| I feel so (Un)Defeated - Parts 1 through 3; Samuel Amos RP vs. Ray Rosario | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Feb 11 2011, 10:22 PM (167 Views) | |
| Samuel Amos | Feb 11 2011, 10:22 PM Post #1 |
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I.. can't.. believe.. this.. The words spoken from his heart echoed throughout the corridors of his mind. The heartache that he felt seemed like both the worst physical pain he's ever felt and the void of it at the same time. If it were under normal circumstances the fact that cold steel met him on his forehead at such high impact would be the cause of the pain, but not this much pain. Not now, not ever has Samuel Amos felt this low in his entire career. Minus his wonderful relationship with his father and the incident in the Marine Corp, Amos has never felt this low his entire life. The hanging fixture above him dimly lit the room with an eerie fluorescent glow. Every few seconds the glow would flicker signaling a dying bulb. The room around him felt cold and empty. He didn't want to be here. He didn't want to feel like this. Each flicker of the bulb seemed to trigger another flashback of what happened in the ring just a few short moments ago, each flashback more painful to re-live than the last. As each flashback subsided, the subtle yet harsh realization hit Amos harder than any Steel Folding Chair could.. Amos had his One Shot at Destiny. And the record books will forever say that Amos.. lost. If it were under any normal stipulation, Amos had the match won. Wildman was down for a three-count, a five.. maybe even a fifteen.. after eating the InfAMOS. But still, someone who was just bleeding a week ago from the forehead seemed like he couldn't bleed for shit tonight. The match stipulations are what they are and both competitors knew the rules long before they stepped foot in the ring. On the outside, Sam is silent. His face cradled by his palms to close out the outside world. The blood from his forehead slowly trickles down to his fingertips. Inside, Sam is a small boat caught in a raging storm. Mammoth waves of hatred and disappointment seem to raise two and three times the height of the vessel, pulling it in; All the while the unforgiving winds and the rain beat the ship further. The moment comes where the Captain doubts his own survival.. and rightfully so. The captain always goes down with the ship. The lights flicker in the room once again.. Another painful memory flashes back.. and a wave of despair opens its mouth and takes the ship whole.. It is Jay Wildman's Destiny to retain the sVo World Heavyweight Championship belt in an all out war with the One Shot 2011 winner!!! I feel so (Un)Defeated.. - Part 1 - Licking the Wound Mumbling. ..all of the lights in Las Vegas and I can't get one that works.. geesh. The fingers that cover Sam's eyes part for a moment. Sam raises his head slightly to peer at the other soul in the room. Across the room, he hears the crack of a latex glove hitting skin and watches as a Sanctioned Violence Trainer prepares to do his job. He's not as Sam would imagine him to be: Fat, Hairy, and Balding. He must really love the color black, too. Everything this Trainer is wearing, from the painfully stretched cotton of the polo-style collared shirt (complete with sVo logo.. remember, that's a small s, big V.. you know the deal) that appears more like shrink wrap than fabric over his bulbous stomach, the black kakis it's stuffed into and his dumb leather belt with holes ripped to the point that the leather sadly tapped out weeks ago but the submission hold remains applied. Sam hid his face back in his hands. Maybe there was nothing to be done about Wildman at this point, but no one was forcing him to make friendly with this asshole. Even as Sam shielded his eyes, this man still found ways to get to him. Sam heard him chewing on something that wasn't even there. To make matters worse, he was doing that thing with his tongue as if he had a piece of popcorn shell stuck in his teeth and he refused to stop picking at it. Then Sam heard footsteps, they were getting louder. Sam peered through his fingers once again. Shit. Hello, Mister Amos. He said, placing a small first-aid kit on the table next to them. My name is Bob. Let me have a look at that cut you've got there. Amos felt the latex press against his forehead as Bob brought Amos' cut into a plain view in the light. The lights flickered again. This was exactly what Bob's gripe was about. Amos looked down at Bob's Badge. (It was pinned to Bob's shirt.) It had a picture of Bob. Bob wasn't smiling, he didn't even look happy. It's nice to know that sVo does all of their employee pictures with that same sVo backdrop. Must make them feel special. It says that Robert Pulsen is a registered nurse. Probably about the damned ugliest registered nurse anyone's ever seen. Oh my.. that's quite the gash you've got there. Bob sucked his teeth three times in succession as he reached for the kit. Don't worry, I'll have you cleaned up in no time. Sam sighed. Bob played with the cut for a moment, deciding to pull it open a bit further to see the depth of the injury. The pain didn't bother Amos, it was nothing compared to the struggle deep within of blowing the big one. Sam felt like the god damned Pittsburgh Steelers right now, a team he didn't even