Post by Grimm on Aug 13, 2018 11:07:50 GMT -5
Among the unsettling sensations washing over you within the Hangtown Corn Maze is the silence. No children laugh or shriek unseen within the stalks. No crowds hum beyond the limits of the corn. No cider press wrenches down on apples, no wagon creaks along the boundaries of the field. So, not only is this taking place earlier than when the calendar normally dictates, but it is just…you.
You, Tyrone Smith.
Or at least that is the feeling at first. But not for long. For as you weave your way through the maze, you catch a hint of a scowl. A glimpse of beard the hues of fall itself – the hair of his chinny-chin-chin.
Don’t feign ignorance. You know whose chin.
Impressions are made only when seen in the periphery. And so an image forms in your mind. It is your interpretation of Grimm and no one else’s. It settles like a déjà vu, but vanishes when you turn your full attention upon it.
Grimm is everywhere.
Grimm is nowhere.
Just the thought of him, the threat of him, makes him real. Out there wandering in the corn, you feel as though he takes your full measure. And he marks you down in your very own formula of peculiar numbers. Weighed, measured, found wanting. Pretty standard writing-on-the-wall procedure, really. But you still have to find your way out of this maze. So you continue walking even though all points round your internal compass have become meaningless.
Late summer rots in a haze but an occasional gust of midwinter chill rattles the dried fodder like bone chimes, and keeps Grimm’s presence foremost in your mind. Grimm, the Lord of Misrule, the somewhat-unexpected Best Singles Star at the most recent Icey Awards – unexpected because he has not been a champion for some weeks, but even yet it seems he still has the presence, has still managed to hold the federation’s collective imagination, to garner such an award.
See, even now.
And, even now, after all of these years, you, Tyrone Smith, find yourself in a pay per view match against him. Never saw that coming, did you? You, who have been proclaiming that you are going to turn things around for some time now. If PCW’s Crazy Boy thinks for a second this match is that turning point, ‘crazy’ isn’t just a self-proclaimed nickname. Because the fact is, Hall of Fame member or not, your career is in a free-fall. It has been for a while. Leading anyone of sound mind to consider certain things. Things like, say, the front office being fed up with Tyrone Smith. Fed up with the losses, with the nights where your performance gives the appearance that you wish you were anywhere else in the world except for that ring. It’s lost patience with you. How else to explain this booking? Grimm versus Crazy Boy at a pay per view, with no titles or contenderships on the line. No real history between us, particularly in recent memory. You must acknowledge the possibility that the federation is looking for a way out. A way to end the disappointment and embarrassment of watching a Hall of Famer consistently have the taste of shame knocked out of his mouth. And so, instead of facing the fallout resulting from the firing of a (unexplainable at this point in time) fan favorite, it wants the Hangtown Horror to toss that final shovelful of dirt on the misery that is your career.
You pass through wisps of cobwebs. Wiping them from your face, a grand illumination erupts to encircle you. There, in the shreds of empty space between the stalks, flash charred pumpkin grins. A ripple of burned squash flesh passes over you. End of days epiphanies run their course.
Did you request this match, Tyrone Smith? Are you fed up? Hoping for suicide-by-Grimm, perhaps, like in the old Rick Majors age. Keep in mind, though, that even a man with a death wish was unsuccessful in that. The body has a survival instinct that overrides all manner of dark desires.
The outcome of this may be implied, but the ruthlessness of that outcome is up to you, Tyrone. Your own personal return to glory (**groan, I know**) will no doubt be postponed for at least one more event, but this could at least be a step in the right direction. Fight the good fight.
You see it. Stepping out from the corn, onto soft earth and dried grass, you emerge in the daylight just before the fiend in the furrows comes at you for a final threshing. They may have been terrible displays in the dark, but such visions are often visited upon man for their advantage and instruction. As such, now you recognize that, yes indeed, the Crazy Boy and Grimm are two of the longest standing members of Pure Class Wrestling. And we alone are being entrusted to kick off this pay per view. Titles or not, contenders or not, there is something to be said for that. Let us show them all what the old guard can do.
