Post by Tyrone "Crazy Boy" Smith on Nov 29, 2015 17:35:19 GMT -5
Tyrone peers around the trophy room, remembering with a fondness exactly how he achieved each and every accolade. The thing that pings him in the heart with each one is the date. All are in the distant past. With a heart heavy sigh, he flips on the television poised in the corner amid a shelf full of media of his accomplishments. Inserting a VHS of his World Title win, the screen comes to life.
A cheering crowd echoes their approval at the combatant in the ring, yet it is not the one known as Crazy Boy holding the strap high. In fact, it doesn't even appear to be the scene he selected at all. The ring announcer proclaimed the man in the ring to be Buck Brochamp instead of the Crazy One himself.
That couldn't be. Tyrone shook his head in confusion as he smashed the buttons on the remote furiously to no avail. Even the power button ceased to be responsive as the scene unfolded. The sound popped on from the announcer as if it had previously been muted despite the cheering crowd.
"And his opponent," the suited man with the microphone began chuckling as he spoke, glancing at his card with gleeful whimsy. "You're joking right? This guy hasn't done anything since Reagan was president." The announcer stood upright, clearing his throat and fighting hard to maintain his composure. "And his opponent, hailing from Biloxi, Mississippi..." The announcer could contain his laughter no more as he guffawed his way through the remainder of his job . "Tyrone "Crazy Boy' Smith!"
The auditorium went dead silent. Tumbleweeds that had somehow managed to find their way not only to the East Coast, but indoors, wiled by as Tyrone burst through the curtain, his hands raised momentarily in mock victory. His arms wilted to his side as he drank in the lack of reaction, his heart sinking like the Titanic.
Looking on, his eyes began to glow green as he peered at the television screen. He wasn't sure if what he was watching was a joke or prophesy, but his sudden, burning hatred of not only the ring announcer and Buck Brochamp grew, but his disdain for the fans as well.
"The little green monster has bitten you, Mr. Smith," started an unknown, yet familiar voice. Tyrone spun around, coming nose-to-nose with his former leader and friend, N. Saniti. "Envy will only lead to your downfall. Allow me to help you as one last favor." As Saniti held up a black star-shaped trinket, the amber glow from the middle intensified.
Every nerve in his body felt like it was on edge as a greenish-black ooze poured from his every pore and into the amulet. Never had he felt this level of agony, even with the worst of his injuries. Seconds lasted for years as the substance was collected to the very last drop, leaving an exhausted Crazy Boy in its wake.
"Take heed, my friend," instructed Saniti as he disappeared into the shadows from whence he appeared. "You are a far better man than to let the accomplishments of others guide your heart. Envy is a sin that a fan favorite can ill afford."
As the magician faded away, the television screen screams to life once again, this time at the conclusion of an impromptu North American Title match between Crazy Boy and Whitey Ford.
"Target in sight, he stands ... and then HE FLIES!
CRAZY SPIN!"
The move connects and Crazy Boy slams full-force onto Whitey Ford’s rib cage and sternum area. He has nowhere to go and is CRUSHED by the 450 splash. The referee diving over to make the count ...
1!
2!
3!!
DING DING DING!
The crowd goes absolutely bananas as the referee goes to the edge of the ring to retrieve the North American championship ... and hand it over to the NEW Champion ... CRAZY BOY!
A small gasp can be heard from the darkness as a figure sits up straight from his bed. You can hear erratic breathing escaping from the figures lips as he reaches over and turns on a lamp on the nightstand. As the blinding light comes into view, you can see veteran PCW superstar Tyrone "Crazy Boy" Smith, sitting up in his bed,his long blonde hair matted around his face, wet with sweat.
The Crazy One sighs as he moans, getting up from the bed, his feet shuffling to the bathroom. He flips on the light and walks over to the sink, splashing some water on his face. He looks in the mirror, bags under his eyes, his face looking totally stressed out. The dream still vivid in his mind, the flash of his former friend and leader, Nathan Saniti, flashes like wildfire in his head.
Envy? He didn't think he was envious of anything. Was Saniti right in his dream, saying that Tyrone was extremely envious? What was there to be envious about? He had a good career, a good family. He was set for the rest of his life.
A yawn escapes his lips as he walks back into the room, his wife stirring on her side of the bed. She turns her head toward the confused superstar and opens her eyes, not removing her head from the pillow.
"What's the matter, honey?" Cassie asks, not moving from her comfortable position from the bed. Her eyes blink fast, trying to get the sleep out of her eyes.
"I just had a weird dream, Cass," Tyrone explains. "Let me ask you something. Do you think I'm envious? Like truly envious of something in PCW?"
