Post by James Gilmore on Mar 5, 2018 3:19:46 GMT
Journal Entry #6 - “Trial By Fire, Part I”
December 14, 2017 - 6:00 PM (Day 2)
A bright light shines through a veil of darkness, revealing an image of two Black Mages ushering in a meal for James Gilmore into a tiny dungeon-like cell and slamming the door. On the inside, he discovered that the conditions were much worse than the personal “Hilton” he lived in; its steel rack and barren concrete walls were designed for one purpose and one purpose only, to break people physically and psychologically.
Indeed, Gilmore was alone...with no one to talk to except himself. Thinking of something--anything--to help him pass the time, he start to quietly hum the first verse of one of his favorite tunes.
”Hello darkness, my old friend
I've come to talk with you again
Because a vision softly creeping
Left its seeds while I was sleeping
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of silence…”
James paused for a moment, trying to collect his thoughts as he opened up the cover on his tray, revealing a godawful “jailhouse loaf” consisting of hamburger meat mixed with onions, cabbage, potatoes, and chili powder.
“Oy JJ, this isdisgusting! Don't ya think so…” he muttered as he stuck his fork in the concoction.
”Silence permeated through the Palace’s AdSeg unit--dubbed ‘the hole’ by trainees past and present--as if the whole damn world had come to a standstill.
And yes...I deserved to do time in this hellish dungeon.
I was marched into that cell quicker than an Ezekiel Elliott touchdown run, and this time...I knew it was for real. A part of my soul was bein’ broken in front of my very eyes--all because of somethin’ stupid I did on my part. I had seven days to do nothin’ else except figure out what’s in my head, seven days encapsulated in nothin’ but the sounds of silence.
That, plus a meal concoction that would make Gordon Ramsay blush like Hillary Clinton…
...certifiable dog shit if you ask me.
I’ve walked through plenty of quiet places in my life, with nobody else except me...and my thoughts. Every time I find myself bein’ alone, I start thinkin’ about certain things--some good, others bad. I’ll say I’ve dealt with a lot of things from my life, from the joys and wonder of bein’ on a 14-day cruise to the darkest hours of a shootin’ accident that I truly regret ever happenin’ in the first place.
Yessir, you could say I’m a walkin’, talkin’ repository of all things right AND wrong with the world…
..or at least, what’s gone on in my own lifetime.”
James took a quick bite out of the NutraLoaf and rolled his eyes, shaking his head at the vileness of the dish. “Yeah man. I’ve had airport food that was ten times better than this shit…,” he responded to his own question as his mind began to flash back to some of his better memories.
He imagined himself walking the decks of the Harmony of the Seas all over again, looking out at nothing else save for blue skies and clear waters amidst a cacophony of smiles and laughter all around. It was a “happy thought” unto itself, that made him smile every time he brought up the 14-day cruise and its adventures.
“In restless dreams I walked alone
Narrow streets of cobblestone
'Neath the halo of a street lamp
I turned my collar to the cold and damp
When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light
That split the night
And touched the sound of silence…”
He finished singing the second verse to himself, correlating that “neon light” to his first meeting with Yulia, whose sole lot in life was to get him to come out of his lonely shell. He remembered the distinctive giggle, those blue eyes...even her one female breast. It made him laugh on the inside, knowing how much fun they had together.
It was a way to dull the pain of being apart, if only for a short time.
”The ageless words of Simon and Garfunkel helped me pass the time somewhat.
If only ‘cuz I couldn’t find a better tune to hum.
I once considered myself a ‘quiet’ guy, one that wouldn’t even hurt a fly. Yet now I wish I could understand exactly what was goin’ on in my mind. I wish I had known what I was thinkin’ when I beat that dude after he cried “uncle,” but unfortunately this was gonna be a not-so-easy puzzle to piece together and solve.
One thought in particular came into mind as day two of my seven-day stint in the hole began to slowly wane.
I miss Yulia. I hope I can reach out to her, take her by the hand, and tell her that everything was gonna be okay. Love was all I ever wanted in my life to counteract my thirst for competition. Hope and love...I’ve missed those more than anything else in the world.
