Post by Jesse Jamester on Sept 22, 2021 14:38:48 GMT -5
Walking up the stairs from the basement of the Calgary barn, we see Jesse Jamester in a pair of black jeans, a black band shirt displaying Alice in Chains album art for “The Devil Put Dinosaurs Here” on. Lugging a brown sack over his shoulder, Jesse steps out of the basement stairway, turns, and flips the door shut to the stairs. The barn was dimly lit from the sunlight shining in through the cracks. Jesse dropped the sack on the floor, causing the noise of metal pots and pans clanging against one another to echo in the empty barn.
“What am I forgetting…” he says to himself, his hand tapping away on his bearded chin as he tries to remember.
Walking to the nearby wall, Jesse pulls a wooden ladder off pegs it was hanging from, sending dust into the air, faintly seen by the sunlight peeking through holes in the wall.
Setting the ladder up on a beam near the door, Jesse ascends it, and shuffles some things on the landing above around. Soon after he comes back down the ladder, now with a rectangular black hard cased box over his shoulder. Grabbing the brown sack from the floor with his free hand, the Canadian Nightmare walks out the barn doors and back towards the house.
Minutes go by before the camera cuts to the porch of the Alberta home. On it, we see Jesse Jamester with a fox trap, a rifle, and various hunting items.
“Adapt to the cold? Keith, I am the cold winter night that every living thing fears. From the frozen wastes of this beautiful country, to the core of my heart, I embody the cold like a killer, no remorse.”
The rifle laying on his lap, Jesse finishes cleaning the barrel and sets it to the side. He picks up a trap to his right, and sets it.
“You see Keith, I don’t live a normal life. I didn’t get into this business to be average. What I’ve done throughout my career was far from average in every way. My body has failed me before, but my mind never gave up. The wars I have been in are why I was given the name ‘The King of Violence’. It was not I who created the nickname, it was the fans who witnessed this barbarian of a man before you, take the men who preached they would bring my extinction every time I walked to that ring…”
Sliding the trap aside, Jesse pulls a smaller brown sack from behind him, and sets it on his lap. Untying the knot that keeps it closed as he continues talking.
“And decimate them in every formidable way. Until I was the last man standing.”
The sack untied, Jesse reaches in.
“Keith, the anger you showed Eron Hunter for scalping that mustache you love so much, told me a lot about you. It told me your vanity is a weakness. Your emotions are tied to the man in the mirror. I won’t sit here and tell you how much therapy you need, or what kinda narcissist you probably are… because in this carnival of a world we live in, that’s a dime a dozen for anyone you and I have ever worked with.”
Pulling his hand slowly out, we see a gray leather mask. Splitting at the seams, duct tape falling off it, and blood stains all over. Feeling it, the mask rests in Jesse Jamester’s hands as he looks down at it.
“I spent years of my life battling titans, finding their flaws, seeing what made them tick, and using it to better myself. Every man has an achilles heel, and vanity is your’s Keith. Image… that is your downfall. For you, it’s all about what everyone thinks of you. (shaking his head) I don’t care what people think about me Keith. I don’t like people, and that goes twice on Sundays in regards to you.”
Lifting up the mask, Jesse cracks a smile.
“Keith comes at me trying to steal a spotlight he didn’t earn. From federation to federation, the rumors have spread, and all of those whispers of this group called the ReVenants are a despicable group of degenerates… Maybe so, maybe you’re all just the product of a youth lost in the fray of societies unfair assessments. I don’t really care about that though. What I know is you don’t get to put me on the chopping block, without bleeding for it.”
Picking up the rifle again, Jesse slides his hand down the barrel, gripping the handle, and rests it on his knee.
“You aim to embarrass. I aim to kill. You’re a fox in my hen house Keith Williams. The hunter in me is setting the traps, and I don't catch and release...”
Picking up the gun, Jesse aims it and shoots - boom, a watermelon nearly 100 yards out explodes on the fence post! Setting the smoking barrel down, the grizzled beard splits at the mouth as his tongue licks his lips.
“Like a lizard, you can cut off my tail and call it a trophy - but I keep coming back stronger than before. I’m not an enemy you want Keith. I am the last man on this planet you want to wage war with. Choose your actions carefully…”
Taking the mask from the floor next to him, he puts his hand in and lifts it up, looking at it for a moment before looking directly at the camera with those pearly blue eyes.
