Post by Allen Guiliano on Jun 8, 2009 5:54:28 GMT -5
The scene opens in a spacious room that appears to be as black as ink except for a faint red illumination that appears from the numbers of a digital alarm clock and casts an eerie glow over half the face and one of the eyes of a sleeping individual. As the lens comes in to focus on the shadowed face, it becomes apparent that it is a male in slumber as a groan escapes the man in the middle of his sleep. Just as the face becomes identifiable as that of WCF superstar Allen Guiliano, his head snaps to the left as turns over onto his right side, escaping the view from the lens of the camera. A second, more throaty groan escapes his lips as his head turns and nearly buries itself into the pillow below, the camera continuing to creep closer and closer to the head of the Italian, so close, that the scene once again fades to black.
A faint hanging light can be seen swinging over that of an octagonal table. Playing cards and clay poker chips are dispersed over the green felt as four men are seated around its outer perimeter. The camera is at the back of Allen Guiliano as he carefully studies his cards, peering slowly at them as he raises their paper edges and then averts his eyes to other men seated around the table. No other features of the room can be seen except for the light and the table as the man to Allen’s left shuffles the chips monotonously in his right hand as he glances down at his cards, darkened sunglasses hiding his eyes from view. He wears a black pinstriped suit and smokes a thick cigar as the smoke dances off the glowing orange tip and toward the single light. He tosses chips into the already heaping pile that rests in the center of the table and the camera pans to the man seated directly across from Guiliano. The man is adorned in a white suit with black pinstripes, glasses hiding his eyes as well, and a white fedora with a black band atop his head. The man lets a cigarette hang between the index and middle fingers of his right hand and roughly smashes the end into a small black plastic ashtray in disgust as he sends the cards spinning across the felt with the flick of his wrist. A third individual sits to Guiliano’s right, a short, overweight male in a dirty white tank top, grease and red sauce smeared down his chest as his stubby fingers grip a pile of chips to his right and splashes them into the middle of the already heaping pot. The man lets out a hearty chuckle as the camera now turns its attention toward the WCF superstar. He is adorned in his usual black suit, gin martini complete with a olive to his right as he quickly shoves all of his chips into the middle of the table with one swift move and raises an eyebrow to the remaining two players. The man to his left quickly folds his cards, taking another drag from the cigar that is held tightly in his lips, the man to Allen’s right chuckles once again and follows the practice of Guiliano, shoving his remaining chips to the center of the table and slowly rolling over his cards to reveal two black kings. A smirk forms across the lips of Guiliano as he quickly tosses his cards face up near the pile of chips, two aces, one red, one black, staring deep into the heart of the portly man to his right. Just as the cards are flipped a bright white light suddenly appears out of nowhere behind Allen and focuses only on the chair he occupies. As the camera pans slowly around to the front of Guiliano, it becomes apparent that a door has been opened and a petite , raven haired woman adorned in a red cocktail dress, complete with strappy black heels stands in its frame and glares down at the seated perceived victor of the hand.
Woman: Not good enough Allen. It’s too cliché and you know it.
Allen: What the hell are you talking about?He glances around the room and then back at the female in the doorway.And where the hell am I anyway?
Woman: Look around you Allen. It’s too predictable, too happily ever after, too…you!
The woman snaps her fingers three times, each time one of the players seated around the table and the chairs they are seated in fall straight down through the darkness and into the infinity below. Allen’s eyes dart wide open as he glances at his surroundings once more, the only thing remaining is the table, the heap of chips, the cards, and the chair that holds Guiliano as he quickly stands and starts to make his way toward the unfamiliar figure that seems to control his current environment.
Woman: Of course you were holding aces, and of course the men seated at the table were typical “Italian” looking men. They get it Allen, you’re a rich casino owner with a troubled past and stand in front of the Italian flag and drops hints of your organized crime ties. It’s typical, it’s easy, and it’s going to be your downfall.
Just as Allen opens his mouth to speak, his words are muted as the woman snaps her fingers two more times, sending the table and the chair falling out from underneath the now standing Guiliano and into the blackness below. The woman gives a sly smile as she slowly begins to retreat back through the door in which she seemed to create. Allen makes a mad dash towards the door as it begins to close.
Allen: Wait! What is going on and what am I supposed to do?!
