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Crown him with an X; Wes vs KB for X title
Topic Started: Feb 8 2013, 03:15 PM (111 Views)
Wes Hartley
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Best Damn Pure Wrestler in Combat Pro
[ * ]
Darkness. It fills our vision. Not total darkness, but just enough that only shadows and silhouettes can be seen. To the right is an object - a table, a dresser, or a desk. Behind it, a wall. Just further, a door, whose edges are illuminated by the light on the other side. There is a certain feeling of uneasiness through the room that is uncomfortable, but not dangerous. Something is wrong, that’s obvious. The sounds outside the door explain that.

Woman voice: You can’t leave! I need you here to take of me and ----

Man voice: I can’t stay! I refuse to stay and watch my best friend deteriorate, to die slowly and painfully!

The woman is sobbing by this point.

Woman voice: You can’t leave. I need you. We need you.

Even the man’s voice cracks.

Man voice: I can’t be here. I’m gone. Let me just see Wes once more.

Quickly, the view of the dark room changes. A quick turn, and complete darkness. The sound of the door opening and a few steps can be heard. The muffled sound of a hand running through hair follows. A couple pats, before the same number of steps to the door are heard then the door opens and closes. Immediately CzW superstar, Wes Hartley, is seen sitting in a small room. Old wallpaper, yellowed by time, with flowers on it covers the walls of the room. Dingy and stained carpet on the floor holds up a bed and a dresser to its right. One could almost smell the dust and dirt that is stuck under the baseboards. Wes sits in the middle of the bed, in a pair of jeans and a grey t-shirt. His hands hold his head. This story replays over and over in his head. Each time the pain grows. Should he have stopped him? Did he allow his father to walk out of his life too easy? Does it matter? Would anything be different? No answers come as he was interrupted by a female voice.

Female voice: Mr. Hartley, can you please come down here?

Wes stretches and finds his way off the bed. He opens the door to the bedroom and creeps down the hallway. He passes a door on either side of him before taking the second door on the right. Wes pushes open the cracked door to reveal his mother, still comatose, this time connected to some medical devices. The rhythmic beep of the heart monitor is the only sound in the room when Wes walks in. He stops just inside the door, and stares at his mother, laying, breathing, doing nothing more. Wes’ face shows the pain that he is in. His eyes, locked on his mother, as he speaks to another woman in the room, unseen.

Wes: What’d you need?

Woman: Her vitals, they’re finally starting to go up.

Wes finally moves his gaze and finds the heart monitor.

Wes: You’re right, bp is up. Heart rate is up. This is good.

Wes’ face shows hope and slight cheer. His eyes have lightened and a small smile crosses his face. The unseen woman is finally seen, and she sits next to Wes’ mom on the bed. She’s an attractive woman with dark hair pulled back from her face, and dark eyes that compliment her olive skin perfectly. She is dressed in purple scrubs, obviously an in home nurse. She looks at Wes, seeing his elation, and frowns. Wes notices the frown and locks eyes with the nurse.

Wes: Tell me.

Nurse: Well, sometimes people get better before they-

Wes’ face hardens again.

Wes: Stop, this is a good thing. I know it.

The nurse looks at Wes with pity in her eyes. She just shakes her head, as Wes turns around and shuts the door. Wes enters the hall and moves away from the bedroom he started in. On the walls of the hallway are pictures of Wes’ family. A complete family until what looks like the point that Wes becomes 8 or 9. Wes reaches a large living room at the end of the hallway, where a suitcase is waiting. He grabs the bag, a red jacket off the back of a chair, and walks out the door with one more shout.

Wes: I’m gone to Hempstead! Keep her alive until I get back!




Inside a dimly lit bar, that still smells of cigarettes despite no one being allowed to smoke inside for almost 2 decades, sits Wes Hartley, alone. Wearing the same jeans and the red jacket he left his house with previously, he sits, quietly, somberly, stoic. Half of his beer is gone, but only half. His back is against the back wall, and surrounding him are pictures of all the famous people who have ever stepped into this bar. People ranging from all different types of entertainment. Some former football players for the Giants or Jets, Joe DiMaggio hanging right next to Marilyn Monroe. One might assume those 2 were hung at the same time based on the fact that they are side by side and in the same frame. Wes scans over all the pictures as he finishes his beer. Once he puts the mug back on the bar, an older gentleman with white hair to match his white mustache come down from the other side of the bar. The bartender is wearing a NY Yankees shirt and jeans. The wrinkles around his eyes tell his story. He’s lived hard. He’s worked hard. He looks at Wes and asks if he’d like another beer. Wes nods his head, and once the man turns around Wes strikes up conversation.

Wes: What’s the deal with all these pictures?

The bartender breathes in deep before answering Wes, while still filling his glass.

Bartender: Well, all of these pictures are famous people who have come into this very bar. Some sat wright where you are sitting now. Being in New York, we have a lot of celebrities that come in here. At least we used to.

The bartender places the new beer in front of Wes. Wes nods to show his gratitude, before scanning the pictures again. Wes continues to talk while he observes the pictures.

Wes: What makes people famous? What makes them a celebrity?

The bartender studies Wes’ face to see if this was a rhetorical question before answering him.