“Or I will, end this Fox's days, and make a hat out of it’s fur. Making you, Keith Williams, another trophy on my wall.”
Setting the mask down, he goes back to cleaning the rifle. A camera shot of him on the porch, a sanctuary of solitude for a man many were eager to take a piece of. Question was, would they succeed?
“What am I forgetting…” he says to himself, his hand tapping away on his bearded chin as he tries to remember.
Walking to the nearby wall, Jesse pulls a wooden ladder off pegs it was hanging from, sending dust into the air, faintly seen by the sunlight peeking through holes in the wall.
Setting the ladder up on a beam near the door, Jesse ascends it, and shuffles some things on the landing above around. Soon after he comes back down the ladder, now with a rectangular black hard cased box over his shoulder. Grabbing the brown sack from the floor with his free hand, the Canadian Nightmare walks out the barn doors and back towards the house.
Minutes go by before the camera cuts to the porch of the Alberta home. On it, we see Jesse Jamester with a fox trap, a rifle, and various hunting items.
“Adapt to the cold? Keith, I am the cold winter night that every living thing fears. From the frozen wastes of this beautiful country, to the core of my heart, I embody the cold like a killer, no remorse.”
The rifle laying on his lap, Jesse finishes cleaning the barrel and sets it to the side. He picks up a trap to his right, and sets it.
“You see Keith, I don’t live a normal life. I didn’t get into this business to be average. What I’ve done throughout my career was far from average in every way. My body has failed me before, but my mind never gave up. The wars I have been in are why I was given the name ‘The King of Violence’. It was not I who created the nickname, it was the fans who witnessed this barbarian of a man before you, take the men who preached they would bring my extinction every time I walked to that ring…”
Sliding the trap aside, Jesse pulls a smaller brown sack from behind him, and sets it on his lap. Untying the knot that keeps it closed as he continues talking.
“And decimate them in every formidable way. Until I was the last man standing.”
The sack untied, Jesse reaches in.
“Keith, the anger you showed Eron Hunter for scalping that mustache you love so much, told me a lot about you. It told me your vanity is a weakness. Your emotions are tied to the man in the mirror. I won’t sit here and tell you how much therapy you need, or what kinda narcissist you probably are… because in this carnival of a world we live in, that’s a dime a dozen for anyone you and I have ever worked with.”
Pulling his hand slowly out, we see a gray leather mask. Splitting at the seams, duct tape falling off it, and blood stains all over. Feeling it, the mask rests in Jesse Jamester’s hands as he looks down at it.
“I spent years of my life battling titans, finding their flaws, seeing what made them tick, and using it to better myself. Every man has an achilles heel, and vanity is your’s Keith. Image… that is your downfall. For you, it’s all about what everyone thinks of you. (shaking his head) I don’t care what people think about me Keith. I don’t like people, and that goes twice on Sundays in regards to you.”
Lifting up the mask, Jesse cracks a smile.
“Keith comes at me trying to steal a spotlight he didn’t earn. From federation to federation, the rumors have spread, and all of those whispers of this group called the ReVenants are a despicable group of degenerates… Maybe so, maybe you’re all just the product of a youth lost in the fray of societies unfair assessments. I don’t really care about that though. What I know is you don’t get to put me on the chopping block, without bleeding for it.”
Picking up the rifle again, Jesse slides his hand down the barrel, gripping the handle, and rests it on his knee.
“You aim to embarrass. I aim to kill. You’re a fox in my hen house Keith Williams. The hunter in me is setting the traps, and I don't catch and release...”
Picking up the gun, Jesse aims it and shoots - boom, a watermelon nearly 100 yards out explodes on the fence post! Setting the smoking barrel down, the grizzled beard splits at the mouth as his tongue licks his lips.
“Like a lizard, you can cut off my tail and call it a trophy - but I keep coming back stronger than before. I’m not an enemy you want Keith. I am the last man on this planet you want to wage war with. Choose your actions carefully…”
Taking the mask from the floor next to him, he puts his hand in and lifts it up, looking at it for a moment before looking directly at the camera with those pearly blue eyes.
“Or I will, end this Fox's days, and make a hat out of it’s fur. Making you, Keith Williams, another trophy on my wall.”
Setting the mask down, he goes back to cleaning the rifle. A camera shot of him on the porch, a sanctuary of solitude for a man many were eager to take a piece of. Question was, would they succeed?