Cassie's eyes blink again as she shrugs her shoulders, seemingly lost in thought.
"I don't think you are envious too much, but you DO have some envy. You are envious of the people that always seem to pass you up. You are getting older and all these younger superstars are passing you by. You have been clawing and scraping all of your life, but at this point, it's really getting you nowhere now."
The Crazy One closes his eyes, letting what his wife said absorb into his mind, as he opens up his eyes, lighting up like a Christmas Tree.
"That makes sense," Crazy Boy explains, sitting on the edge of the bed. "I had a dream where I was irrelevant, and noone knew who the hell I was. I was losing to Buck Brochamp for Christ's sake.
Saniti appeared in my dream and was talking about me being envious, and me being better than people guiding me and my life. He said basically that I need to carve my own path and be my own man. There isn't any reason for me to be jealous of anything. He seemed to be trying to set my sin free... or releasing it from me, I'm not sure which one."
That gets Cassie's attention as she gets up from the bed, wrapping her slender arms around the veteran superstar.
"You have been getting a lot more dreams and nightmares recently," Cassie quips. "I know generally dreams have hidden meanings, but yours is so out there sometimes that I don't know if they have hidden meanings or not. You have some very vivid dreams. There could be so many meanings to them that you have no chance of ever sorting them out."
Tyrone leans back and nuzzles against his wife, his brows furrowing.
"This one has to mean something. Maybe I just have to let the past go and let nature take it's course. It's the nature of the business. You will win some and lose some. I know that I have been losing a bit recently, but my bad luck cannot last forever. I can't dwell on the past forever and let everyone pass me by. I have to take action and grab my career by the reigns and right the sails."
Cassie smiles and kisses Crazy Boy on the cheek before crawling back to her side of the bed and pulling the covers over her.
"Think whatever you want to think, Ty. Whatever makes you happy," Cassie chuckles as she rolls over to go back to sleep. Tyrone sighs as he reaches over and turns the tablelamp off, laying back down in the bed, closing his eyes, his thoughts running rampant in his mind.
"My dream has to mean something. I'm not getting these weird dreams for nothing. There is something definitely bothering me and I need to get to the bottom of it. I got to stop letting people leave me behind. It's just causing me a bunch of strife. I have to turn my career around and show these young guys that I still have a trick or two up my sleeve, even when I am almost 35 years old.
The Crazy One closes his eyes and soon falls into a restless, fitful sleep, but it's better than what he has been getting recently.
Static and fade.
End.
A cheering crowd echoes their approval at the combatant in the ring, yet it is not the one known as Crazy Boy holding the strap high. In fact, it doesn't even appear to be the scene he selected at all. The ring announcer proclaimed the man in the ring to be Buck Brochamp instead of the Crazy One himself.
That couldn't be. Tyrone shook his head in confusion as he smashed the buttons on the remote furiously to no avail. Even the power button ceased to be responsive as the scene unfolded. The sound popped on from the announcer as if it had previously been muted despite the cheering crowd.
"And his opponent," the suited man with the microphone began chuckling as he spoke, glancing at his card with gleeful whimsy. "You're joking right? This guy hasn't done anything since Reagan was president." The announcer stood upright, clearing his throat and fighting hard to maintain his composure. "And his opponent, hailing from Biloxi, Mississippi..." The announcer could contain his laughter no more as he guffawed his way through the remainder of his job . "Tyrone "Crazy Boy' Smith!"
The auditorium went dead silent. Tumbleweeds that had somehow managed to find their way not only to the East Coast, but indoors, wiled by as Tyrone burst through the curtain, his hands raised momentarily in mock victory. His arms wilted to his side as he drank in the lack of reaction, his heart sinking like the Titanic.
Looking on, his eyes began to glow green as he peered at the television screen. He wasn't sure if what he was watching was a joke or prophesy, but his sudden, burning hatred of not only the ring announcer and Buck Brochamp grew, but his disdain for the fans as well.
"The little green monster has bitten you, Mr. Smith," started an unknown, yet familiar voice. Tyrone spun around, coming nose-to-nose with his former leader and friend, N. Saniti. "Envy will only lead to your downfall. Allow me to help you as one last favor." As Saniti held up a black star-shaped trinket, the amber glow from the middle intensified.
Every nerve in his body felt like it was on edge as a greenish-black ooze poured from his every pore and into the amulet. Never had he felt this level of agony, even with the worst of his injuries. Seconds lasted for years as the substance was collected to the very last drop, leaving an exhausted Crazy Boy in its wake.
