Post by The Roy on Sept 3, 2011 22:55:18 GMT -5
The scene opens up to a shot of an old style record player. The long wooden stand has fine curves twisted at each corner into a marvelous abstract design. The needle is somewhat dull and chipped. A hand cuffed in a black dress shirt reaches out and drops the needle onto the record, which now begins to spin. The lyrics shoot from the black circle and dance around the room. They start high at the ceiling and due to a slight echo in tempo they fall to the ground in damp condition. What's supposed to be cheerful and uplifting, almost portraits as grotesque and terrifying. The camera zooms back a little, showing The Roy dressed sharply. His perfectly black dress shirt contrasts exquisitely with the faded blue jeans. His cowboy hat shades his eyes adding mystery to his pupils. The shining Rolex watch adds slight swag to the ensemble. The Roy runs a black comb down his long wet hair, fresh from the shower. He looks into a full length mirror hanging from the wall and smiles while nodding his head with the music.
"Sweet pea. Apple of my eye. Don't know when and I don't know why. You're the only reason I keep on coming home."
Although the music may be dreary, The Roy's bright smile keeps the mood at a fair level. There is a night stand a few inches from Mr. Rowe. Amongst it lay cologne, a pair of socks and an ash try occupied by a thick expensive cigar, already lit. The Roy reaches for the cologne and tosses it from one hand, snatching it with the other. He pops the lid and splashes a little into his palms. As if preparing for a grand date, he dabs the wonderful aroma upon his neck and down his chest. He places the bottle perfectly back into position and takes hold of the cigar. He takes a puff and leaves the cigar sitting between his lips, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. Enjoying the music he places one hand at waist level and the other stretching wide, as if dancing with a partner. He prances around the room dancing gleefully, slowly in rhythm.
"Sweet pea. What's all this about. Don't get your way all you do is fuss and pout. You're the only reason I keep on coming home."
The camera forced to pan sideways to keep up reveals something that instantly....drops the heart of every viewer. Upon this sight we feel slight concern, with whatever glory was left in the moment instantly being sucked away, creating one of those moments where the music booms slightly louder and the entire movie theater would scream from the cinema. Almost hidden in the background beyond an open curved doorway we see a shadow. We can't see the person in physical form but the shadow is enough. We see what appears to be a young woman sitting in a chair. Her long straight hair is swaying in all directions. Her waist line seems slightly thickened, and by the way she writhes we can assume only that she is bound to the chair she desperately tries to escape. The Roy trots out of the room still dancing. Once more chills take a walk down our spine as just before exiting The Roy grabs hold of some form of large cutlery previously hidden on the nightstand.
"I like the Rock of Gibralter. I always seem to falter. And the words just get in the way. Oh I know I'm gonna crumble. I'm trying to stay humble. But I never think before I say..."
The music follows Roy and the trail of smoke he creates. For a brief instant the woman stops struggling. She slowly glances upwards and we feel tense as the two shadows meet eyes. Still unable to see both of them we can only imagine the trail of tears that must be dripping like rain as The Roy raises the blade. The dancing, the writhing has stopped, yet the music pursues. The Roy hacks at every limb leaving every part of the poor woman flying every which way. A clean cut to her face shows a splatter of blood dart towards the wall until it and the shadow meet as one against the paint. Arms go flying to the ground, until eventually nothing is left in the chair except the lower waist. All screams were drowned courtesy of our friend the record player. The woman's lower half drops off to the side as Roy takes one final relaxed and full-filled drag from his cigar. The smoke rings seem to blur as shadows, dancing with the music.
"Sweet pea. Keeper of my soul. I know sometimes I'm out of control. You're the only reason I keep on coming.."
"You're the only reason I keep on coming yeah..."
"You're the only reason I keep on coming home....."
scrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr
The needle unhinged, drips to the side of the record creating an awful piercing noise. The Roy's shadow is seen with his neck snapping in the direction of the record player. He bolts over the corpse and into the room where we can see him once again. He seems sweaty and distant. There's a few lines of streaming blood running down his wrists into his palms. It drips an evenly proportioned pool of blood onto the record as The Roy gently lifts the needle up. With the cigar still in his mouth he tilts his head back to take another puff. He breathes in deep, the ring of flames around the tobacco shortening the stick glowing brighter as The Roy's eyes illuminate with the rings. He plucks the cigar away and it bounces into the camera lens knocking it over. To ash and burning, the camera fades to black and white static.