Bartender: It how well known these people are. If a lot of people know them, then they are considered famous.

Wes in between drinks of his beer answers back.

Wes: So you know all these people?

The bartender looks puzzled, but answers Wes anyway.

Bartender: Yeah, for example, see that picture there? Third one down from the right on the second row?

The bartender points to a picture behind Wes.

Wes: Yeah, with the group of 4 guys?

Bartender: Exactly. See, that’s the Rat Pack. That’s Frank Sinatra, Sammy Davis Jr., Dean Martin, Peter Lawford, and Joey Bishop. They were some of the greatest singers in their day.

Wes looks at the picture for a few seconds, studying each man’s face in the picture. Huge smiles cover all the faces, and Wes is almost disgusted with the fun and happiness being shared by all in the picture. What did they have to be happy about, and why couldn’t Wes find that happiness?

Wes: You know them?

Bartender: Well, I know their names and what they do.

Wes: But you don’t know them. You couldn’t tell me about how they acted or what they did inside their own house?

The bartender pauses for a moment to wipe down part of the bar.

Bartender: I guess not.

Wes thinks for a moment before continuing.

Wes: Well, my name is Wes Hartley and I’m a professional wrestler. In fact, I’m in town for a match on the 18th. By February 19, I’ll be a champion.

Wes stops and takes a long drink from his beer.

Wes: Now that you know my name and what I do, am I famous? Can I be on your wall?

The bartender again looks over Wes, expecting a smile or a laugh to show that it was a joke, but neither come. Wes looks coldly into the bartenders eyes.

Bartender: No, you’re not famous. Not enough people know you, and you haven’t done anything noteworthy yet.

Wes’ brow furrows and he looks perturbed.

Wes: So now I have to do something worthy of being famous? How about making enough money to pay for medical care for my mother? Is that not enough? How about becoming the CzW X-Division champion, will that be enough? Truth be told, I don’t want to be famous. I want what comes with being famous. I want money. I’ll get it too. I usually get what I want, and I always get what I need. I needed enough money to take care of my mother and this wrestling thing has done that. She’s stabilized. But now, now she needs to get better. That takes more money. That’s what is going to happen. So let me ask you, if I can save my mother from this cancer; if I can make enough money to get her into that trial that will save her life, will that get me onto your little wall of celebrities?

The bartender has stopped all of his movement to listen to Wes’ monologue, and thinks carefully before responding.

Bartender: If you save your mother, does it matter if your picture is on this wall?

Wes finally smiles.

Wes: Exactly.




It’s February 18, 2013 at 3:30 in the afternoon. We are in a small room, just big enough for a few people. The cinderblock walls surrounding the room are painted a cream color, and there are blue metal lockers on the right and left walls. In the middle of the room sits Wes Hartley. He has a pair of grey sweatpants on and the familiar red jacket. From the right walks CzW reporter Jenny Jacobs wearing a skirt much to short and tight for her to do anything but stand with a white blouse unbuttoned enough to show plenty of cleavage. She holds a microphone in her right hand, and wears a smile on her face. She looks down at Wes before speaking.

Jenny: Wes, stand up, we have an interview before you X-Division title match tonight.

Wes just looks up and Jenny, and without speaking stands up beside her. Jenny looks at the cameraman who counts her down from five with his hand.

Jenny: Hello CzW fans, I’m Jenny Jacobs and I’m here with the number one contender for Krimzon Blaze’s X-Division championship, Wes Hartley.

She turns to Wes to begin asking her questions.

Jenny: So Wes, how do you feel about your match tonight?

Wes squints his eyes slightly, formulating an answer, because he knows he can’t tell exactly how he feels about the match or himself right now.

Wes: I’m ready. I’ll be X-Division champion tonight.

Jenny: You are one of the most intense competitors we have here in CzW, where does your fire come from?

Wes is almost thrown into the wall with this question. His face doesn’t show it though. He won’t discuss on camera his mother, his situation, anything, so after a few seconds he says what has become his answer his whole life.

Wes: I just want to be the best. That’s why I’m here. To show you all that I am the best. I don’t have to be the best ever, but I’m the best right now, and tonight, out there in front of Hempstead, I’ll show that regardless of who is in the main event, I am the thing to come see. I’m the reason to buy a ticket. I’m the one people should be talking about. And I will be all of that after tonight. Tonight I become the X-Division champion. Tonight I become a household name.

Jenny, still smiling puts her hand on Wes’ shoulder before asking her next question.

Jenny: Where does this drive come from?

Wes, fighting back the thoughts of his mother, the thoughts of his father walking out without saying a word, stiffens and gives another answer that has carried him through life.

Wes: I say I’m the best, but in order for people to agree with me, I have to prove it. This drives me. I want to be known as the very thing I say I am. The best. A champion. I will conquer. Defeat is not in my creed. I believe in what others have doubted, and I demand respect. I have trained my mind, and my body will follow it into the fight. I will not surrender. Defeat, retreat, those are not in my language, I do not understand those definitions. I am a champion.

Wes drops his eyes to the floor as he finishes talking, and Jenny allows a few seconds to let those words sink in.

Jenny: Well there you have it. Sounds like Mr. Hartley is ready for tonight.

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