Post by Jonathan Sanders on Dec 28, 2020 13:16:26 GMT -5
*It's Christmas once again! The wrestling community is abuzz with Yuletide cheer, with many promotions holding special holiday-themed events and releasing social media videos to celebrate the occasion. Visitors will find PWS APEX's website sharing similar theming this season, with many of the typical banners and UI elements given a festive bent in celebration. Among the various show recaps, feud hype videos, "Crusade" results and news articles, however, the more astute observers will make note of a somewhat bizarre item in the news ticker scrolling across the top of the page, titled simply "Winter Storm Warning: Something Wicked This Way Comes." Curious browsers who click on the strange link will be directed immediately to a single, pop-out video player with no adornments save a small grey border bearing the name "run.mp4" in the top left corner. Slowly, after a few second of buffering, the black screen fades in to a shot of heavy snow falling on a city skyline, as filmed through a large window (or perhaps the balcony door) of an apartment. A heavy white blanket already covers the landscape, with the window ledge itself bearing a good four inches near the bottom of the frame. Faintly, in the background, the sounds of an instrumental rendition of "Silent Night" can be heard lilting pleasantly from a radio off-screen, setting the mood for our quaint Holiday scene. Suddenly, from behind the camera, a man's voice gently pipes up.*
Unknown Speaker:
"'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house,
Not a creature was stirring; not even a mouse..."
*The camera pans around now, slowly, to reveal a man seated in a large, blood-red leather armchair. The frame appears to be made of black wrought-iron and the ends of the armrests are carved into skulls. The top two corners of the backrest end in sharpened steel spikes, similar to the end of an old-fashioned fence post, though the one to the figure's left is covered by a lopsided Santa Claus hat. The man occupying the chair is himself of medium build, thin but clearly fit, with jet-black hair styled into a short fringe not quite covering his right eye. The eyes themselves are cold, grey and expressive, betraying a piercing darkness of spirit in their owner. The individual is clad in a Santa Claus coat to match the hat, and the coat is open to reveal a black "I Prevail" t-shirt beneath. He also wears baggy black jeans, a spiked leather wrist band on his left arm, a thin rim of dark eyeliner around each eye - highlighting their piercing nature - and black nail polish on his fingernails. Viewers who follow Japanese wrestling, or are familiar with certain other, now-defunct, North American promotions will recognize this man as "The Lost Cause", Jonathan Sanders. Sanders holds an oversized, children's copy of "The Night Before Christmas" in both hands, his posture not unlike that of a kindergarten teacher reading to a classroom.*
Jonathan Sanders:
"'Til Father dragged Mom from her room by the hair;
But nobody helped her, for they didn't dare."
*Sanders pauses now, his lips curling into a deep frown as he turns the page in the book.*
Jonathan Sanders:
"The children lay nestled, silent, in their beds,
For fear that he'd hear them, and bash in their heads."
*Another pause, another page-turn.*
Jonathan Sanders:
"Their struggle began, Mom and Dad's, with a shout;
Several more followed, a classic Holiday bout."
*When Sanders turns the page again, his eyes widening and lips tightening with anxious dread.*
"Then the hitting began, I could hear from my place,
So I tugged up the covers to cover my face;
"When, in the front room, there arose such a clatter,
I just had to sneak out and see what was the matter."
*Here, Sanders turns the page again, the fearful expression flickering for just a moment to give way to a sardonic smirk, but the lapse is brief and he once again adopts a frightened demeanour as he reads the next passage.*
"Down the hallway I crawled, like a slug on my belly,
For I knew if I stood, then my legs would be jelly.
"Cautiously peering through the open door's arch,
What I saw next made my full stomach lurch."
*As Sanders turns the next page, the pretense is abandoned, one corner of his lips curving upwards into a lopsided, sadistic smirk.*
"My father held mama's blonde head in his fist,
And he was smashing her face 'gainst the fireplace bricks."