When the stream finally comes back through we find ourselves in a new room. It's almost as if waking up after a horrible dream except in this case, you don't get that feeling of relief when you realize it wasn't real. Instead we look in trying to gather our thoughts, thoughts which are accompanied by large drops of rain pounding against the house. The noise of the rain is a nice transition from the static, however it still leaves an empty feeling in the living room. It's dimly lit by two standing sconces and a single shaded lamp. The light from the lamp rides down the shade like a playground slide and lands safely onto a fluffy white couch. The couch is snuggling four doughy pillows in it's arms. There's a large abstract curtain mounted behind the sconces. Resting between them is a table filled with family portraits in pyramid fashion. Other odds and ends such as cluttered tables and an abstractly decorated carpet make this house seem almost normal. But the air, something just isn't right in the wind. The camera turns itself to a new side of the room. This side is filled simply with the floor, the wall, a window....and The Roy.
He stands facing away from us and out the window. Each drop bangs against the glass and makes it's way to the base leaving a trail in which the other drops follow suit. Building up a puddle outside in the driveway the rain pours ever so heavily. The Roy clutches his hands together behind his waist. There's a hammer in his one hand which he twirls by the head, the handle facing upright. He is looking almost up at the sky with the moon winking back at him. It highlights the curves around his face, which rests emotionless. He turns himself, only with one leg gliding sideways around the glossy hardwood floor. He walks himself around the back of the couch, grinding his fingertips gently along it's outline. Once full circle in front of the couch, he sits himself down. Slightly more visible we notice his hands are cleaned up for the most part. The only remains of the gory scene are the dried blood between his fingers. The hammer has served some purpose unknown to us just yet. The Roy leans back staring into the flat end of the hammer. He sets it down beside him and places his elbows into his knees, and his face into his palms. Thunder booms and lightning brightens the entire room for just a second as The Roy runs his fingertips down his face and reclines into the comfort of the sofa. His legs are just a few inches apart and his right foot taps with a tempo.
Have I ever told you guys the story....of Jack the ripper.
Speaking for the first time his voice crackles like the rain. It's rough yet soft spoken. Calm yet direct. He almost intentionally makes no eye contact with the camera the entire time we see him, once again hiding his face beneath the brim of his hat.
He...haha. He was a grand being. A majestic creature indeed. He's been forgotten over the years...much like myself. He ran a line of terror through hearts like no man has ever been able to do. Yet we've almost forgotten his name. That's no way to treat a legend. Just because Jack has been gone, doesn't mean his deeds go with him. Let me tell you a little story about sir Jack...
The Roy's mind seems to fade out into the distance. Beyond the couch and beyond the house. His mind lays watching somewhere in a thought bubble drawing an imagine with his words. As we listen we are taken back to another time.
This hut, this dusty, old, dark dungeon, was once believed to be a hiding room for a personal idol of mine. It was thought to be an abyss for a man who holds much respect from me. He became known by the press as, Jack the ripper. Jack the Ripper has remained a popular face for countless reasons. He undoubtedly was not the first serial killer, but he was probably the first to appear in a large metropolis at a time when general populace had become literate. He surfaced at a time in history when the press was a force for social change. The man who I have grown to envy, also appeared when there was tremendous political turmoil in modern day culture. What that means is, people such as the liberals and social reformers ran rampant, trieing to use his crimes for their own ends. Every single damn day, the activities of Jack were chronicled in the news papers. Along with a few other things. It was the massive amount of press coverage that made Jacks murdering a “new thing”, something that an evolving society had never known before. He was a “revolution” of sorts. The rest of the responsibility, and the general amount, was all thanks to The Ripper. The man may have been a sexual serial killer of a type that’s far too common for the 1990’s, but he was also hell bent on terrifying a city, and making the entire world take notice of him by leaving his horribly mutilated, bloody, dead victims out in plain site. He got the same high from murder, that I get from beating people down. I get off on telling people how things are going to go down, bracing them for a reality that they cannot imagine, and then watching the look on their faces when my foreshadowing of a reality, becomes reality. I however am another story...for another time. Let's just finish up on Jack shall we..