I just didn’t know what I’d have to go through to regain whatever I lost on that day in October.
Little did I realize...that things were about to get even worse than what they were. This was gonna be my time of reckoning, where I would have to answer for everything that happened to me within the course of a year. In spite of whatever was ringin’ in my head, I had to face it head-on:
The beginnin’ of my personal hell--a real trial by fire.”
James perked his brows upon hearing footsteps marching down the darkened corridor and stopping short of his cell. He figured someone must’ve of done some talking and Sisko might let him out early, and it brought him a sense of relief. Unfortunately for him, that was only a mirage for what was REALLY coming next.
The cell door opened, and two muscular men, not wearing any official Palace attire, barged in and, after forcibly stripping him of his clothes, proceeded to beat the living shit out of him. Gilmore tried to back into a corner, covering up the blows as the thugs continued the vicious assault. After what had seemed like an eternity, the attack stopped, leaving Gilmore a broken and bloody mess.
Then, a white-robed figure stepped into the room and giggled. She then took off her robe and threw it aside, revealing a distinctive gang tattoo on her left arm that made James gasp in horror.
“Well howdy darlin’! Like my new tattoo?! You could say it’s a gift from the gang my 47th sex partner was in, the one you so brutally killed by accident...MS-13,” Lindsey Grawn, in her Texas twang, said with condescending glee as her two thugs picked the completely nude Gilmore up off the floor and took him to an an old execution chamber within the dungeon.
Indeed, James Gilmore's "trial by fire" was going to be hell on a massive scale.
TO BE CONTINUED…
========
I ain't no hero.
I’m just a dude that wants to do what’s right.
Seriously folks, did you not even get a chance to watch me make a return to the ring after five months?! I’ve said it once, I’ll say it again...I’m the LAST person the Imperial Wrestling Federation expected to see after what happened to me. I’m the LAST person that anyone with a right frame of mind would have ever dreamed they’d find themselves in a ring against after dealin’ with the likes of The Pack for so long.
And ya know what? I’m a l’il bit rusty still...but it feels good to be back in the place I wanted to be.
But I will be candid here, not ‘cuz I WANT to be...but ‘cuz I’m COMPELLED to be.
I pissed off a ton of people ‘cuz of a preventable accident on my own property last October, and ya know...they have every right to be. Truth be told, there ain’t a day that goes by that I don’t feel regret for bein’ the dude I used to be, that moronic buffoon who allowed Lindsey Grawn into his life without checkin’ her motives, and so on. I wish I could do all I can to go back in time, to talk some sense into that man and perhaps beat the livin’ shit outta him, but I can’t. ‘Cuz the dude you’re hearin’ now--that haggard freak with a missin’ right eye and “dare to dream” tattoo on his forehead--is all that’s left now.
Tortured by the past, hopin’ for a brighter future.
I have to prepare myself for the fate that awaits me. I have to be ready and willin’ to face the ULTIMATE trial by fire conducted in the court of public opinion--presided over by the Harbingers and Deliverers of Absolution--otherwise known as the Roulette.
The judge and jury? The average Joe and Jane Plinko who buy tickets to see these shows.
The prosecutors? Twenty-nine other superstars gunnin’ for my ass.
The defense team? Only one...and you’re lookin’ at him.
I’ve heard their voices in my head, from the Angel Blakes and Spike Kanes to the Bertie Veronas or Dean Harpers of the world, and every time I hear them, every time they push me...I ain’t afraid to push right back at them. They like to lecture me all they can on things like “duty, honor, and loyalty” yet they’re guilty of somethin’ THEY did in their own lives--either by accident or design. They’ll keep pilin’ and pilin’ and pilin’ all the crap they can on me, like the schoolyard scum they truly are, ‘til I’m left with a giant mound of trash to pick up for nothin’ else except stale peanuts and a 12-pack of Pepsi.
