Josh #9: Indigo
Jul 6, 2016 15:21:32 GMT -5
Post by pete on Jul 6, 2016 15:21:32 GMT -5
I’ve… I’ve not always been the person you people know.
Josh Mitchell is sat on a simple stool, in a plain white room. He’s wearing his ring gear, set off with the sleeveless hoodie he wears for his entrances. The hood is pulled high, casting shadow on his face.
And I’m not talk about the obvious either.
Almost subconsciously he rests his hand on his right knee, and sighs.
Before… this. Before all of this, back in High School… I was a dick. And I mean that absolutely. Quarterback of the football team. Star of the track team. Prom King. Every single trope of the popular kid in a teen movie… that was me. And like the guys in those movies… I was a douche.
His head dips a little, the hood falling further over his face.
I was popular, with the girls and the guys. It was easy… you know… to get a cheap laugh by picking on someone weaker… smaller… more awkward… whatever.
Another sigh.
I’m not telling you that I’m proud of the person I was, far from it. But this thing, going on here with Butcher? I understand it, from both sides.
Deep breath.
And you know what? I know that back home, if they’re watching this, those same kids I tormented are calling this karma. They’re saying I’m getting what I deserve. And maybe they’re right.
He flicks his head back, his hood drops.
But I’m not hiding from that truth, from the past, any more. And I’m sorry to those kids, well, men and women now, I guess, but I can’t stand there and accept my punishment. You know why? Because if I do… they win again. The bullies win. Again.
The hand, resting on his knee, balls into a fist.
I’ve stood on that side. And I know it doesn’t play out like those movies. The arrogant captain of the football team doesn’t get humiliated at prom. The bitchy head cheerleader doesn’t get dumped in the pool.The losers don’t win. The bullies win. Every. Single. Time. Because this is life, not a John Hughes flick. And you know what? I’ve had enough of that.
A crack of the neck.
A friend of mine… a very, very good friend of mine, was just pretty much bullied out of this sport. A sport she loves. Ashleigh Powell is one of the best wrestlers I’ve met… and she had it taken away from her by jealous bullies. Ash tried fighting back… but because she did it by the book, because she didn’t want to take the same path they did… they ended her career. And for why? Ash wasn’t a big threat. She wasn’t a champion. No. She was somebody different, somebody small, who they could pick on, abuse, humiliate, to try and make themselves seem big. Sound familiar?
Josh leans in to the camera.
I’m not prepared to stand there and take my medicine, sorry. Because if I do, they win again. Like every other time. So I’m taking a stand. For all of us who are a bit different, who for whatever reason find ourselves a target. I’m not saying this should absolve my past behaviour… far from it. I’ve made my bed, and I have to lie in it every single day. But regardless of the mistakes of my past, I can make a change for the future. If I can show everyone that we don’t have to sit there and take it… we don’t have to sit there and suffer in silence… then maybe I can make a difference.
Slowly, he stands.
Butcher. I get it. I do. You need something to make yourself feel big. You’re feeling down because… what? You’re not as successful as you feel you should be? So you’re taking an easy shot. A confidence booster. Beat the cripple, you’re thinking, and you’ll prove yourself.
Slowly, he unzips the hoodie, revealing his tattoos as he does so.
To who? I dunno. Yourself probably, trying to justify your being here by your own twisted logic. But let me tell you now… you’ve made a mistake. I can understand why; I’ve hardly tried to stir up things since I’ve been here. Head down, just do the work, and get out. That’s been my philosophy. I’m here to train and learn, not get involved in all this High School drama nonsense. It’s hardly a secret that at times, I’m not exactly the most confident in my abilitiesm or even myself in general. I put a lot of stock in the thoughts and opinions of my friends and trainers. I even say please and thank you. Guess all that makes me an easy target, right?
He drops the hoodie off his shoulders, and looks straight into the camera.
Wrong.
Static.
Josh Mitchell is sat on a simple stool, in a plain white room. He’s wearing his ring gear, set off with the sleeveless hoodie he wears for his entrances. The hood is pulled high, casting shadow on his face.
And I’m not talk about the obvious either.
Almost subconsciously he rests his hand on his right knee, and sighs.
Before… this. Before all of this, back in High School… I was a dick. And I mean that absolutely. Quarterback of the football team. Star of the track team. Prom King. Every single trope of the popular kid in a teen movie… that was me. And like the guys in those movies… I was a douche.
His head dips a little, the hood falling further over his face.
I was popular, with the girls and the guys. It was easy… you know… to get a cheap laugh by picking on someone weaker… smaller… more awkward… whatever.
Another sigh.
I’m not telling you that I’m proud of the person I was, far from it. But this thing, going on here with Butcher? I understand it, from both sides.
Deep breath.
And you know what? I know that back home, if they’re watching this, those same kids I tormented are calling this karma. They’re saying I’m getting what I deserve. And maybe they’re right.
He flicks his head back, his hood drops.
But I’m not hiding from that truth, from the past, any more. And I’m sorry to those kids, well, men and women now, I guess, but I can’t stand there and accept my punishment. You know why? Because if I do… they win again. The bullies win. Again.
The hand, resting on his knee, balls into a fist.
I’ve stood on that side. And I know it doesn’t play out like those movies. The arrogant captain of the football team doesn’t get humiliated at prom. The bitchy head cheerleader doesn’t get dumped in the pool.The losers don’t win. The bullies win. Every. Single. Time. Because this is life, not a John Hughes flick. And you know what? I’ve had enough of that.
A crack of the neck.
A friend of mine… a very, very good friend of mine, was just pretty much bullied out of this sport. A sport she loves. Ashleigh Powell is one of the best wrestlers I’ve met… and she had it taken away from her by jealous bullies. Ash tried fighting back… but because she did it by the book, because she didn’t want to take the same path they did… they ended her career. And for why? Ash wasn’t a big threat. She wasn’t a champion. No. She was somebody different, somebody small, who they could pick on, abuse, humiliate, to try and make themselves seem big. Sound familiar?
Josh leans in to the camera.
I’m not prepared to stand there and take my medicine, sorry. Because if I do, they win again. Like every other time. So I’m taking a stand. For all of us who are a bit different, who for whatever reason find ourselves a target. I’m not saying this should absolve my past behaviour… far from it. I’ve made my bed, and I have to lie in it every single day. But regardless of the mistakes of my past, I can make a change for the future. If I can show everyone that we don’t have to sit there and take it… we don’t have to sit there and suffer in silence… then maybe I can make a difference.
Slowly, he stands.
Butcher. I get it. I do. You need something to make yourself feel big. You’re feeling down because… what? You’re not as successful as you feel you should be? So you’re taking an easy shot. A confidence booster. Beat the cripple, you’re thinking, and you’ll prove yourself.
Slowly, he unzips the hoodie, revealing his tattoos as he does so.
To who? I dunno. Yourself probably, trying to justify your being here by your own twisted logic. But let me tell you now… you’ve made a mistake. I can understand why; I’ve hardly tried to stir up things since I’ve been here. Head down, just do the work, and get out. That’s been my philosophy. I’m here to train and learn, not get involved in all this High School drama nonsense. It’s hardly a secret that at times, I’m not exactly the most confident in my abilitiesm or even myself in general. I put a lot of stock in the thoughts and opinions of my friends and trainers. I even say please and thank you. Guess all that makes me an easy target, right?
He drops the hoodie off his shoulders, and looks straight into the camera.
Wrong.
Static.