Post by Mason Moore on Aug 9, 2011 1:51:22 GMT -5
The commercial that once filled your eyes fades out into a black screen. Words begin to fade in as they become clearer.
“I firmly believe that any man's finest hour, the greatest fulfillment of all that he holds dear, is that moment when he has worked his heart out in a good cause and lies exhausted on the field of battle - victorious.” -Vince Lombardi
After a few moments the screen fades back to black. A layover voice enters our ears as our screens still sit in blackness.
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Picture a man,
Old and frail,
But picture that man,
With wrists and feet bound with nails.
Ultimate sacrifice,
Or ultimate stupidity,
Neither this or that,
He’s talked with dignity.
But through the torment,
All broken and bothered,
Carried a smile,
Asked for their forgiveness from his divine father.
What can we learn,
From scars of time,
Where weakness is buried,
And glory is no crime.
We strive and we strive,
Until reaching our tops,
Forever we shall walk,
Until our time…
Our time will stop.
~Mason Moore~
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The layover voice finishes as the screen fades in to place us right on the steps of an old abandoned school. The outside walls are covered with dirt and vines, leading up to busted windows. Gutters hang from the edge of the roof like metal ice icicles. Just above the sky dawns a heavy grey color, the kind you see just before the rain. As the camera focuses back on to the steps, it begins its journey up each one, staring at the large rotted red door in front of it. Looking down, we see that the sidewalk leading to the school is cracked, with knee high weeds growing out of them.
*Creeeek*
The camera shoots back up to see that the red door has opened, but just partially, almost inviting us to look inside.
The camera makes its way up to the partially opened door and peers inside. Darkness. Darkness engulfs the inside as nothing can be made out. The camera man’s hand enter our vision as his hairy hand opens the door completely. What little light outside crept inside the school, peeling back every piece of darkness that was making its home inside.
As our eyes adjust to the somewhat lit school, we see that it’s a long, narrow hallway, with what seems like room lined up on either side. We take a step inside, looking down at the paper and glass cluttered floor. Looking back up, we see a silhouette standing at the end of the hall, in the doorway leading to another room.
“Come forth.”
The words echoed their way down the narrow hallway and into our ears. Hesitantly the camera move its way down the hallway, looking into the classrooms on either side of it. Nothing but blackness in each room courtesy of boarded windows. The rustling of papers beneath our feet make for an uncomfortable feeling as we continue to slowly make our way to the end of the hallway, a voice is heard from the distance.
:
An opportunity that awaits me is an opportunity that shall not be taken for granted.
As the man speaks, the voice becomes clearer.
Mason Moore:
Every ounce of energy to be poured out from every fiber of my being.
As we finally reach the doorway in which we saw the silhouette, above the doorframe, written in red spray paint. Are words as followed:
“Abandon all hope; ye who enters here”
We enter the room to see Mason Moore sitting in the middle of the class with twelve chairs surrounding him in a circular fashion. A medium sized, white candle sits on each chair, lighting a soft orange glow on Moore. He’s dressed in ripped blue jeans, a black shirt and a pair of black cowboy boots. His head is in his hands as he begins to speak.
Mason Moore:
Amazing how in a few short weeks one man goes from nothing to something.
Mason picks up his head and looks around him.
Mason Moore:
Unlike this room, this Saturday there won’t be an empty seat in the arena.
Twelve is our number today, all around me in a circular formation. The hands of time would find this to be a great home, circling a man, using him as the center of its space.
Mason stands up and begins to circle his center chair, looking at each of the twelve chairs that surrounds him. He smiles and sits back down.
Mason Moore:
Once in a while you should pay your respects to each hour on the clock, you never know which one will be the one that smites you.
But with these hours comes great pride and glory, not just death. Death is inevitable, no smile or handshake can stop death.
No, no no! What I talk about is each minute that ticks by brings us all closer to Saturday night. A night that will go down in infamy.
As I look around me, I don’t see just empty chairs, or figments of time, I see twelve glorious hours. I see twelve steps to becoming that much closer to attaining what every man strives for who enters this business, the World Heavyweight Championship.
Shh!
Mason puts his finger to his lips with his eyes wide open.
Mason Moore:
You hear that?
Mason looks around the room and fixates on the candle that represents the number one.
Mason Moore:
The whispers of the past speak through time and let us not forget their mistakes. Our knowledge grows by re-learning the past and watching how they won, or how they lost.