"Take heed, my friend," instructed Saniti as he disappeared into the shadows from whence he appeared. "You are a far better man than to let the accomplishments of others guide your heart. Envy is a sin that a fan favorite can ill afford."
As the magician faded away, the television screen screams to life once again, this time at the conclusion of an impromptu North American Title match between Crazy Boy and Whitey Ford.
"Target in sight, he stands ... and then HE FLIES!
CRAZY SPIN!"
The move connects and Crazy Boy slams full-force onto Whitey Ford’s rib cage and sternum area. He has nowhere to go and is CRUSHED by the 450 splash. The referee diving over to make the count ...
1!
2!
3!!
DING DING DING!
The crowd goes absolutely bananas as the referee goes to the edge of the ring to retrieve the North American championship ... and hand it over to the NEW Champion ... CRAZY BOY!
A small gasp can be heard from the darkness as a figure sits up straight from his bed. You can hear erratic breathing escaping from the figures lips as he reaches over and turns on a lamp on the nightstand. As the blinding light comes into view, you can see veteran PCW superstar Tyrone "Crazy Boy" Smith, sitting up in his bed,his long blonde hair matted around his face, wet with sweat.
The Crazy One sighs as he moans, getting up from the bed, his feet shuffling to the bathroom. He flips on the light and walks over to the sink, splashing some water on his face. He looks in the mirror, bags under his eyes, his face looking totally stressed out. The dream still vivid in his mind, the flash of his former friend and leader, Nathan Saniti, flashes like wildfire in his head.
Envy? He didn't think he was envious of anything. Was Saniti right in his dream, saying that Tyrone was extremely envious? What was there to be envious about? He had a good career, a good family. He was set for the rest of his life.
A yawn escapes his lips as he walks back into the room, his wife stirring on her side of the bed. She turns her head toward the confused superstar and opens her eyes, not removing her head from the pillow.
"What's the matter, honey?" Cassie asks, not moving from her comfortable position from the bed. Her eyes blink fast, trying to get the sleep out of her eyes.
"I just had a weird dream, Cass," Tyrone explains. "Let me ask you something. Do you think I'm envious? Like truly envious of something in PCW?"
Cassie's eyes blink again as she shrugs her shoulders, seemingly lost in thought.
"I don't think you are envious too much, but you DO have some envy. You are envious of the people that always seem to pass you up. You are getting older and all these younger superstars are passing you by. You have been clawing and scraping all of your life, but at this point, it's really getting you nowhere now."
The Crazy One closes his eyes, letting what his wife said absorb into his mind, as he opens up his eyes, lighting up like a Christmas Tree.
"That makes sense," Crazy Boy explains, sitting on the edge of the bed. "I had a dream where I was irrelevant, and noone knew who the hell I was. I was losing to Buck Brochamp for Christ's sake.
Saniti appeared in my dream and was talking about me being envious, and me being better than people guiding me and my life. He said basically that I need to carve my own path and be my own man. There isn't any reason for me to be jealous of anything. He seemed to be trying to set my sin free... or releasing it from me, I'm not sure which one."
That gets Cassie's attention as she gets up from the bed, wrapping her slender arms around the veteran superstar.
"You have been getting a lot more dreams and nightmares recently," Cassie quips. "I know generally dreams have hidden meanings, but yours is so out there sometimes that I don't know if they have hidden meanings or not. You have some very vivid dreams. There could be so many meanings to them that you have no chance of ever sorting them out."
Tyrone leans back and nuzzles against his wife, his brows furrowing.
"This one has to mean something. Maybe I just have to let the past go and let nature take it's course. It's the nature of the business. You will win some and lose some. I know that I have been losing a bit recently, but my bad luck cannot last forever. I can't dwell on the past forever and let everyone pass me by. I have to take action and grab my career by the reigns and right the sails."
Cassie smiles and kisses Crazy Boy on the cheek before crawling back to her side of the bed and pulling the covers over her.
"Think whatever you want to think, Ty. Whatever makes you happy," Cassie chuckles as she rolls over to go back to sleep. Tyrone sighs as he reaches over and turns the tablelamp off, laying back down in the bed, closing his eyes, his thoughts running rampant in his mind.
"My dream has to mean something. I'm not getting these weird dreams for nothing. There is something definitely bothering me and I need to get to the bottom of it. I got to stop letting people leave me behind. It's just causing me a bunch of strife. I have to turn my career around and show these young guys that I still have a trick or two up my sleeve, even when I am almost 35 years old.
The Crazy One closes his eyes and soon falls into a restless, fitful sleep, but it's better than what he has been getting recently.
Static and fade.
End.