Allen comes within just steps of the door as he outstretched hand is still a few feet short of the ajar door that is quickly pulled shut. As the audible latch of the door becomes heard, Guiliano experiences the same fate as the three others and suddenly begins a freefall into the darkness below that once supported him. As he continues to fall, the camera becomes further and further away from him is now pans directly over the falling casino mogul. Just as he begins to disappear from view, he suddenly stops, his back nearly snapping against an invisible structure, the camera quickly drawing closer to the fallen and half broken Guiliano.
As he grimaces in pain and quickly grabs for his lower back, the camera stops just short of his contorted frame and a new environment begins to form. The spot on which he has landed now becomes visible as four white squares appear on each side of the black one that now contains Guiliano. The pattern continues to expand away from the fallen man until it completes the dimensions of a standard chess board. As Allen attempts to make his way to his feet, life size chess pieces begin to appear behind the spot where Guiliano now stands and another set directly across from him. As Allen stands, he gently leans back against one of the ivory pawns and scans the new environment with his curious eyes.
As he becomes somewhat comfortable with his surroundings, the same petite framed women makes her way out from one of the opposing ebony pieces and gives a warm smile to the confused individual at the opposite end. She winks at Guiliano and snaps her fingers. As she does, Allen glances down at the black square beneath him and prepares for the inevitable. Instead of falling through the board as he had expected, a field of color flowers appear around all four sides of the board as far as the eye can see and a bright sunlight creates a soothing and fairy tale like environment. Allen glances across the board and suddenly finds his voice once again.
Allen: You again? Who are you and what is this?
Woman: Who I am is not important. However, this is what you are facing right now, Allen. A different kind a game than you are used to playing. A game that requires more than just the regular cookie cutter life you are used to. Something more than a square contained by ropes on all four sides. This is a game that requires intellect. A mind game if you will. And that is what you are in right now with a one, Jack of Blades. A mind game. A mind game that he is clearly winning and a mind game you were clearly not ready for.
Allen: What are you talking about? This has nothing to do with anything related to wrestling. That is not important right now. What’s important is what the hell is going on right now and why I’m standing here on this chess board and why you think it is all a game.
Just as Allen completes his sentence, the woman raises her hand and gently moves it toward him as the ebony pawn follows her move. Guiliano side steps the moving piece and the woman raises her hand once again and moves it quicker toward the nimble man on the other side as this time a rook comes sliding toward him and he fails to remove himself from its path and finds himself sprawled out on the board once again.
Allen: What are you doing?!
Woman: I’m playing the game and I suggest you start playing as well before you find yourself unable to.
Allen: I don’t know what game you are talking about or why it is even important.
Allen quickly makes his way to his feet and makes his way to the outside of the board, attempting to escape the game that he now finds himself in. As he reaches the outer boundary, he finds he is unable to set outside the realm of the board and is contained by some kind of invisible force field. He dashes back to the pieces and leans against one of the pawns once again, trying to collect his thoughts. As he does, the woman continues to send pieces in his direction. As Allen leans against the pawn it begins to move diagonally and into one of the ebony pieces that seem to be under the control of the woman. As the large white piece makes contact with the same piece of the opposite color, it crumbles to the group in a heap of black rock. Guiliano then smiles and steps to the side of the piece he was resting against and smiles to the woman.
Allen: Ah, I get it now. A game of chess. That’s the intellectual game you were talking about. You tell me that I am ordinary and cliché and your “mind game” is a game of chess. Just like that in the storybooks we read as children. Perhaps you are the one that needs to become more extraordinary and think outside the box. I know what I’m doing and what I do seems to work. Look at me, I’m at the top of my chosen field and I’m on my way to the top of the WCF.
Just as he completes his thought, the woman slowly starts to make her way toward the now confident Guiliano, the black queen following in her footsteps. As Allen, reaches back for the king of the opposite color, she stops and smirks.
Woman: You’re wrong Allen. This isn’t simply a game of chess. This is a game of life and death and I control the rules. I control the board, I control the pieces, I control the environment, and I control you. Just like Jack of Blades will control you on Monday night. You are destined to fail in this game and you are destined to fail in his. You’re too predictable and it will be your undoing.
