's standard bearer into a turncoat who then up and left. You turned Ravager into a bitter man. You turned Rex Caliber into a retirement icon. You turned Static into a Hall of Famer. You turned Plague into a shadow of himself. You turned Lloyd Rees into a cod-smelling, beer-swilling... wait, that was already what he was. But regardless... you, my golden friend, have a way of driving men to madness; and I am no exception.
[The champion stand and holds in belt in his right hand.]
Evan: ... my belt?
[He reels back and hurls the belt into the icy waters of the Thompson River. He lets out a primal cry of grief and remorse. He'd tear the clothing off his chest if it wasn't so darn cold.]
Evan: Why? What the hell is wrong with me? Arrrrrrrrrrgh!!!
[The champion flings off his coat and plunges into the icy river, clothing and all. He is a strong swimmer, but the river is unforgiving at this time of winter. Luckily for him, the current is not very strong and he's able to catch up to the title belt before it drifts away too far. He snags the belt just as it is about to sink into the depths of darkness and pulls himself out of the freezing water and lays prone on the bank. The fool will probably get hypothermia or pneumonia for this stunt. What a fool. Perfection? More like a crazed lunatic just asking to lose the four corners match at TNF.]
Evan: What is wrong with me?
[The champion clutches his belt close to himself and crawls over to his heavy coat, rolling himself up in it and pulling out his cell phone from the pocket.]
Evan (into the phone): I need help...
[Fade to a commercial for Jacob's House of Earmuffs.]
Evan is feeling tired for the first time since he can remember. He's not getting any younger--but he's still not that old. Since when does a man in his late twenties start to feel like a beaten-up old veteran of war? Well... he does if his name is Evan Cartwright, self-proclaimed "Perfection," and he has been in this business for over ten years now, wrestling week in and week out with few breaks in-between. Injuries come and go, some remain and nag, some are advertised and others are more well hidden--they all hurt and frustrate him the same. But retirement? That's still a long way off... there is so much more to do and experience... or is there?
Doubts, doubts keep plaguing his mind. Is this even healthy? Is it proper to try and be ones own psychiatrist? But who else to tell and who else to trust like the camera? The people watching... those who desire to know every morsel that they're allowed. Evan used to be one of those people. He loved this business, he ate it up with a passion, he would dream about it and fill his waking hours with everything and anything that he could when it came to wrestling and backstage insider stuff. Now, now that he's lived it and been through so much... it's not the way it used to be anymore. Has that fire extinguished itself? Doubt, doubts, doubting mind. It's all coming down upon him like a crashing rain. Oh, if only to die right here... to plunge oneself into the river. The thought crosses his mind as he gets off the boulder and falls backward, landing in a snowdrift and just laying there on his back, prone... open.]
Evan: Is this why you threw yourself in the river, dad? Was it as bad for you as it is for me at this point in my life? I mean, I have it all... I am the top dog in NAPW, I've achieved that goal that I set out to do! But now, now that it has come to pass, it just seems... hollow at times. Like it's merely my name at the top of a friggin list on a website. And then this...
[Evan opens his coat front and unfastens the NAPW Championship--in all its glimmering glory--and stares at it, holding it above his face. His name is on it.]
Evan: You drove Patrick Bickle further into his reclusive insanity. You turned D! from NAPW's standard bearer into a turncoat who then up and left. You turned Ravager into a bitter man. You turned Rex Caliber into a retirement icon. You turned Static into a Hall of Famer. You turned Plague into a shadow of himself. You turned Lloyd Rees into a cod-smelling, beer-swilling... wait, that was already what he was. But regardless... you, my golden friend, have a way of driving men to madness; and I am no exception.
[The champion stand and holds in belt in his right hand.]
Evan: ... my belt?
[He reels back and hurls the belt into the icy waters of the Thompson River. He lets out a primal cry of grief and remorse. He'd tear the clothing off his chest if it wasn't so darn cold.]
Evan: Why? What the hell is wrong with me? Arrrrrrrrrrgh!!!
[The champion flings off his coat and plunges into the icy river, clothing and all. He is a strong swimmer, but the river is unforgiving at this time of winter. Luckily for him, the current is not very strong and he's able to catch up to the title belt before it drifts away too far. He snags the belt just as it is about to sink into the depths of darkness and pulls himself out of the freezing water and lays prone on the bank. The fool will probably get hypothermia or pneumonia for this stunt. What a fool. Perfection? More like a crazed lunatic just asking to lose the four corners match at TNF.]
Evan: What is wrong with me?
[The champion clutches his belt close to himself and crawls over to his heavy coat, rolling himself up in it and pulling out his cell phone from the pocket.]
Evan (into the phone): I need help...
[Fade to a commercial for Jacob's House of Earmuffs.]