Post by Mercedes Vargas on Sept 20, 2012 13:20:56 GMT -6
SMH.
I hate to say I told you so, but I told you so.
This can’t be the way your story was supposed to begin, now is it, Chrissy? Just like I said would happen, you tried once again saving Sydney, and it cost you the match for the third time. Just like I said, this was a best and worst case scenario, you had a choice: suffer excruciating pain at the hands of your best friend as she locks in her submission finisher, or being dropped on your head with the Black…Rose…Overdrive, which did in fact happen. I guess the head trauma must have affected your thinking because even after our match last week, you STILL want to go through with this. Me quema la cabeza. It blows my mind, Crystal, it really does. You don’t get it. You Just. Don’t. Get. It.
You never could leave well enough, could you? You could have taken the blue pill, living a simple, happy life in retirement, but you took the red pill instead, wanting to see just how deep the rabbit hole goes. I mean, now you’ve really done it. A match with Sydney at the pay-per-view? You cannot be serious. What is it going to take for you to realize that you’re just wasting your time – and hers? What is it going to take that no matter what you do or say, it’s nothing but white noise? Was it going to take, Christina Rose Lopez Hilton-Williams, for you to realise that Sydney is just not that into you?
Tumbling down the rabbit hole, I’m willing to bet you already don’t like what you see. It’s only going to get a lot worse before it gets better, but what do I know?
I’m just Mercedes Vargas.
Oh, well. Live and learn.
And so ends yet another chapter. Join us again Sunday for another episode of “As the Rose Withers”.
(We open our scene with a view of an impound lot. A sign that says “JFK Airport Tow Pound” appears on a fenced gate. An impound clerk settles back in his chair, watching TV with his hands behind his head and legs propped on a desk. Outside his office on this unusually cool day, a line forms outside. Mercedes Vargas finds herself amongst them, a scowl on her face.)
Mercedes: Standing in line is a waste of time, I’ve been here two hours and I’m losing my mind.
(A man ahead of her turns towards Mercedes.)
Man: How about those Mets?!
Mercedes: I’m trying to smile, but other than the individual achievements, they’ve been pretty much disappointing this year. Not like we haven’t seen that before, right? (extending her hand) Hi, I’m Mercedes.
Man: Ryan, nice to meet you.
(They shake hands.)
Man: Long line, huh?
Mercedes: Yeah, tell me about it.
Man: Well, it actually started this morning around eight o’clock, eight-thirty….
Mercedes: Um, I was agreeing with you, is all.
Man: Sorry, just a force of habit. So, come here often?
Mercedes: To the impound? Oh, no. It's my first time, if you can believe that. Hopefully, it will be my last. It's not every day that you find yourself staring at an empty parking space. Even worse is being there when it happens.
Man: Suspended license? Illegal parking? Unpaid parking tickets? That what I’m here for, by the way. Funny thing about tickets, they always seem to add up.
(Mercedes just nods, smiling back at him as she pulls out her cellphone to check her text messages. She could have told him about her appearance in court and her slim victory, and the episode of how her car got towed in the first place, but she really didn’t know the answer as to why, and she was quickly losing interest in the guy anyway.)
Man: Well, hope everything works out with that. Hey, looks like I’m next.
(Ryan's transaction runs smoothly as he quickly takes off to the parade of cars. Mercedes reaches the clerk, taps on the window and waves. He opens the window.)
Mercedes: Hi, I'm here about my convertible. I think there must have been a mistake why it was towed a few days ago.
Clerk: I'll need to see your driver's license, vehicle registration, and release forms, please? (is handed license, registration, and release forms as he brings up the information on a computer, glancing over it) OK, so that's $72.00 per day, plus tax for towing... (turning back to Mercedes as she is handed back her license and registration) That will be $311.76. Cash only.
Mercedes: Here, you can use my credit ca-
Clerk: Cash only.
Mercedes: Here’s a check -
Clerk: Cash only.