Oh they’d have a strong case against me, that would be a given. So how can I possibly defend myself against somethin’ like that? Answer’s real simple in written word only:
Embark on the greatest COMEBACK in Imperial history!
Every time I hear someone say “go fuck yourself James Gilmore, you’re a killer, you’re scum, you sound like Fiona McFly”...I’ll be right there to clean up the mess they leave behind.
I WILL fight back. I WILL confront all those voices head-on.
I WILL stand my ground.
The way I see things...Andrew Jacobsen is only partially right. It’s gonna take a helluva lot more than writin’ in a simple journal for me to get very far in a match with 29 others. I’ll just have to accept the fact that my opponents will be gunnin’ for me and pray that I don’t get chucked outta there along the way.
Yet through it all...he’s forgettin’ ONE BIG THING!
In theory, it ain't gonna be easy...but in PRACTICE?! It can be done.
And it will be done.
Wrestlin’ is the biggest bloodsport there ever is, rife with death and honor, an avenue where I can stand with the best and SHOW ‘EM what I can dish out. I THRIVE on the competition that stands in my way, I LOVE it when there’s a dude across from me in a ring to tell me “‘ey douchebag, go home!” ‘cuz it’s a mere part of what I DREAM of doin’! 'Cuz this Roulette is a match where it’s every dude for himself--there AIN’T no friends, nobody to tell ya you’re gonna be peachy-keen and all that bull.
So lemme be frankly candid once again.
I’ll apologize for the fact that I’ve done a lot of stupid stuff, I’ve let those voices get into my head, I’ve let that dude that USED to be me lash out unexpectedly, and I let myself into a situation that could have been prevented.
But I WILL NEVER apologize for puttin’ my own life in jeopardy and standin’ my ground in defense of others, for trying to rekindle the outright DRIVE AND DESIRE to spill my blood for this business, and placin' myself and my own reputation through the ULTIMATE trial by fire known as the Roulette.
This is MY trial by fire. This is MY moment to beat the prosecutors and take MY place...among the Immortals.
After all, all I wanna do is relean how to do the right thing.
Even if I ain’t gonna labeled as a hero.
#D2D
December 14, 2017 - 6:00 PM (Day 2)
A bright light shines through a veil of darkness, revealing an image of two Black Mages ushering in a meal for James Gilmore into a tiny dungeon-like cell and slamming the door. On the inside, he discovered that the conditions were much worse than the personal “Hilton” he lived in; its steel rack and barren concrete walls were designed for one purpose and one purpose only, to break people physically and psychologically.
Indeed, Gilmore was alone...with no one to talk to except himself. Thinking of something--anything--to help him pass the time, he start to quietly hum the first verse of one of his favorite tunes.
”Hello darkness, my old friend
I've come to talk with you again
Because a vision softly creeping
Left its seeds while I was sleeping
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of silence…”
James paused for a moment, trying to collect his thoughts as he opened up the cover on his tray, revealing a godawful “jailhouse loaf” consisting of hamburger meat mixed with onions, cabbage, potatoes, and chili powder.
“Oy JJ, this isdisgusting! Don't ya think so…” he muttered as he stuck his fork in the concoction.
”Silence permeated through the Palace’s AdSeg unit--dubbed ‘the hole’ by trainees past and present--as if the whole damn world had come to a standstill.
And yes...I deserved to do time in this hellish dungeon.
I was marched into that cell quicker than an Ezekiel Elliott touchdown run, and this time...I knew it was for real. A part of my soul was bein’ broken in front of my very eyes--all because of somethin’ stupid I did on my part. I had seven days to do nothin’ else except figure out what’s in my head, seven days encapsulated in nothin’ but the sounds of silence.
That, plus a meal concoction that would make Gordon Ramsay blush like Hillary Clinton…
...certifiable dog shit if you ask me.
I’ve walked through plenty of quiet places in my life, with nobody else except me...and my thoughts. Every time I find myself bein’ alone, I start thinkin’ about certain things--some good, others bad. I’ll say I’ve dealt with a lot of things from my life, from the joys and wonder of bein’ on a 14-day cruise to the darkest hours of a shootin’ accident that I truly regret ever happenin’ in the first place.