*Each emphasised word is matched by Jonathan miming out the motions with his right hand, his grin widening until it becomes a sickening, joyless, predatory rictus. This chilling emotion pervades his next stanza, rattling it off with a perverse sort of excitement.*
"Again and again, she came down with a 'thwack!',
So many times, 'til her body went slack."
*Here, Sanders pauses his story once again, inhaling deeply as the grin gradually deflates into another bitter, spiteful expression. His tone changes to reflect this, growing slower and calmer now.*
"Then she collapsed in a heap, the blood pooling beneath;
It encircled her head, like a big Christmas wreath.
"I choked out a sob as tears stung my eyes,
When my father's head lifted, and his gaze locked with mine."
*The page is turned again, quickly this time, and the intensity of the reading begins to ramp up over the next verse, panic clear in Jonathan's voice.*
"For a moment, I flinched, expecting the worst...
Yet, to my surprise, he simply flashed me a smirk.
"Then, hastily rising on two shaky feet,
To my bedroom I fled with movements so fleet!"
*Another pause here, as the final page is turned. Sanders' dark eyes lock with the camera, his face contorting again into a thin and malicious frown as his brow furrows.*
"And I heard him growl out, as I made good my exit;
'Merry Christmas, mistake. You didn't see shit.'"
*The silence is deafening. A pregnant pause fills the air, punctuated by Sanders slamming the book shut before he places it on a table off to the side. Slowly, his eyes falling shut as he does, the Lost Cause inhales deeply, the derisive smirk returning to his face as he draws his eyes open again, leaning back in the chair.*
"Ah, Christmas. For many, a most joyous occasion. Families gather together ‘round the fire, exchanging gifts and sharing quality time with the ones they love most. Children frolic and play, begging for the latest toys and gizmos to amaze their friends on the schoolyard. But we often forget, in this manufactured commercialized bliss, that yuletide is not immune to the atrocities of human existence..."
*John rises from his chair, now, the camera following him as he strides towards the window we glimpsed earlier. His hands clasping behind his back, he gazes out into the storm.*
"For every warm, loving family around the fireplace there is a homeless beggar to freeze and die, alone and forgotten in the snow. Low-income families must choose between eating and buying gifts while the rich gorge themselves into a food-coma on turkey and cranberry sauce."
*He turns, now, to face the camera, glaring starkly down the lens as if to bluntly drive home his heavy-handed point.*
"Children become trapped with abusers, absent the brief respites offered by school and playing outside to spare them from their tormentors’ fury."
*The glare does not soften as another wicked smirk takes John's features, its sardonic nature coming out in his voice.*
"Truly, it is the most wonderful time of the year…for those who do not suffer.”
*There's a long pause, now, as Sanders moves away from the window and strides about the room, the camera following closely behind him. His face seems almost...wistful, to some extent, as he looks around at the various household accoutrements; stopping in front of a large dining table, absently running his index finger through the thick layer of dust that has accumulated on its surface. He rolls the dust between his thumb and finger for a second, regarding it contemplatively as he begins speaking again.*
"I've been away for far too long...and this sport has grown fat and complacent in my absence. I intend to correct this. To remind you all of what it means to suffer. To hurt. To BLEED. To inflict pain for pain's sake, rather than in the pursuit of some meaningless, gilded trinket that will only leave you hollow, bitter and regretful as you nurse your broken body and watch it gather dust in your old age."