Miss-ques, Miss-steps, Miss-preparation; they all take part in to why they lost their gold.
Dedication, Deliberations, and Movements; those all took part in them attaining their goals.
If anyone is a wise one, you will always see that I, Mason Moore, take great pride in what I do every single night.
But to all who see me for me, I would like to take you all on a journey through the lives of the other 2 combatants I will enter in the ring against on Saturday.
Mason stands up as the camera zooms in on his face.
Mason Moore:
Come with me.
The scene fades out as fade into a commercial…
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The life and times of Jacob Jones
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The scene fades back in from the commercial as we find ourselves standing on the outside of a run down, abandoned bar. This is a small bar, not fitting more than 75 people at most. The windows were all boarded up and decorated with graffiti. The entrance to the bar shows signs of where a door used to be, but now is replaced with nothing. Looking inside from where we are standing shows the dark figure of a man just inside the building. As we approach the entrance, the figure moves out of view to our left. We inch closer to stand just inside of the doorframe. We look right to see nothing but busted chairs sitting at empty tables and broken bottle debris laying on the floor.
As the camera slowly turns to the left, we see that there still stands a full bar. Everything is busted behind it, mirrors, liquor bottles and even the taps themselves. A single stool sits at the bar where it shows that Mason is sitting, hands clasped on the bar top looking down.
Mason Moore:
Alone I sit among the rubble of a once booming business. But through the booming, I sit at a table that men gathered who chose to drown their sorrows in drinks instead of confronting what we call life.
Alone I sit, bringing myself closer to the one man who no one knew at all. Mr. Jacob Jones.
I reflect on this bar, a place where he had sat a million times or more in his adult hood, drowning himself in the bottom of a bottle.
Amongst all this debris lay the memories of a man who once hid behind the neon lights to escape the tortured memories of his past. An abusive father and a slut of a mother.
Mason looks up and into the busted mirror and see’s the tattered reflection of himself.
Mason Moore:
In a lot of ways Jacob and I are the same. We both have had troubled pasts that leave us in a state of confusion at times. Even in dark places that are only discovered when reality sets in.
Mason stands up and walks through the rubble towards the bathroom on the other side of the bar. He enters the men’s room and is quickly met with the stench of old feces and urine. He takes a step backwards and composes himself. He continues through the bathroom and looks around at his environment. A two-stall bathroom and a single sink with more graffiti written on the walls. Mason notices some writings on the wall that stands out among the others. He walks over to it and rubs his hand over it.
Mason Moore:
A spot with your name, oh how you longed to stand out above the rest. Your writing seems sad; the scribbling seems to cripple your Handcock.
If only then you knew what and who you are now. Jacob, you’re now a superstar, main-eventing shows and have a following that’s behind you no matter what.
But yet, you still feel so empty. A not-so-ideal childhood will always cripple the strongest man. But Jacob, why the front? No one has to be so strong all the time. Sometimes you just have to let go. Sometimes, you just have to know when the time to step back is the right time.
Let me tell you a story about growing up as Mason Moore, Jacob.
Mason walks out of the bath room and back into the main bar area. He kneels down in the middle of the room and looks in to the camera.
Mason Moore:
Once upon a time, there lived a young man name Mason Moore. He was brought into this world on November 22, 1983. He had a normal baby-hood, growing, sleeping, crying.
Wait, I should stop there, I started off with a lie. Let’s start again.
As a baby, I was left in the crib, crying with a diaper filled with feces and urine, and I smelled like the stall we just left. Growing up I had no friends, just a wrestling show put on every Saturday morning. My mother died while I was still young, around four years old I believe.
And oh how my father would beat me. Scars still scatter my back from the lashings I would receive at the hand of a man who thought he was GOD.
But as I grew up, the whippings lost their effects. I grew stronger and fear was non-existent. The whippings I would receive and cry over were actually a blessing. At the time I thought I was being punished, but my father was giving me life lessons in the form of blood and broken flesh.
So Jacob, what is your niche? I have been trying to wrap my brain around what makes you tick.
But out of all the downs I have seen you go through; when you enter the ring I see nothing but a competitor. I respect what you do and you do it well.
For now we must take our leave, but we’ll be back. I have another place to visit before we end this.
Mason stands up and walks through the broken doorway leading to the outside world. The camera fades out and into commercial.