Just as she completes her though, the queen rises up behind her, moves forward over her standing body, and stops in the square directly in front of Guiliano. As he looks up at it and pushes the superior white piece towards it, both pieces crumbling around him as a look of shock now appears on his face. As the rest of the pieces, both black and white, begin to make their way towards him and crumble around him, trapping him in a column of stone, the scene goes completely black and a continuous tone can be heard over and over again
The sound now becomes obvious as it can be identified as the buzzer from an alarm clock and the tone is quickly halted as the scene opens once again with the hand of Guiliano quickly smacking the top of the clock. He sits straight up in his lavish bedroom, satin covers over the lower half of his body as beads up sweat make their way down his face and over his toned chest and abdomen. His eyes are wide open and his breathing heavy as he feels the soft, stable mattress beneath him. He slowly turns toward the camera.
Jack, this Monday, you won’t have to worry about seeing grey anymore. It will not be another “mundane” match for you. It will be one of the best matches the WCF has ever seen and regardless of how predictable and boring my past may be, it isn’t about the past, it isn’t about the gimmick, it’s about the man that you will go toe to toe with on Monday night. Granted you are the favorite, you are the veteran, you are the established superstar here in the WCF, and you have my respect, but your nitpicking will get you nowhere when that bell rings at Slam. I’ve waited far too long to step back into a wrestling ring and lace my boots up once again for a match like this. Slickie T and Jack of Blades, well, let’s be truthful, the two best wresters in the WCF, will square off in nothing more than a weekly show. No title on the line, no #1 contendership at stake, nothing more than a one on one match where one man will be declared the victor. Just another W on the record for each of us and nothing more and really, you have nothing to gain by stepping in the ring with me. I’m trying to prove myself and you are trying to keep me where you think I belong, on the undercard with the rest of the jobbers run so rampant in this federation. Your fancy words and English attitude will only get you so far. When it all comes down to it, it isn’t about the command of the English language or how “scholarly” you are. It’s about how you compete inside the ring and the effort you give when that bell rings. Take your flashy words and professor-like editing and put it back in your notebook and get ready to wrestle. I admit it, intellectually you are superior and I will take note of what you informed me of, that my past doesn’t matter here, that you are the one I am going to have to consistently compete with here in the WCF, but to be honestly, I think you will be seeing a plethora of colors after Monday. First you will see the brilliant red, white, and green of the Italian flag after my hand is raised in victory, and not far from now you will be seeing the glorious color of gold as it is strapped around my waist once I make my way to the top and become World Champion. Now once I figure out what the hell just went through my head, I will see you Monday night.
The scene begins to fade to black as Allen steps out of the sheets and places his foot firmly on the floor and he grabs his black silk robe from a nearby hook. Just as the camera pans away from him and becomes almost completely black, Allen grabs the camera and makes one last statement.
Logan’s name doesn’t even belong in the same sentence with the likes of you and I. He may be your stablemate and he may be your friend, but don’t kid yourself, you and are on an entirely different level.
A faint hanging light can be seen swinging over that of an octagonal table. Playing cards and clay poker chips are dispersed over the green felt as four men are seated around its outer perimeter. The camera is at the back of Allen Guiliano as he carefully studies his cards, peering slowly at them as he raises their paper edges and then averts his eyes to other men seated around the table. No other features of the room can be seen except for the light and the table as the man to Allen’s left shuffles the chips monotonously in his right hand as he glances down at his cards, darkened sunglasses hiding his eyes from view. He wears a black pinstriped suit and smokes a thick cigar as the smoke dances off the glowing orange tip and toward the single light. He tosses chips into the already heaping pile that rests in the center of the table and the camera pans to the man seated directly across from Guiliano. The man is adorned in a white suit with black pinstripes, glasses hiding his eyes as well, and a white fedora with a black band atop his head. The man lets a cigarette hang between the index and middle fingers of his right hand and roughly smashes the end into a small black plastic ashtray in disgust as he sends the cards spinning across the felt with the flick of his wrist. A third individual sits to Guiliano’s right, a short, overweight male in a dirty white tank top, grease and red sauce smeared down his chest as his stubby fingers grip a pile of chips to his right and splashes them into the middle of the already heaping pot. The man lets out a hearty chuckle as the camera now turns its attention toward the WCF superstar. He is adorned in his usual black suit, gin martini complete with a olive to his right as he quickly shoves all of his chips into the middle of the table with one swift move and raises an eyebrow to the remaining two players. The man to his left quickly folds his cards, taking another drag from the cigar that is held tightly in his lips, the man to Allen’s right chuckles once again and follows the practice of Guiliano, shoving his remaining chips to the center of the table and slowly rolling over his cards to reveal two black kings. A smirk forms across the lips of Guiliano as he quickly tosses his cards face up near the pile of chips, two aces, one red, one black, staring deep into the heart of the portly man to his right. Just as the cards are flipped a bright white light suddenly appears out of nowhere behind Allen and focuses only on the chair he occupies. As the camera pans slowly around to the front of Guiliano, it becomes apparent that a door has been opened and a petite , raven haired woman adorned in a red cocktail dress, complete with strappy black heels stands in its frame and glares down at the seated perceived victor of the hand.