like. Bob was doing something with some kind of anti-bacterial wipe. Right now I'm trying to see how deep the cut really is. Bob explained. If the wound is too deep, you'll need stitches. But so far it looks like you'll be okay.. What many people didn't know about Sam is that he has never had stitches that he has been awake for in his entire life. The reason for this is simple: Sam has an unjustified fear of needles. ..no stitches.. Well, Mister Amos. Like I said: I think I'll be able to help you out. ..just do what I tell you to.. fat boy.. Bob frowned. He was clearly offended and a bit hurt. He reached into the kit specifically looking for the non-burning antibacterial spray. It was there, but Bob had a better idea. Bob waddled over to a drawer on the other side of the room and after searching through it found an old bottle of antibacterial spray using alcohol. Bob returned with the bottle and a smirk. Head up to me.. Now.. You're gonna feel a little burning sensation.. FISSSIP FISSIP The tiny beads of alcohol land on the open wound and immediately the gash feels like it is on fire. Amos clutches his forehead and screams.. holding back every urge to lash out at Bob and knock him on his ass. What the fuck?! Is that shit alcohol?! Why are you spraying alcohol into my fucking cut?! Bob's smirk got wider for a moment, then he decided to play it off. I'm sorry Amos, we're all out of the regular stuff. You wouldn't want that to get infected, would you? Fuck.. Now if you would please.. Bob tried to gently direct Sam's hands away from the burning gash. I can get the bleeding to stop and get you closed up. It took Sam a few moments, but he dropped his arms back down to his sides. It seemed more as an act of giving up more than anything else. A few moments went by, and Bob went back to performing his duties as normal. He wiped a bit more blood away from the gash, preparing it to be closed. As those moments went by, Sam had a myriad of thoughts and feelings. He faced embarrassment for being the one in this situation. Regret he felt as well. He wondered if people in the sVo would ever take him seriously, or if it mattered, or if anything mattered at all. Finally he wondered why Jay Wildman didn't bleed after bleeding just a week prior. It just didn't make sense. After wrestling around with that conundrum for a while, Sam worked up the nerve to ask. So, Bob.. you wouldn't happen to be the same nurse that fixed up Wildman a week back, eh? Bob nodded his mind on his work. ..that would be me. It was strange, but Sam wanted to be angry. Instead, all he could think of was, wow. Bob must've did a damn good job on Wildman's forehead. Damn Bob, you think you did a good enough job, eh? Bob chuckled to himself. Heh.. did I? Bob smiled, but then felt bad. I'm sorry. I take pride in being the best at what I do. I didn't want what.. you did to Wildman a week earlier effect your match tonight. I'm sorry. No Bob, it's cool. Sam sighed. I don't think a scalpel would have made Wildman bleed tonight. It's unreal.. Bob was fidgeting with something in the first aid kit. He wasn't really paying too much attention. The lights flickered again. Bob returned from his journey in the kit with some liquid bandage, also known as medical grade super-glue. Jay is a great champion.. one of the best in my opinion. Jay will hold that title for a very long time.. Sam hung his head a little. That is, no offense to you. You're good. It's just Wildman is.. well.. he's great. The words cut through Amos' soul like a sword being pierced directly into and through his heart. Bob applied a bit of the Liquid Bandage, and then using two of his fingers he pressed the two sides of the gash together. He raised his other arm up so he could watch his all-black Casio wristwatch tick away as the glue held in place. After a few moments, Bob released the pressure, and made his next move for a bandage. Now I'm going to put a band-aid over this just in case, try not to get the wound wet for a few days. Bob said as he carefully applied the large bandage over the wound. ..are we done here? Why yes, Mister Amos.. we're all done.. Good! Amos quickly stood up and in doing so shoved Bob out of the way forcefully. Amos reached for his leather jacket. Bob, angered, turned towards Amos.. but for a moment Bob looked Amos eye to eye.. the lights flickered.. and then Bob was on the floor, clutching his jaw. Fuck you. I'm great. I'm not just great, I'm better than great.. I'm Inf- In that moment, Amos realized what he was about to say, but stopped. Bob was still groaning on the floor. Sam turned, and made a b-line toward the door. Wasting no time, Sam opened the door, and slammed it shut behind him. I feel so (Un)Defeated.. - Part 2 - Picking up the Pieces It was a mess. It looked like Randy Orton had blown through a Holiday Inn in here. There wasn't a lamp that wasn't busted, bed sheet torn, or a chair that had been broken against some portion of the wall or the wooden table that used to be a part of the set. There were picture frames dangling precariously until the weight of the frame presses enough against the busted structure until the last pieces of it come crashing down on the broken glass below. The TV is sitting on the balcony after traveling through the sliding glass doors. And yes, I do mean the hard way. The camera moves forward and into