Yessir, you could say I’m a walkin’, talkin’ repository of all things right AND wrong with the world…
..or at least, what’s gone on in my own lifetime.”
James took a quick bite out of the NutraLoaf and rolled his eyes, shaking his head at the vileness of the dish. “Yeah man. I’ve had airport food that was ten times better than this shit…,” he responded to his own question as his mind began to flash back to some of his better memories.
He imagined himself walking the decks of the Harmony of the Seas all over again, looking out at nothing else save for blue skies and clear waters amidst a cacophony of smiles and laughter all around. It was a “happy thought” unto itself, that made him smile every time he brought up the 14-day cruise and its adventures.
“In restless dreams I walked alone
Narrow streets of cobblestone
'Neath the halo of a street lamp
I turned my collar to the cold and damp
When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light
That split the night
And touched the sound of silence…”
He finished singing the second verse to himself, correlating that “neon light” to his first meeting with Yulia, whose sole lot in life was to get him to come out of his lonely shell. He remembered the distinctive giggle, those blue eyes...even her one female breast. It made him laugh on the inside, knowing how much fun they had together.
It was a way to dull the pain of being apart, if only for a short time.
”The ageless words of Simon and Garfunkel helped me pass the time somewhat.
If only ‘cuz I couldn’t find a better tune to hum.
I once considered myself a ‘quiet’ guy, one that wouldn’t even hurt a fly. Yet now I wish I could understand exactly what was goin’ on in my mind. I wish I had known what I was thinkin’ when I beat that dude after he cried “uncle,” but unfortunately this was gonna be a not-so-easy puzzle to piece together and solve.
One thought in particular came into mind as day two of my seven-day stint in the hole began to slowly wane.
I miss Yulia. I hope I can reach out to her, take her by the hand, and tell her that everything was gonna be okay. Love was all I ever wanted in my life to counteract my thirst for competition. Hope and love...I’ve missed those more than anything else in the world.
I just didn’t know what I’d have to go through to regain whatever I lost on that day in October.
Little did I realize...that things were about to get even worse than what they were. This was gonna be my time of reckoning, where I would have to answer for everything that happened to me within the course of a year. In spite of whatever was ringin’ in my head, I had to face it head-on:
The beginnin’ of my personal hell--a real trial by fire.”
James perked his brows upon hearing footsteps marching down the darkened corridor and stopping short of his cell. He figured someone must’ve of done some talking and Sisko might let him out early, and it brought him a sense of relief. Unfortunately for him, that was only a mirage for what was REALLY coming next.
The cell door opened, and two muscular men, not wearing any official Palace attire, barged in and, after forcibly stripping him of his clothes, proceeded to beat the living shit out of him. Gilmore tried to back into a corner, covering up the blows as the thugs continued the vicious assault. After what had seemed like an eternity, the attack stopped, leaving Gilmore a broken and bloody mess.
Then, a white-robed figure stepped into the room and giggled. She then took off her robe and threw it aside, revealing a distinctive gang tattoo on her left arm that made James gasp in horror.
“Well howdy darlin’! Like my new tattoo?! You could say it’s a gift from the gang my 47th sex partner was in, the one you so brutally killed by accident...MS-13,” Lindsey Grawn, in her Texas twang, said with condescending glee as her two thugs picked the completely nude Gilmore up off the floor and took him to an an old execution chamber within the dungeon.
Indeed, James Gilmore's "trial by fire" was going to be hell on a massive scale.
TO BE CONTINUED…
========
I ain't no hero.
I’m just a dude that wants to do what’s right.
Seriously folks, did you not even get a chance to watch me make a return to the ring after five months?! I’ve said it once, I’ll say it again...I’m the LAST person the Imperial Wrestling Federation expected to see after what happened to me. I’m the LAST person that anyone with a right frame of mind would have ever dreamed they’d find themselves in a ring against after dealin’ with the likes of The Pack for so long.