You squint beneath a sky of bitter blue. And, grinning, you walk out into the world.
You, Tyrone Smith.
Or at least that is the feeling at first. But not for long. For as you weave your way through the maze, you catch a hint of a scowl. A glimpse of beard the hues of fall itself – the hair of his chinny-chin-chin.
Don’t feign ignorance. You know whose chin.
Impressions are made only when seen in the periphery. And so an image forms in your mind. It is your interpretation of Grimm and no one else’s. It settles like a déjà vu, but vanishes when you turn your full attention upon it.
Grimm is everywhere.
Grimm is nowhere.
Just the thought of him, the threat of him, makes him real. Out there wandering in the corn, you feel as though he takes your full measure. And he marks you down in your very own formula of peculiar numbers. Weighed, measured, found wanting. Pretty standard writing-on-the-wall procedure, really. But you still have to find your way out of this maze. So you continue walking even though all points round your internal compass have become meaningless.
Late summer rots in a haze but an occasional gust of midwinter chill rattles the dried fodder like bone chimes, and keeps Grimm’s presence foremost in your mind. Grimm, the Lord of Misrule, the somewhat-unexpected Best Singles Star at the most recent Icey Awards – unexpected because he has not been a champion for some weeks, but even yet it seems he still has the presence, has still managed to hold the federation’s collective imagination, to garner such an award.
See, even now.
And, even now, after all of these years, you, Tyrone Smith, find yourself in a pay per view match against him. Never saw that coming, did you? You, who have been proclaiming that you are going to turn things around for some time now. If PCW’s Crazy Boy thinks for a second this match is that turning point, ‘crazy’ isn’t just a self-proclaimed nickname. Because the fact is, Hall of Fame member or not, your career is in a free-fall. It has been for a while. Leading anyone of sound mind to consider certain things. Things like, say, the front office being fed up with Tyrone Smith. Fed up with the losses, with the nights where your performance gives the appearance that you wish you were anywhere else in the world except for that ring. It’s lost patience with you. How else to explain this booking? Grimm versus Crazy Boy at a pay per view, with no titles or contenderships on the line. No real history between us, particularly in recent memory. You must acknowledge the possibility that the federation is looking for a way out. A way to end the disappointment and embarrassment of watching a Hall of Famer consistently have the taste of shame knocked out of his mouth. And so, instead of facing the fallout resulting from the firing of a (unexplainable at this point in time) fan favorite, it wants the Hangtown Horror to toss that final shovelful of dirt on the misery that is your career.
You pass through wisps of cobwebs. Wiping them from your face, a grand illumination erupts to encircle you. There, in the shreds of empty space between the stalks, flash charred pumpkin grins. A ripple of burned squash flesh passes over you. End of days epiphanies run their course.
Did you request this match, Tyrone Smith? Are you fed up? Hoping for suicide-by-Grimm, perhaps, like in the old Rick Majors age. Keep in mind, though, that even a man with a death wish was unsuccessful in that. The body has a survival instinct that overrides all manner of dark desires.
The outcome of this may be implied, but the ruthlessness of that outcome is up to you, Tyrone. Your own personal return to glory (**groan, I know**) will no doubt be postponed for at least one more event, but this could at least be a step in the right direction. Fight the good fight.
You see it. Stepping out from the corn, onto soft earth and dried grass, you emerge in the daylight just before the fiend in the furrows comes at you for a final threshing. They may have been terrible displays in the dark, but such visions are often visited upon man for their advantage and instruction. As such, now you recognize that, yes indeed, the Crazy Boy and Grimm are two of the longest standing members of Pure Class Wrestling. And we alone are being entrusted to kick off this pay per view. Titles or not, contenders or not, there is something to be said for that. Let us show them all what the old guard can do.
You squint beneath a sky of bitter blue. And, grinning, you walk out into the world.