*Here, Sanders pauses once more, brushing the dust off onto the floor with an oddly wistful expression.*
"All things fade away in time, except for pain. Suffering, sorrow, misery...these are our only constants, the only things we can rely upon until we draw our final breath. It is during Christmastime that those who know pain will feel it most strongly. It is a time of great anguish among the less-fortunate, those abandoned by society. A season of giving, but also of want and toil, of stress and guilt...and fear. Fear is such a powerful emotion, capable of so much destruction. We can use it to destroy each other, or to sabotage ourselves. Some will claim that fear is our only constant, because it is something every living animal can feel regardless of their level of sapience...and yet, what is that fear really worth? I knew fear, once, as a boy; I languished in it and allowed it to control me, to mold my every decision...but where did it get me? I was beaten, shamed, humiliated! ...But through everything I suffered, the fear gave way to hurt. With every indignity that little ball of angst and terror grew tighter, more compact, until it finally reached a critical mass and collapsed into a brilliant, dense, neutron star of rage. That's when I realized this was the truth, the undercurrent, THIS is what the fear was trying to awaken! Fear of the end, fear of the unknown, fear of failure; all these things are fleeting, each one abolished as it ceases to be a milestone and instead becomes a memory. No, fear is not a sustainable emotion; it is based on lies, on self-deception. To feel fear relies on a refusal to confront the simple truth that nothing we do will ever truly matter."
*Another pause, as Sanders' face changes from one of thoughtful introspection to a cold, ruthless glower. He hops up to sit upon the table, wrists resting on his thighs, and leans towards the camera as he speaks.*
"That's the rub, then, isn't it? What's the point of being afraid when even the universe will die? When all we know and love, all that we have ever built and ever WILL build, will crumble to dust with the relentless march of entropy, what could we possibly have to be afraid of? If we accept this heat death of all that exists as inevitable, if we reconcile ourselves to the futility of being, how can we possibly feel afraid, knowing that fear - like all things - is ultimately pointless? The only conclusion, the only TRUTH of it all, is pain. Pain tells us we are alive, pain is something we can only suffer because we are alive. Pain is life, and life is pain! There is an inextricable link between the two, and to embrace pain fully is the only way to ever truly appreciate what little life we have."
*Here there is another pause, John's evil smirk returning as he clasps his hands together in his lap, leaning further forward to make intense eye-contact with the camera.*
"There are many on this roster who claim to understand pain. There are Body Snatchers, and Bloody Marys...even a false god, a pretender to the throne who uses violence as a gimmick while knowing nothing of true anguish. I will meet them all, eventually. Enlighten them. Cleanse them of their fear and make them realize, one by one, how pitiful and futile all their struggles have truly been. But not right away. This hollowness is slow, plodding, a cancer in the veins of professional wrestling that feeds upon its host but savours every morsel. And what a meal I have before me. A feast befitting the season, and I intend on enjoying every. Single. Course. See you soon, kiddies. Merry Christmas."
*With that, it seems he's finished, and the Lost Cause flashes his wicked grin once more before hopping up from the table and shoving away the camera lens, knocking it to the floor with a burst of white noise before we fade to black.*
Unknown Speaker:
"'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house,
Not a creature was stirring; not even a mouse..."
*The camera pans around now, slowly, to reveal a man seated in a large, blood-red leather armchair. The frame appears to be made of black wrought-iron and the ends of the armrests are carved into skulls. The top two corners of the backrest end in sharpened steel spikes, similar to the end of an old-fashioned fence post, though the one to the figure's left is covered by a lopsided Santa Claus hat. The man occupying the chair is himself of medium build, thin but clearly fit, with jet-black hair styled into a short fringe not quite covering his right eye. The eyes themselves are cold, grey and expressive, betraying a piercing darkness of spirit in their owner. The individual is clad in a Santa Claus coat to match the hat, and the coat is open to reveal a black "I Prevail" t-shirt beneath. He also wears baggy black jeans, a spiked leather wrist band on his left arm, a thin rim of dark eyeliner around each eye - highlighting their piercing nature - and black nail polish on his fingernails. Viewers who follow Japanese wrestling, or are familiar with certain other, now-defunct, North American promotions will recognize this man as "The Lost Cause", Jonathan Sanders. Sanders holds an oversized, children's copy of "The Night Before Christmas" in both hands, his posture not unlike that of a kindergarten teacher reading to a classroom.*
Jonathan Sanders:
"'Til Father dragged Mom from her room by the hair;
But nobody helped her, for they didn't dare."