Mercedes: I have a money order -
Clerk: Moolah. Bread. Dead presidents. Lady, what part of “cash only” don’t you understand?
(Looking back at the people behind her, and with the next person in line crossing his arms, Mercedes heaves a deep sigh, reaching into her purse. She starts to hand the clerk the money, but pulls it back at the last second.)
Mercedes: Wait a minute. Why am I paying to get my car back? No one told me why it was towed to begin with!
Clerk: Well, from what I'm seeing here. (pauses as he looks back at the computer and the written license plate number, then smiles at Mercedes.) Well, isn't it your lucky day?
Mercedes: It is?
Clerk: Seems as if we have a computer mix up. I apologise for that. I guess it just goes to show that even technology isn't perfect. Well, go on. Get out of here.
Mercedes: You don’t need to tell me twice!
(Mercedes turns and heads for the lot as the scene fades on her jumping in the air while clicking her heels together, but lands awkwardly. She gets up and continues on as onlookers helplessly stare.)
Come Battlegrounds, you would have held the New Championship Wrestling World Starlets Championship for 63 days. And that seems like a good thing to pace yourself on, Jennifer. But I want to make something perfectly clear to you. Holding that title isn’t 63 days of being better than Emma Danielson’s Shelly Taylor-Jones’ or Amy Marshall’s reigns, it isn’t 63 days of priding yourself in being the face of the company; it isn’t 63 days of seeing your reflection through the belt and having your name engraved in big, gold letters.
It’s just 63 days of being irrelevant.
It’s just 63 days of not just winning by a fluke, but becoming a fluke.
It’s just 63 days, nine weeks, a little over two months, of having to put up with one of the most lethargic, forgettable reigns in the history of this company. And despite what a certain redhead who, by the way, is about to be embarrassed on a third straight pay-per-view claimed on live national television, I earned this opportunity. I wasn’t just some handpicked opponent as was the case with Amy Marshall in her last days in NCW; I didn’t have to bully my way to get a title shot like what that certain redhead did when she returned, and get not one, but TWO title shots. And I certainly didn’t have to win a stupid interactive poll to get another chance, after being owned and losing the belt in a second title defense.
I earned this opportunity, Jennifer. I earned every right of being in this match. I wanted to be in this match. I deserve to be in this match. I have been here for almost a year and a half and worked just as much as anybody in this damn company. And if you want to talk about dedication, if you want to find one of the pillars of the women’s division, you don’t have to go very far. I’ve been on practically every show. Whether it’s at Trauma or Collision or at pay-per-view; whether I was featured in the pre-show, the opening match, the mid-card or main eventing, there was a good chance my name was on the card and a very good chance you would see me in the ring. Before my injury at Road to the Gold last year, I was in that ring, consistently, never taking the night off. I’ve probably wrestled in about, what, 47, 48 matches, give or take? Sure you might get Ayla or Emma on any good weekend, but I’ve been here EVERY WEEKEND! The point is, there is no one alive on this roster than can say that I don’t have what it takes to become champion.
And you don’t have what it takes to be a champion.
You don’t have what it takes, Jenny, you never did. All you’ve seem to take these days is ridicule left, right and center from anyone who is fortunate to give you the time of day. Well, time is all you have left. Time, sweetheart, until not only will you fall to me, but will likely fall off the face of the Earth. The way I see it, I’m doing you a favor. But, hey, look at the bright side, when this is all over, at least you will still have what little legacy you have left as being the only other Williams, aside from your brother, to have won a singles title in NCW. Pretty sure your half-sister must feel bad that she hasn’t been able to do that since the day she came to this place. As disappointments go, that’s pretty profound, wouldn’t you say? And you know what else? I don’t think that’s going to end anytime soon.
But as for you, Jennifer, it’s only the end of the beginning of the end.