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Being Anthony Ferraro
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The scene is set in the back alley of The Bronx in New York.
*Craaaaaack ….. Rrrruuuuuummmble*
The sound of thunder ring through your ears as the bright flash of lightning engulfs the alleyway. A cardboard box is the center of our attention as we creep closer to the opening of the box. The sound of a bottle being kicked echoes through the alley as the camera turns to either side frantically looking to see if anyone or anything was there.
Our attention is brought back to the opening of the box. We notice that there is a figure sitting inside the box itself. As it begins to speak, we realize its Mason Moore.
Mason Moore:
A depressed man lives here. One who dwells on a past that seems to only fuel his fire. Anthony, we have given the world one of the best matches they had ever seen. But your veteran instinct kicked in and left me on the outside of the ring to be counted out.
It was a thing of beauty.
But, Tony, may I call you Tony?
Tony, we have very different aspects on the roads that we walk. The dreary feelings that you let enter our senses is enough to make any man try and reach the top for air.
Your wrestling abilities are that of a Superstar and you can stand toe to toe with any man. In every match, Tony, you astound me.
Rain begins to pour down from the sky, clinking on trash cans and beating on the fire escape above our heads. Mason exits the box and stands in the rain. He looks up to the sky and smiles.
Mason Moore:
But with your skill, Anthony, I can see your judgments’ are clouded. I can see that you are still so indecisive about yourself, about who you are.
You see, this spot we stand in right now is right in the middle of your hopes and dreams. Yes, it is an alley, but it is your emotions that fall on to us. These are your tears that you hold in that fall on our heads and drip down our bodies. Figuratively of course.
Your emotions are your downfall, Anthony, and I will expose it.
Mason stands with his arms outstretched and picks his head up once more letting the rain beat off his face. With his arms still outstretched he looks back down at the camera.
Mason Moore:
Anthony, the time has come for you to realize just how much you can learn from knowing yourself. Stop living in your own emotions, Anthony, and just start living.
I have one more stop that I could like everyone to join me at. So please, come along.
The scene fades out with Mason putting his arms down and walking out of the alleyway.
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Perspectives
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The scene fades back in from commercial to a scene overlooking a city below. The camera zooms back to see that we are standing on a hillside overlooking a small town nestled underneath the stars above. The camera pans to the right to see Mason standing on the edge looking down at the town.
Mason Moore:
You know, it takes a lot of power to take on such beauty that is laid out in front of you. From the lights and sounds, to the simplicities of just walking down the street and saying hi to every person you see.
The view from this hill is amazing. Breathe in the air. Take it in.
You feel that? The feeling of being free is amazing, isn’t it?
Standing here brings a lot of things into perspective for me.
For you see, this Saturday, I have the match of a lifetime. I get to get into the ring and face two of the most talented people in the world in a main event leading into Highway to Hell. And whoever wins gets a shot at the World Heavyweight Championship.
But let’s not get ahead of ourselves, no. We need to stick right here in the present. The future will be handled when the future is here.
Mason sits down and lets his feet dangle over the edge. A cool breeze flows up from the valley and rubs over Masons face. He closes his eyes and enjoys natures gift.
Mason Moore:
Comforting.
The feeling given to me by Mother Nature herself, it lets me know that everything is going to be alright.
I’m going to leave everyone with this last message.
Jacob and Anthony,
Two of the fiercest competitors I will ever step into the ring with.
This Saturday will determine who will be going on to Highway to Hell and enter the Elimination chamber.
Colossal giants! And don’t forget the match of the century.
With these final words I will not wish harm on my competitors, I won’t even gloat by saying I’m the better of them all.
I’m going to just say that I wish them well and let’s going out there and blow the roof off the arena. For when the dust settles and the smoke clears, no matter who’s hand is held victorious, one thing is for damn sure, we’re going to into that Elimination Chamber with everyone trying to take us out.
By winning the match on Saturday we’re going in to Highway to Hell with the momentum, and everyone else should tuck their tales between their legs. This is it.
Jacob.
Anthony.
Simply.
Let’s give everyone what they paid for.
A wrestling match of the ages.
Let’s give the fans emotion again.
Let’s give them….
Everything.
Mason stands up and brushes his pants off. He looks into the camera and smiles.
Mason Moore:
See you Saturday.
And with that Mason walks off camera as it zooms to a final view of the town below. The scene fades out as the SNME logo washes across the screen.