*Sanders pauses now, his lips curling into a deep frown as he turns the page in the book.*
Jonathan Sanders:
"The children lay nestled, silent, in their beds,
For fear that he'd hear them, and bash in their heads."
*Another pause, another page-turn.*
Jonathan Sanders:
"Their struggle began, Mom and Dad's, with a shout;
Several more followed, a classic Holiday bout."
*When Sanders turns the page again, his eyes widening and lips tightening with anxious dread.*
"Then the hitting began, I could hear from my place,
So I tugged up the covers to cover my face;
"When, in the front room, there arose such a clatter,
I just had to sneak out and see what was the matter."
*Here, Sanders turns the page again, the fearful expression flickering for just a moment to give way to a sardonic smirk, but the lapse is brief and he once again adopts a frightened demeanour as he reads the next passage.*
"Down the hallway I crawled, like a slug on my belly,
For I knew if I stood, then my legs would be jelly.
"Cautiously peering through the open door's arch,
What I saw next made my full stomach lurch."
*As Sanders turns the next page, the pretense is abandoned, one corner of his lips curving upwards into a lopsided, sadistic smirk.*
"My father held mama's blonde head in his fist,
And he was smashing her face 'gainst the fireplace bricks."
*Each emphasised word is matched by Jonathan miming out the motions with his right hand, his grin widening until it becomes a sickening, joyless, predatory rictus. This chilling emotion pervades his next stanza, rattling it off with a perverse sort of excitement.*
"Again and again, she came down with a 'thwack!',
So many times, 'til her body went slack."
*Here, Sanders pauses his story once again, inhaling deeply as the grin gradually deflates into another bitter, spiteful expression. His tone changes to reflect this, growing slower and calmer now.*
"Then she collapsed in a heap, the blood pooling beneath;
It encircled her head, like a big Christmas wreath.
"I choked out a sob as tears stung my eyes,
When my father's head lifted, and his gaze locked with mine."
*The page is turned again, quickly this time, and the intensity of the reading begins to ramp up over the next verse, panic clear in Jonathan's voice.*
"For a moment, I flinched, expecting the worst...
Yet, to my surprise, he simply flashed me a smirk.
"Then, hastily rising on two shaky feet,
To my bedroom I fled with movements so fleet!"
*Another pause here, as the final page is turned. Sanders' dark eyes lock with the camera, his face contorting again into a thin and malicious frown as his brow furrows.*
"And I heard him growl out, as I made good my exit;
'Merry Christmas, mistake. You didn't see shit.'"
*The silence is deafening. A pregnant pause fills the air, punctuated by Sanders slamming the book shut before he places it on a table off to the side. Slowly, his eyes falling shut as he does, the Lost Cause inhales deeply, the derisive smirk returning to his face as he draws his eyes open again, leaning back in the chair.*
"Ah, Christmas. For many, a most joyous occasion. Families gather together ‘round the fire, exchanging gifts and sharing quality time with the ones they love most. Children frolic and play, begging for the latest toys and gizmos to amaze their friends on the schoolyard. But we often forget, in this manufactured commercialized bliss, that yuletide is not immune to the atrocities of human existence..."
*John rises from his chair, now, the camera following him as he strides towards the window we glimpsed earlier. His hands clasping behind his back, he gazes out into the storm.*
"For every warm, loving family around the fireplace there is a homeless beggar to freeze and die, alone and forgotten in the snow. Low-income families must choose between eating and buying gifts while the rich gorge themselves into a food-coma on turkey and cranberry sauce."
*He turns, now, to face the camera, glaring starkly down the lens as if to bluntly drive home his heavy-handed point.*
"Children become trapped with abusers, absent the brief respites offered by school and playing outside to spare them from their tormentors’ fury."
*The glare does not soften as another wicked smirk takes John's features, its sardonic nature coming out in his voice.*
"Truly, it is the most wonderful time of the year…for those who do not suffer.”