the bathroom. There is a mess on the sink, blood everywhere. The spout to the shower is broken and water is spilling out into the tub. Hell, the toilet seat is broken somehow as well. Amos is sitting on the floor on the other side of the door, biting his lip as he pulls a large shard of glass out of his right forearm. He cringes as the shard is heard cutting through his flesh until it finally gives way. Amos sighs and throws the bloody shard as hard as he can against the tile wall behind the tub. The shard shatters as it hits. My own blood cost me my Destiny.. I was supposed to prove that I am one of the greatest wrestlers in S.V.O. history!! All that is gone now.. thanks to you.. Sam reaches down beside him and hoists up a bloody purple and green Grimnir mask. He snickers at it and tosses it back down to the floor. ..fucking liar! You said that Jay Wildman would bleed!! Sam's bloody hand reaches up for the sink, gripping it to pull himself up. On the first attempt, he lets out a grunt, but his own blood causes him to slide back down onto his ass. He grabs the sink again, this time with both hands, he groans loudly as he successfully makes his way back to his feet. Sam looks forward, seeing himself in the mirror. He holds up his hands, they are covered in blood. This.. this is supposed to be Wildman's blood on my hands! It was my destiny to end his career! I was supposed to finish him off.. Zyrah be damned.. She was supposed to watch him lose!! Sam slammed his fist against the mirror, breaking it. The resulting shards of glass further injured Sam's hand, causing deep gashes. Sam put his hands over his face, he knew that this had to end. Looking much like he did at Destiny.. His face covered in his own blood.. Sam knew what he had to do. He walked out of the bathroom and through the debris. He shuffled toward the broken glass door, and kicked the glass out of the bottom of it so that he had clear passage to the balcony. The cold air felt bitter as it hit him in the face. There was nothing to stop what was to happen next. Sam took a step out onto the balcony. It was cold outside, wind blowing hard, proof that even Las Vegas herself was susceptible to Winter's frosty bite. There the TV lay next to Amos' feet busted up beyond repair. He knew this was something that he had to do. They would read about him tomorrow in the newspapers.. see his face on TV.. and in a few months he'll be long forgotten. They'll say that he's a sore loser. That he was a coward and that this was the cowards way out. Still, he knew it wouldn't matter after he was dead. All of the ghostly managers and unwarranted daydreams of his father and former company would go away. Nothing to contend with anymore.. if nothing would be any more real than this fake life he's been living.. than at least his own death would be real. Amos gulped hard as he looked down over the balcony. It was quite the fall.. nothing anyone could survive. This would be perfect. Amos just wanted one last sip of his potent Southern Comfort before the jump. It wouldn't matter anyway. Sam placed one foot over the balcony railing, and then the other. He took one last look back at his apartment, or what was left of it. It was the shattered remains of a symbol of his life trying to mend itself after the military, but no longer. Amos cannot fail on such a massive level twice in his lifetime and live to tell about it. His last thoughts were a big thank you to Jay Wildman, but after correcting himself.. he knew that he was the only one to blame. Amos took one last look down at his fate below. Surely fate and destiny are one in the same, but fate had a better ring to it right now. The only thing he had to do to finish his final duty here was simply to give up and just let go.. ... I can't let you do this to us.. What the- ... Amos turned to see what it was, but his foot slipped, and he began falling backwards over the balcony. He felt gravity take over, and beyond his outstretched arm he saw the outline of a face staring back at him and getting smaller with each moment. For his final moments, he felt the air blow by his sides, the shadowy figure with one eye deadlocked on him as he plummeted just mere seconds before impact.. ... ... I feel so (Un)Defeated.. - Part 3 - Kicked the Bucket? GASP. Samuel Amos instantly shot up out of bed. His first thought was, am I dead? Or am I still alive? Sam looked around. A beam of fresh morning sunlight snuck its way past the curtains in front of balcony and the sliding glass doors. The TV was sitting on the dresser across from the bed, right where it's supposed to be. After a couple more heavy breaths, Sam jerked his head around. Everything was in place, the pictures, the chairs, the table. Hell, the empty bottle of SoCo rested on the table right where Amos remembered leaving it last night.. right before the tirade. Sam quickly jumped up and ran to the bathroom, slamming the light switch in the upward position. After a few moments, Sam shuffled his way out of the bathroom, gently turning out the light and closing the door. The tub was fine. The toilet was also fine. The mirror was unbroken, no 7 years of bad luck here. Was last night real or is today real? Sam plopped down on the bed and reached up to his forehead. He felt the texture of the bandage covering the wound left by Jay Wildman's Masked Justice. There