Like a kid eager on Christmas morning The Roy hops out of the couch slightly grinning. A shimmer in his eye breaks from beyond the shadow cast unto Rowe's brow. He walks the long way back around the couch and over to the cluttered table. He pulls out some ruffled paper clipping and shuffles through them like trading cards.
Oh here's a good one!
The Roy throws the clipping onto the back cushions of the couch where we zoom in on the photo while Roy narrates it's tale.
Mary Ann Walker. Born August twenty sixth 1845. Roughly forty four years old. Five foot two, tall, brown eyes, dark complexion. Small scar over the eyes from a childhood injury. When she was found, five teeth were missing, and there was a slight laceration of the tongue. There was a bruise running along her cheek bone. Below the jaw, there was an incision about four inches in length. She was found dead, a victim to the ripper. I would advise you cover your kids eyes cause I got more.
The Roy lays a new article down for us to see.
Elizabeth Stride, born November 27, 1843 on a farm called Stora Tumlehed, At the time of death she was nearly 45. Pale complexion, light grey eyes, curly brown hair. She was found dead against a wall. She was found with an incision over the neck. Her skin had been deformed. She was found as a victim, to The Ripper. I try to base my career on the life style of this man. He was sick, twisted, and loved for people to know it. Only difference is, I allow my victims to live through such tragedies as to let them endure both physically and physiologically damaged lives. I found a way to make beating people down legal. Professional wrestling. It's not about the holds for me. It's not about the “science.” It's all about the brutality. It's easier to talk about other peoples emotions and analyze them than it is to speak on yourself. That's why I've chosen to describe Jack to you nice people. His eyes are the perfect window to my mind. There's another side to me though...
The Roy neatly combines the two articles and carefully folds them up, placing them in his back pocket for safe keeping. The top of the paper with jet black ink sticks out just by the corner of it's molding, as if to attempt creeping out of The Roy's pocket. Rowe walks slowly over to the table with the photos. The camera follows along side him giving us a better visualization of the photos than before. To our surprise, sprawled out in many glorious photo frames is a tiny shrine dedicated,...to Johnny Magnum.
My best friend, The J-man. He saw something in me I sure as hell never saw. He brought out the kid in me.
The Roy holds one picture in particular tight with both hands. Johnny is holding the SNME world title engraved with Roy's name. He has a fake disgruntled look on his face, pretending to be The Roy. Roy is a few inches in the background holding his gut and laughing at Magnums antics. The table is filled with photo's of the two. We see Johnny with the custom title. We see both men with RWF T-shirts. We see Roy and Johnny at NWA, WWE, LOE and many others standing side by side in every photo. We can't help but notice none of the photo's of them together take place inside of an SNME building. With all the other promotions advertised it seems odd that SNME was left out.
Johnny was always following me around like a puppy. People called him names. Puppet, tool, Roy's bitch. But he shrugged it off. He didn't care. He was just happy to be my friend. In a world where no one could stand to hear my voice, Johnny called me everyday. He became my brother. For a while the fun stopped being about brutality, and it started being about hanging out with my brother. The first time I met Johnny backstage I remember thinking wow another goof I'm going to have to play nice with. The first time we were forced to travel we just clicked. I believe there's a part of me that wanted to be a nicer man. Part of me wanted to be more care free and more content with life like Johnny Magnum. I also believe part of Johnny hated the world. Part of him beneath the smile always wanted to give the globe a big fuck you and turn his back. Those two contrasting ideas inside of us both...reached out to each other. On some level we were the same, yet completely the opposite. I think that's why we clicked as well as we did. I love that kid. I truly do. With him I was the person I thought......hm?
The Roy throws his head to the left looking towards the window. The rain still pours.
With Johnny I....I...
The Roy looks around with confusion.