Woman: Not good enough Allen. It’s too cliché and you know it.
Allen: What the hell are you talking about?He glances around the room and then back at the female in the doorway.And where the hell am I anyway?
Woman: Look around you Allen. It’s too predictable, too happily ever after, too…you!
The woman snaps her fingers three times, each time one of the players seated around the table and the chairs they are seated in fall straight down through the darkness and into the infinity below. Allen’s eyes dart wide open as he glances at his surroundings once more, the only thing remaining is the table, the heap of chips, the cards, and the chair that holds Guiliano as he quickly stands and starts to make his way toward the unfamiliar figure that seems to control his current environment.
Woman: Of course you were holding aces, and of course the men seated at the table were typical “Italian” looking men. They get it Allen, you’re a rich casino owner with a troubled past and stand in front of the Italian flag and drops hints of your organized crime ties. It’s typical, it’s easy, and it’s going to be your downfall.
Just as Allen opens his mouth to speak, his words are muted as the woman snaps her fingers two more times, sending the table and the chair falling out from underneath the now standing Guiliano and into the blackness below. The woman gives a sly smile as she slowly begins to retreat back through the door in which she seemed to create. Allen makes a mad dash towards the door as it begins to close.
Allen: Wait! What is going on and what am I supposed to do?!
Allen comes within just steps of the door as he outstretched hand is still a few feet short of the ajar door that is quickly pulled shut. As the audible latch of the door becomes heard, Guiliano experiences the same fate as the three others and suddenly begins a freefall into the darkness below that once supported him. As he continues to fall, the camera becomes further and further away from him is now pans directly over the falling casino mogul. Just as he begins to disappear from view, he suddenly stops, his back nearly snapping against an invisible structure, the camera quickly drawing closer to the fallen and half broken Guiliano.
As he grimaces in pain and quickly grabs for his lower back, the camera stops just short of his contorted frame and a new environment begins to form. The spot on which he has landed now becomes visible as four white squares appear on each side of the black one that now contains Guiliano. The pattern continues to expand away from the fallen man until it completes the dimensions of a standard chess board. As Allen attempts to make his way to his feet, life size chess pieces begin to appear behind the spot where Guiliano now stands and another set directly across from him. As Allen stands, he gently leans back against one of the ivory pawns and scans the new environment with his curious eyes.
As he becomes somewhat comfortable with his surroundings, the same petite framed women makes her way out from one of the opposing ebony pieces and gives a warm smile to the confused individual at the opposite end. She winks at Guiliano and snaps her fingers. As she does, Allen glances down at the black square beneath him and prepares for the inevitable. Instead of falling through the board as he had expected, a field of color flowers appear around all four sides of the board as far as the eye can see and a bright sunlight creates a soothing and fairy tale like environment. Allen glances across the board and suddenly finds his voice once again.
Allen: You again? Who are you and what is this?
Woman: Who I am is not important. However, this is what you are facing right now, Allen. A different kind a game than you are used to playing. A game that requires more than just the regular cookie cutter life you are used to. Something more than a square contained by ropes on all four sides. This is a game that requires intellect. A mind game if you will. And that is what you are in right now with a one, Jack of Blades. A mind game. A mind game that he is clearly winning and a mind game you were clearly not ready for.
Allen: What are you talking about? This has nothing to do with anything related to wrestling. That is not important right now. What’s important is what the hell is going on right now and why I’m standing here on this chess board and why you think it is all a game.
Just as Allen completes his sentence, the woman raises her hand and gently moves it toward him as the ebony pawn follows her move. Guiliano side steps the moving piece and the woman raises her hand once again and moves it quicker toward the nimble man on the other side as this time a rook comes sliding toward him and he fails to remove himself from its path and finds himself sprawled out on the board once again.
Allen: What are you doing?!
Woman: I’m playing the game and I suggest you start playing as well before you find yourself unable to.
Allen: I don’t know what game you are talking about or why it is even important.