was a sharp pain associated with touching it. Of course, this had to be real.. because the pain of losing to Wildman at Destiny returned.. yet none of what happened last night made any sense. Sam still wasn't sure that this was real life and not just a dream. Carlie and Lucifer had not bothered to visit him since the loss, maybe the chair shot fixed whatever was broken in there. Sam reached down beneath the bed and grabbed his bag. He quickly opened the zipper and pulled out a laptop.. placing it on the bed next to him before unfolding it.. watching it come to life. After a few moments, he typed in a password and hit enter, unlocking it. Things popped up right away. The first thing was this Twitter thing. It showed 2709 new messages from some blue haired girl nicknamed "sVoTapOut". She had her picture as her little avatar, cute. She was holding Sam's TapOut Championship belt and She was smiling. Sam didn't know if he wanted to be proud or be angry. There's 2782 replies to her messages from Beautiful Bobby Dean. THIS is what two cunts look like pressed together.. Amos thought to himself. This Sara Pettis was good. Extremely talented wrestler, but most of the men backstage seemed to like her for her.. other.. qualities. Sam has seen cheap hookers (with regular colored hair) that would make for a better night in bed than Pettis would.. so "wrestling" her with a hard-on seemed a bit out of the question. As far as he was concerned, the TapOut belt was beneath him.. but with the result of Destiny.. he wishes he still had the TapOut belt in his possession.. it was so.. real. If Sam didn't actually kill himself last night, then SVO would have his next match scheduled. This was something Sam had to do a little bit of clicking to find, but after a few moments.. he was intrigued, interested, and disappointed. Me versus Ray Rosario for the Number One Contendership? Sigh. There was a part of him that was glad. He wasn't entirely out of the World Title picture. There was a part of him that hated it. He didn't want anything to do with Wildman right now. Didn't want to look at him, let alone wrestle him and be close enough to smell him. There was a part of him that questioned Ray Rosario's involvement. Sure, Rosario is a good wrestler. Sure, he deserves a title shot and is qualified. But seriously, the guy that just won the tag-team match at Destiny by getting smashed in the face with a Jester's scepter? Besides the ridiculousness, the phallic imagery was more than one man could handle. Who the fuck is Ray Rosario? But then again.. who the fuck is Samuel Amos.. Amos hung his head low. There was no doubting that he had now mostly blamed himself for his loss at Destiny. I lost when it mattered most. I'm so fucked up in the head that I've been following the advice of my imaginary managers for months and failed to pick up on it. I'm not saying I don't deserve another shot at Jay Wildman.. but I don't what I'd do if I had a second chance. Amos paused for a moment, catching his breath. I mean, I told myself. This is my One Shot. That's it.. I don't get any more. That's why.. Sam shook his head. He thought about last night again. He was prepared to kill himself, or at least he thought.. hell.. he didn't know what was going on anymore. That's why I need to just be done with it. Just be humble. Walk into SVO with the attitude that I'm gonna do my best, and whatever happens happens.. and not care. I realize that my karma is coming back to haunt me, and that I have a price to pay. Sam sighed once again. Rosario is a good competitor and he's going to really want this World Title Shot. It'd be selfish of me to keep it from him.. and foolish for me to step in his way. He's going to cut a promo any day now, and convince us all for one reason or another why it's his time.. and you know? Maybe it is his time. Maybe I should be World champion by now.. or maybe I should be dead by now. Either way.. who gives a fuck.. I'll never call myself by that special I-word anymore because I certainly don't deserve to be called Inf- ..last night was intended to teach you a lesson.. What the- In a moment that harkens back to the flashback, Sam jolted his head and his body around to see who was behind him.. (it was that same voice that he heard last night.. from that strange figure) but there was no one there. No.. this can't be happening. This just like Lucifer and like Carlie and those visions of my Father.. this ain't real.. ..Oh, I assure you. I'm as real as the thoughts inside your very head.. Sam jolted around again. The room was empty, silent. The warm sunshine still came through the window just as has been the entire time. Stop this! Stop this right now! You hear me? I am done with the hallucinations! Hahaha.. I can assure you.. I am no hallucination.. Yes you are! No.. Its a hallucination.. nothing more.. don't listen.. don't bother paying any attention to it.. it'll go away.. I told you last night that I couldn't let you do this to us. I intend to keep my word. Shut.. UP!! You're not real!! You don't really think that, Samuel Amos. Yes I do! We are what we think. All that arises does so within our own thoughts. With our thoughts.. We make the World. ![]() ..and that's when he first saw him.. Edited by Samuel Amos, Feb 11 2011, 10:24 PM.
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2:31 PM Jul 11