What is that beating sound...bum bum...bum bum.....I hear it so clearly but I can't tell if it's...real.
The Roy looks back at the photo. The only thing we can hear is the rain so it's hard to understand exactly what just happened. Ignoring it we go back to the story.
With Johnny I was the person I always thought I should've have been. I became more at ease. The thoughts in my mind became less like demands. Maybe he was the first time I felt true friendship. It saddens me the position we are in. He and I.
The Roy squints his eyes in suspicion and looks around once more. He seems to be looking for the source of the sound that only he can hear. He swallows hard and looks back towards the shrine. He lays the photo down back in front of all the other and reaches for the odd curtain draped behind the tall lighting fixtures. He refuses to look directly at it, going as far as to twist his neck to look in the complete opposite direction with his eyes held tight. We tense up bracing for what could be behind the curtain. He pulls down hard..
Alas there is it. The missing photo. Roy Rowe and Johnny Magnum together...in SNME. The Highway to Hell poster blends magnificently with the room and acts well as master to the shrine. Rowe let's the curtain drop down and continues to look away. Facing completely opposite from the poster he speaks more on the situation.
This Sunday I fight my best friend for the only thing I know in life. Saturday Night's main event. All the hatred I have for people like Shawn Micheals, they all subside when I'm in that ring. The spotlight and the reaction from hundreds of people embrace me more lovingly than any one man could. But you know what, I'd trade all of that to keep Magnum. So why enter into this match you ask? Why put our friendship through this? Why risk it all? Simple answer really. It's the only answer there has ever been. There is one thing that SNME comes with that Johnny has never came with. You think this photo of he an I is framed in front because of his adorable charm?
Roy points back to the photo of he and Magnum that he had been holding.
Have you learned nothing in the five years you've known me?? This photo is in front because it's a picture of my baby girl. The only thing I desire ….MY FRIENDS THIS PHOTO …..is of the world...heavyweight...championship.
The Roy's sad face turns mad. The cynical smile, the dastardly eyes, they all return. Vintage Roy Rowe surfaces as he turns to make eye contact with the poster. He takes a hearty breath in and admires the beauty of it all.
Surprise surprise. This is all about the world heavy weight championship. With it I need no ones embrace. It's straps hold my waist with more love than any human could. With that, I don't need Johnny Magnum. Without SNME I cannot have the world title. And in this case with SNME, I cannot have Johnny Magnum. Quite the equation yes but it's basic math really. It all boils down to I will do anything in my power to get my hands on that championship. It doesn't matter who I have to step over to get......
The Roy turns quickly almost startled. There's nothing there.
To get the
The Roy snaps his neck once more. Still nothing is there. This time he is certain the noise is alive and well.
What the hell is going on here. What is that beating.
The Roy goes over to a clock in the distance. He checks to see how loud the ticking is. Unsatisfied he punches through the glass shattering it to bits. He tosses the clock and continues to search the room. He checks the TV, he looks out the window. We are certain he has lost it. He begins sweating beads just as heavy as the rain outside that ominous window. His swallows become gulps as he drives himself mad. His eyes drop half way down his face and begin to water.
PLEASE STOP. I'M BEGGING YOU PLEASE NO.
The Roy looks over to the rug under the couch. He looks down at it and a small cry surfaces in the form of a cough.
This isn't happening...
The Roy in a fit of rage picks up the hammer and flips the couch sideways. He drops down to his knees and wipes the sweat from under his nose using the same hand he holds the hammer with. Slowly he leans in to the now exposed hardwood floor. He slowly...slowly places his ear against the hardwood floor. Out of pure terror his eyes shoot open. He pops his face back up quickly from the ground as if fearing to fall in. He begins to use the back of the hammer to rip up the floor boards. It's at this time we discover the origin of that hammer. The dark secret that it held. Rusty nails fly in every direction with poorly constructed floor boards following. We discover a hole that was covered up by the wood. The Roy is in pure panic as he leans over to the hole. We can see severed limbs placed in baggies and laid evenly across the dirt.