Allen quickly makes his way to his feet and makes his way to the outside of the board, attempting to escape the game that he now finds himself in. As he reaches the outer boundary, he finds he is unable to set outside the realm of the board and is contained by some kind of invisible force field. He dashes back to the pieces and leans against one of the pawns once again, trying to collect his thoughts. As he does, the woman continues to send pieces in his direction. As Allen leans against the pawn it begins to move diagonally and into one of the ebony pieces that seem to be under the control of the woman. As the large white piece makes contact with the same piece of the opposite color, it crumbles to the group in a heap of black rock. Guiliano then smiles and steps to the side of the piece he was resting against and smiles to the woman.
Allen: Ah, I get it now. A game of chess. That’s the intellectual game you were talking about. You tell me that I am ordinary and cliché and your “mind game” is a game of chess. Just like that in the storybooks we read as children. Perhaps you are the one that needs to become more extraordinary and think outside the box. I know what I’m doing and what I do seems to work. Look at me, I’m at the top of my chosen field and I’m on my way to the top of the WCF.
Just as he completes his thought, the woman slowly starts to make her way toward the now confident Guiliano, the black queen following in her footsteps. As Allen, reaches back for the king of the opposite color, she stops and smirks.
Woman: You’re wrong Allen. This isn’t simply a game of chess. This is a game of life and death and I control the rules. I control the board, I control the pieces, I control the environment, and I control you. Just like Jack of Blades will control you on Monday night. You are destined to fail in this game and you are destined to fail in his. You’re too predictable and it will be your undoing.
Just as she completes her though, the queen rises up behind her, moves forward over her standing body, and stops in the square directly in front of Guiliano. As he looks up at it and pushes the superior white piece towards it, both pieces crumbling around him as a look of shock now appears on his face. As the rest of the pieces, both black and white, begin to make their way towards him and crumble around him, trapping him in a column of stone, the scene goes completely black and a continuous tone can be heard over and over again
The sound now becomes obvious as it can be identified as the buzzer from an alarm clock and the tone is quickly halted as the scene opens once again with the hand of Guiliano quickly smacking the top of the clock. He sits straight up in his lavish bedroom, satin covers over the lower half of his body as beads up sweat make their way down his face and over his toned chest and abdomen. His eyes are wide open and his breathing heavy as he feels the soft, stable mattress beneath him. He slowly turns toward the camera.
Jack, this Monday, you won’t have to worry about seeing grey anymore. It will not be another “mundane” match for you. It will be one of the best matches the WCF has ever seen and regardless of how predictable and boring my past may be, it isn’t about the past, it isn’t about the gimmick, it’s about the man that you will go toe to toe with on Monday night. Granted you are the favorite, you are the veteran, you are the established superstar here in the WCF, and you have my respect, but your nitpicking will get you nowhere when that bell rings at Slam. I’ve waited far too long to step back into a wrestling ring and lace my boots up once again for a match like this. Slickie T and Jack of Blades, well, let’s be truthful, the two best wresters in the WCF, will square off in nothing more than a weekly show. No title on the line, no #1 contendership at stake, nothing more than a one on one match where one man will be declared the victor. Just another W on the record for each of us and nothing more and really, you have nothing to gain by stepping in the ring with me. I’m trying to prove myself and you are trying to keep me where you think I belong, on the undercard with the rest of the jobbers run so rampant in this federation. Your fancy words and English attitude will only get you so far. When it all comes down to it, it isn’t about the command of the English language or how “scholarly” you are. It’s about how you compete inside the ring and the effort you give when that bell rings. Take your flashy words and professor-like editing and put it back in your notebook and get ready to wrestle. I admit it, intellectually you are superior and I will take note of what you informed me of, that my past doesn’t matter here, that you are the one I am going to have to consistently compete with here in the WCF, but to be honestly, I think you will be seeing a plethora of colors after Monday. First you will see the brilliant red, white, and green of the Italian flag after my hand is raised in victory, and not far from now you will be seeing the glorious color of gold as it is strapped around my waist once I make my way to the top and become World Champion. Now once I figure out what the hell just went through my head, I will see you Monday night.
The scene begins to fade to black as Allen steps out of the sheets and places his foot firmly on the floor and he grabs his black silk robe from a nearby hook. Just as the camera pans away from him and becomes almost completely black, Allen grabs the camera and makes one last statement.
Logan’s name doesn’t even belong in the same sentence with the likes of you and I. He may be your stablemate and he may be your friend, but don’t kid yourself, you and are on an entirely different level.
