Promo: Into The Depths

[Guest TheBostonStrangler]

SHERATON HOTEL

BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS

8:32 PM

 

The elevator dings once more as three men step onto the elevator. The men are obviously intoxicated, and are speaking loudly to each other as the elevator doors snap shut. As the elevator starts to move upwards, one of the three men looks away from his companions and looks at the elevator doors, almost willing them to open faster. As he stares ahead, he notices an extremely large man staring back at him in the elevator door. He turns around, struggling slightly with his balance, and looks upwards to the much larger man, who is lost in thought. “Hey…I know you from somewhere!” comments the man loudly, which causes the other two to cease their drunken ramblings and turn towards the giant in the back left corner of the elevator. One guy’s face lights up as he extends a finger to point at the big man. “Hey, you’re that Strangler guy from the SWF! Dude, you kicked ass at Battleground, man!” says the man.

 

“Well…thank you, I guess” replies Strangler, who turns his head, hoping to end the conversation.

 

“Yo, dude, where were you? Like, you said you had busted out of rehab and stuff, but like, where did you go?”

 

Strangler turns back, somewhat reluctantly. “Well…I was here and there. Mainly hanging out in Boston, trying to get back into shape and stay off the roids. Those things warp your mind.”

 

The one man who had remained silent steps forward. He is obviously more intoxicated than either of the other two, and nearly falls on his face as he looks up. “Yeah…I know what you mean, man. Good thing I don’t do stupid things that fuck with my mind”. He pauses for a second before bursting into laughter and slumping against the wall of the elevator. Strangler suddenly reaches forward and pushes the button for the 9th floor. The elevator immediately comes to a halt, and the doors open. Strangler flashes a polite grin at the three men and steps off the elevator as the one truly drunken mess continues to laugh at nothing in particular. As the doors begin to close on him, the man looks up, his face contorted from the laughter, and says, “Hey, Strangler, you’re gonna lose to Rustice and Jule this week!” before dissolving into another fit of giggles. Strangler just looks at the closed doors before pushing open the stairwell door and disappearing into the bowels of the hotel.

 

SHERATON HOTEL

BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS

8:41 PM

 

The door to room 3214 clicks open and the Boston Strangler staggers through the door. His face is pink and some slight beads of sweat are evident on his forehead. He walks over to the desk and plops down into the too-small chair. The chair bends slightly, and voices its displeasure with a dull groan, but manages to support Strangler’s massive frame. Strangler reaches down on the floor next to the chair and grabs a bag from CVS, placing it on the desk in front of him. He looks forward skeptically before reaching in and pulling out a blue notebook and a three-pack of pens. He tears the pack of pens open, but the force sends one of the pens flying across the room. He cranes his neck to search for the lost writing implement, but soon dismisses it and returns to the notebook. He opens it and quickly scrawls “Albert” in the area for his name before turning his head slightly, and contemplating the blank piece of paper in front of him.

 

Strangler merely sits there, consumed by the lined paper sitting in front of him. His face is a mixture of doubt and anxiety as he fidgets the pen nervously in his hand. “Well…might as well start. Dr. Carroll said that the best way to relax was to write…I guess.” He slowly clicks the pen into place, and begins to scrawl away.

 

It’s days like these that make me so glad to be back, and make me wish that I never had to deal with the SWF ever again. I had a great day just walking around my hometown, visiting an old friend of mine, and taking in the city. But everywhere I look, there’s something there that bothers me. Ads for addiction clinics. Drunken assholes on elevators. The kid on the T wearing an Erek Taylor T-shirt. All kinds of shit that I don’t want to deal with…and that I don’t think I can deal with. Erek Taylor…the biggest mistake I ever made. But not today. I don’t want to think about Erek Taylor today.

 

I need to get past him. I need to realize that in order to move on with my life, I need to confront some of the mistakes I made in the past, and some of the people who hurt me in the past. But there’s one mistake that I’m really looking forward to correcting in the near future. Chris Wilson screwed me over last September. I was set to be the next leader of the Magnificent 7. I was dominant, I had forced Erek Taylor out of the league, and the stable loved me. But what happened? Chris Wilson decides that I’m not the right person for the job, and he kicks me to the curb for Tom Flesher. Well, you know what? Fuck Tom Flesher. What the hell does he have that I don’t? What did Wilson see in him that he didn’t see in me? There has to be something…what was it?

 

But it doesn’t matter. This is a mistake that I can correct. I can come back to this league and fix this mistake. Chris Wilson is out there watching me, somewhere. And whether I ever get a chance to show him to his face or not what a mistake he made, I can prove it to the entire world. I can show Tom Flesher that he’s not all that he’s cracked up to be. I can show Chris Wilson the kind of guy he could have had running the stable. And I can show the fans that I’m a guy worth cheering for, that I’m someone to be loved, to be applauded. I need that rush…it’s not the same as the steroids. Nothing ever could be. But it’s a great start.

 

I really hope that this is the right way to do things…what if this is just another dead end? Will beating Flesher make me happier? Will it take away from the guilt that I feel, the sense of failure, the fog that’s been hanging over my life for the 8 months or so? It’s got to be the answer…Flesher is representative of every mistake I made during my time here. If I can beat him, I’ll be conquering my problems. And even if this isn’t the answer, it’s a good temporary solution. When the crowd was going crazy for me at Battleground, it was the happiest I had been in a long time. It wasn’t vindictive rage, it wasn’t satisfaction at the horrors I had done, it wasn’t getting away from my addictions…it was an actual happiness. I was at peace. And right now, that’s all I want. Inner peace. Dreams.

 

Strangler looks up and notes that the clock has moved forward nearly 3 hours since he began writing. He looks down at the page, filled with his own particular brand of handwriting, and smiles slightly. “God…that’s a mess. I’m all over the place. But god, did that feel good. Dr. Carroll might actually be onto something here. Gotta make sure to keep track of this journal thing…” Strangler drops the pen back onto the desk and gets to his feet, heading for the door. “Gotta grab something from McDonald’s before that place closes up. Damn, I’m hungry.” Along the way, he notices the pen from earlier, lying on the floor, pinned up against the wall. Strangler reaches down and grabs the pen off the ground, smiling as he looks at it. He speaks out loud: “Sent flying by unchecked rage…never again.” Strangler puts the pen on his desk gently with a calm grin, turns, and walks towards the door. The door swings open as Strangler walks out without looking back.

[Guest Crowe]

A very nice promo, I really like the whole journal bit and it gives me a nice peek into the mind of the Strang.