And ya know what? I’m a l’il bit rusty still...but it feels good to be back in the place I wanted to be.
But I will be candid here, not ‘cuz I WANT to be...but ‘cuz I’m COMPELLED to be.
I pissed off a ton of people ‘cuz of a preventable accident on my own property last October, and ya know...they have every right to be. Truth be told, there ain’t a day that goes by that I don’t feel regret for bein’ the dude I used to be, that moronic buffoon who allowed Lindsey Grawn into his life without checkin’ her motives, and so on. I wish I could do all I can to go back in time, to talk some sense into that man and perhaps beat the livin’ shit outta him, but I can’t. ‘Cuz the dude you’re hearin’ now--that haggard freak with a missin’ right eye and “dare to dream” tattoo on his forehead--is all that’s left now.
Tortured by the past, hopin’ for a brighter future.
I have to prepare myself for the fate that awaits me. I have to be ready and willin’ to face the ULTIMATE trial by fire conducted in the court of public opinion--presided over by the Harbingers and Deliverers of Absolution--otherwise known as the Roulette.
The judge and jury? The average Joe and Jane Plinko who buy tickets to see these shows.
The prosecutors? Twenty-nine other superstars gunnin’ for my ass.
The defense team? Only one...and you’re lookin’ at him.
I’ve heard their voices in my head, from the Angel Blakes and Spike Kanes to the Bertie Veronas or Dean Harpers of the world, and every time I hear them, every time they push me...I ain’t afraid to push right back at them. They like to lecture me all they can on things like “duty, honor, and loyalty” yet they’re guilty of somethin’ THEY did in their own lives--either by accident or design. They’ll keep pilin’ and pilin’ and pilin’ all the crap they can on me, like the schoolyard scum they truly are, ‘til I’m left with a giant mound of trash to pick up for nothin’ else except stale peanuts and a 12-pack of Pepsi.
Oh they’d have a strong case against me, that would be a given. So how can I possibly defend myself against somethin’ like that? Answer’s real simple in written word only:
Embark on the greatest COMEBACK in Imperial history!
Every time I hear someone say “go fuck yourself James Gilmore, you’re a killer, you’re scum, you sound like Fiona McFly”...I’ll be right there to clean up the mess they leave behind.
I WILL fight back. I WILL confront all those voices head-on.
I WILL stand my ground.
The way I see things...Andrew Jacobsen is only partially right. It’s gonna take a helluva lot more than writin’ in a simple journal for me to get very far in a match with 29 others. I’ll just have to accept the fact that my opponents will be gunnin’ for me and pray that I don’t get chucked outta there along the way.
Yet through it all...he’s forgettin’ ONE BIG THING!
In theory, it ain't gonna be easy...but in PRACTICE?! It can be done.
And it will be done.
Wrestlin’ is the biggest bloodsport there ever is, rife with death and honor, an avenue where I can stand with the best and SHOW ‘EM what I can dish out. I THRIVE on the competition that stands in my way, I LOVE it when there’s a dude across from me in a ring to tell me “‘ey douchebag, go home!” ‘cuz it’s a mere part of what I DREAM of doin’! 'Cuz this Roulette is a match where it’s every dude for himself--there AIN’T no friends, nobody to tell ya you’re gonna be peachy-keen and all that bull.
So lemme be frankly candid once again.
I’ll apologize for the fact that I’ve done a lot of stupid stuff, I’ve let those voices get into my head, I’ve let that dude that USED to be me lash out unexpectedly, and I let myself into a situation that could have been prevented.
But I WILL NEVER apologize for puttin’ my own life in jeopardy and standin’ my ground in defense of others, for trying to rekindle the outright DRIVE AND DESIRE to spill my blood for this business, and placin' myself and my own reputation through the ULTIMATE trial by fire known as the Roulette.
This is MY trial by fire. This is MY moment to beat the prosecutors and take MY place...among the Immortals.
After all, all I wanna do is relean how to do the right thing.
Even if I ain’t gonna labeled as a hero.
#D2D
Well howdy there pardner.