You like to call yourself Lady Dream, and I think that was a smart choice on your part. You put the women’s division to sleep. And in my eyes, you’re nothing to sleep over. So do whatever you have to do to prepare, even count sheep if it helps, because I can promise you this: When I beat you in that ring come Sunday, you won’t be waking up from a dream, but from reality hitting you in the face.
I hate to say I told you so, but I told you so.
This can’t be the way your story was supposed to begin, now is it, Chrissy? Just like I said would happen, you tried once again saving Sydney, and it cost you the match for the third time. Just like I said, this was a best and worst case scenario, you had a choice: suffer excruciating pain at the hands of your best friend as she locks in her submission finisher, or being dropped on your head with the Black…Rose…Overdrive, which did in fact happen. I guess the head trauma must have affected your thinking because even after our match last week, you STILL want to go through with this. Me quema la cabeza. It blows my mind, Crystal, it really does. You don’t get it. You Just. Don’t. Get. It.
You never could leave well enough, could you? You could have taken the blue pill, living a simple, happy life in retirement, but you took the red pill instead, wanting to see just how deep the rabbit hole goes. I mean, now you’ve really done it. A match with Sydney at the pay-per-view? You cannot be serious. What is it going to take for you to realize that you’re just wasting your time – and hers? What is it going to take that no matter what you do or say, it’s nothing but white noise? Was it going to take, Christina Rose Lopez Hilton-Williams, for you to realise that Sydney is just not that into you?
Tumbling down the rabbit hole, I’m willing to bet you already don’t like what you see. It’s only going to get a lot worse before it gets better, but what do I know?
I’m just Mercedes Vargas.
Oh, well. Live and learn.
And so ends yet another chapter. Join us again Sunday for another episode of “As the Rose Withers”.
_______≈₪≈______
(We open our scene with a view of an impound lot. A sign that says “JFK Airport Tow Pound” appears on a fenced gate. An impound clerk settles back in his chair, watching TV with his hands behind his head and legs propped on a desk. Outside his office on this unusually cool day, a line forms outside. Mercedes Vargas finds herself amongst them, a scowl on her face.)
Mercedes: Standing in line is a waste of time, I’ve been here two hours and I’m losing my mind.
(A man ahead of her turns towards Mercedes.)
Man: How about those Mets?!
Mercedes: I’m trying to smile, but other than the individual achievements, they’ve been pretty much disappointing this year. Not like we haven’t seen that before, right? (extending her hand) Hi, I’m Mercedes.
Man: Ryan, nice to meet you.
(They shake hands.)
Man: Long line, huh?
Mercedes: Yeah, tell me about it.
Man: Well, it actually started this morning around eight o’clock, eight-thirty….
Mercedes: Um, I was agreeing with you, is all.
Man: Sorry, just a force of habit. So, come here often?
Mercedes: To the impound? Oh, no. It's my first time, if you can believe that. Hopefully, it will be my last. It's not every day that you find yourself staring at an empty parking space. Even worse is being there when it happens.
Man: Suspended license? Illegal parking? Unpaid parking tickets? That what I’m here for, by the way. Funny thing about tickets, they always seem to add up.
(Mercedes just nods, smiling back at him as she pulls out her cellphone to check her text messages. She could have told him about her appearance in court and her slim victory, and the episode of how her car got towed in the first place, but she really didn’t know the answer as to why, and she was quickly losing interest in the guy anyway.)
Man: Well, hope everything works out with that. Hey, looks like I’m next.
(Ryan's transaction runs smoothly as he quickly takes off to the parade of cars. Mercedes reaches the clerk, taps on the window and waves. He opens the window.)
Mercedes: Hi, I'm here about my convertible. I think there must have been a mistake why it was towed a few days ago.
Clerk: I'll need to see your driver's license, vehicle registration, and release forms, please? (is handed license, registration, and release forms as he brings up the information on a computer, glancing over it) OK, so that's $72.00 per day, plus tax for towing... (turning back to Mercedes as she is handed back her license and registration) That will be $311.76. Cash only.