*There's a long pause, now, as Sanders moves away from the window and strides about the room, the camera following closely behind him. His face seems almost...wistful, to some extent, as he looks around at the various household accoutrements; stopping in front of a large dining table, absently running his index finger through the thick layer of dust that has accumulated on its surface. He rolls the dust between his thumb and finger for a second, regarding it contemplatively as he begins speaking again.*
"I've been away for far too long...and this sport has grown fat and complacent in my absence. I intend to correct this. To remind you all of what it means to suffer. To hurt. To BLEED. To inflict pain for pain's sake, rather than in the pursuit of some meaningless, gilded trinket that will only leave you hollow, bitter and regretful as you nurse your broken body and watch it gather dust in your old age."
*Here, Sanders pauses once more, brushing the dust off onto the floor with an oddly wistful expression.*
"All things fade away in time, except for pain. Suffering, sorrow, misery...these are our only constants, the only things we can rely upon until we draw our final breath. It is during Christmastime that those who know pain will feel it most strongly. It is a time of great anguish among the less-fortunate, those abandoned by society. A season of giving, but also of want and toil, of stress and guilt...and fear. Fear is such a powerful emotion, capable of so much destruction. We can use it to destroy each other, or to sabotage ourselves. Some will claim that fear is our only constant, because it is something every living animal can feel regardless of their level of sapience...and yet, what is that fear really worth? I knew fear, once, as a boy; I languished in it and allowed it to control me, to mold my every decision...but where did it get me? I was beaten, shamed, humiliated! ...But through everything I suffered, the fear gave way to hurt. With every indignity that little ball of angst and terror grew tighter, more compact, until it finally reached a critical mass and collapsed into a brilliant, dense, neutron star of rage. That's when I realized this was the truth, the undercurrent, THIS is what the fear was trying to awaken! Fear of the end, fear of the unknown, fear of failure; all these things are fleeting, each one abolished as it ceases to be a milestone and instead becomes a memory. No, fear is not a sustainable emotion; it is based on lies, on self-deception. To feel fear relies on a refusal to confront the simple truth that nothing we do will ever truly matter."
*Another pause, as Sanders' face changes from one of thoughtful introspection to a cold, ruthless glower. He hops up to sit upon the table, wrists resting on his thighs, and leans towards the camera as he speaks.*
"That's the rub, then, isn't it? What's the point of being afraid when even the universe will die? When all we know and love, all that we have ever built and ever WILL build, will crumble to dust with the relentless march of entropy, what could we possibly have to be afraid of? If we accept this heat death of all that exists as inevitable, if we reconcile ourselves to the futility of being, how can we possibly feel afraid, knowing that fear - like all things - is ultimately pointless? The only conclusion, the only TRUTH of it all, is pain. Pain tells us we are alive, pain is something we can only suffer because we are alive. Pain is life, and life is pain! There is an inextricable link between the two, and to embrace pain fully is the only way to ever truly appreciate what little life we have."
*Here there is another pause, John's evil smirk returning as he clasps his hands together in his lap, leaning further forward to make intense eye-contact with the camera.*
"There are many on this roster who claim to understand pain. There are Body Snatchers, and Bloody Marys...even a false god, a pretender to the throne who uses violence as a gimmick while knowing nothing of true anguish. I will meet them all, eventually. Enlighten them. Cleanse them of their fear and make them realize, one by one, how pitiful and futile all their struggles have truly been. But not right away. This hollowness is slow, plodding, a cancer in the veins of professional wrestling that feeds upon its host but savours every morsel. And what a meal I have before me. A feast befitting the season, and I intend on enjoying every. Single. Course. See you soon, kiddies. Merry Christmas."
*With that, it seems he's finished, and the Lost Cause flashes his wicked grin once more before hopping up from the table and shoving away the camera lens, knocking it to the floor with a burst of white noise before we fade to black.*