SHUT UP IN THERE. THEY'RE.....they're going to hear you baby girl please shhh. It's ok. I killed you everything is ok now. How can your heart still be beating....
The lighting in the room oddly turn red and blue as tears scroll down Rowe's cheeks. His shirt has come unbuttoned exposing his bare chest. He is crying yet talks with the same voice he always has.
Oh baby please, don't cry anymore ok? You're my dirty little secret shh. No one knows your here. Just be quiet. SHUT UP YOU BITCH BEFORE THEY
There's a knock at the door...
LOOK WHAT YOU'VE DONE.
The camera is taken outside where two uniformed officers are banging on the door. The red and blue lights from their cars beat on there backs and peak it's way through them and onto the door. Obviously hearing Roy yelling, they're faces twists with concern as they beat on the door once more with more authority. “Open up,” They yell. No answer. The inside of the house has become completely silent. One officer begins to speak into his radio, when right at that very moment Roy answers the door.
Hey, is..something wrong..?
To our surprise the Roy's complexion has been completely restored. His shirt is buttoned well and the collar fastened neatly. His eyes are completely dry and his tone is normal.
Sir we have received complaints of abnormal behavior coming from this home, mind if we take a look around?
Uh yeah sure, what kind of behavior?
The officers both step inside one after the other. They take a look around the house. The carpet is laid back where it was when we first started this whole crazy ordeal. The couch and the cushions are just as inviting as ever. Everything is perfect. The Roy seems to be completely tuning out the heart beat that was driving him insane just seconds ago.
Well, your neighbors have heard a lot of yelling and banging in the past hour.
Oh Ha Ha. I was hanging up this marvelous poster over here. It took a lot of nails to get it completely flat and well this is kind of humiliating but...
Roy raises his hands up showing the dried blood between his fingertips and fingernails.
I uh, I missed the nails a few times and I'm kind of vocal when I get angry. Oh wow I'm so sorry I didn't realize it was that bad I didn't mean to cause any trouble, am I....am I in trouble?
The officers inspect the situation and decide it was all just a misunderstanding.
No sir, just keep it down a little. It's late alright?
Oh yeah of course no problem. And again I'm so sorry,
The officers assure Roy everything is okay as he shows them the door. He closes the entrance and turns the lock. He runs and leaps through the air and lands laying on his back, on the couch. He's smiling again...
I've told you what I wanted to be. I've told you who I thought I should be. Now let me tell you exactly just who in the hell I am. My name is Roy Rowe. Behind closed doors I'm A broken down mess of a man. But when it's time to put on a show, boy oh boy do I perform. I am an unforgiving, vengeful maniacal, sensationally sick man. I don't care about you. I don't even give a damn about me. I just want the world title. I don't care if I have to step over my best friend, or my worse enemy. I don't give a damn about any body in this world. I am The Revolution of Youth and you seem to all have forgotten what I bring to the table. These blogs, these rants, you think that's all I am? Just another character in the show huh? I am a driving force that cannot and will not be stopped. I am the mastermind pulling the strings. I am The Best, I am the greatest. I am The Roy.
The Roy turns himself upright and stands up. He walks back over the poster and places his hands behind his waist. He pulls the hammer out of his back pocket, apparently hidden there the whole time. He stands in the same position we saw him in originally when he first stood in this room moments after the massacre.
In my absence you have forgotten me. My name lingered but not my legend. A lot has changed. Alberto Del Rio is kicking peoples ass left and right. Naples Knight is now Anthony Ferraro and is main eventing a pay per view for my world title. Kammy is retired and hosting a late night talk show. Seth Akira is wrestling again. Times change but the facts remain that I am unstoppable. Dear god I pray for these people when they realize I am so much more than a running mouth. Here's a front page article for you.
Johnathon Crane. Born May thirty first nineteen eighty four. He was found laying in the middle of the ring at Highway To Hell. Severe burns to his flesh. Several gashes all along his face. Bruises over top of broken bones. Four missing teeth later discovered in his stomach. Marks on his back from chain grinding against his body. Beaten. Defeated. Broken. And banished. He was found a victim....To The Roy.
To this grand return, or perhaps for this one last time...the camera fades to black.