Mercedes: Here, you can use my credit ca-
Clerk: Cash only.
Mercedes: Here’s a check -
Clerk: Cash only.
Mercedes: I have a money order -
Clerk: Moolah. Bread. Dead presidents. Lady, what part of “cash only” don’t you understand?
(Looking back at the people behind her, and with the next person in line crossing his arms, Mercedes heaves a deep sigh, reaching into her purse. She starts to hand the clerk the money, but pulls it back at the last second.)
Mercedes: Wait a minute. Why am I paying to get my car back? No one told me why it was towed to begin with!
Clerk: Well, from what I'm seeing here. (pauses as he looks back at the computer and the written license plate number, then smiles at Mercedes.) Well, isn't it your lucky day?
Mercedes: It is?
Clerk: Seems as if we have a computer mix up. I apologise for that. I guess it just goes to show that even technology isn't perfect. Well, go on. Get out of here.
Mercedes: You don’t need to tell me twice!
(Mercedes turns and heads for the lot as the scene fades on her jumping in the air while clicking her heels together, but lands awkwardly. She gets up and continues on as onlookers helplessly stare.)
_______≈₪≈______
Come Battlegrounds, you would have held the New Championship Wrestling World Starlets Championship for 63 days. And that seems like a good thing to pace yourself on, Jennifer. But I want to make something perfectly clear to you. Holding that title isn’t 63 days of being better than Emma Danielson’s Shelly Taylor-Jones’ or Amy Marshall’s reigns, it isn’t 63 days of priding yourself in being the face of the company; it isn’t 63 days of seeing your reflection through the belt and having your name engraved in big, gold letters.
It’s just 63 days of being irrelevant.
It’s just 63 days of not just winning by a fluke, but becoming a fluke.
It’s just 63 days, nine weeks, a little over two months, of having to put up with one of the most lethargic, forgettable reigns in the history of this company. And despite what a certain redhead who, by the way, is about to be embarrassed on a third straight pay-per-view claimed on live national television, I earned this opportunity. I wasn’t just some handpicked opponent as was the case with Amy Marshall in her last days in NCW; I didn’t have to bully my way to get a title shot like what that certain redhead did when she returned, and get not one, but TWO title shots. And I certainly didn’t have to win a stupid interactive poll to get another chance, after being owned and losing the belt in a second title defense.
I earned this opportunity, Jennifer. I earned every right of being in this match. I wanted to be in this match. I deserve to be in this match. I have been here for almost a year and a half and worked just as much as anybody in this damn company. And if you want to talk about dedication, if you want to find one of the pillars of the women’s division, you don’t have to go very far. I’ve been on practically every show. Whether it’s at Trauma or Collision or at pay-per-view; whether I was featured in the pre-show, the opening match, the mid-card or main eventing, there was a good chance my name was on the card and a very good chance you would see me in the ring. Before my injury at Road to the Gold last year, I was in that ring, consistently, never taking the night off. I’ve probably wrestled in about, what, 47, 48 matches, give or take? Sure you might get Ayla or Emma on any good weekend, but I’ve been here EVERY WEEKEND! The point is, there is no one alive on this roster than can say that I don’t have what it takes to become champion.
And you don’t have what it takes to be a champion.
You don’t have what it takes, Jenny, you never did. All you’ve seem to take these days is ridicule left, right and center from anyone who is fortunate to give you the time of day. Well, time is all you have left. Time, sweetheart, until not only will you fall to me, but will likely fall off the face of the Earth. The way I see it, I’m doing you a favor. But, hey, look at the bright side, when this is all over, at least you will still have what little legacy you have left as being the only other Williams, aside from your brother, to have won a singles title in NCW. Pretty sure your half-sister must feel bad that she hasn’t been able to do that since the day she came to this place. As disappointments go, that’s pretty profound, wouldn’t you say? And you know what else? I don’t think that’s going to end anytime soon.
But as for you, Jennifer, it’s only the end of the beginning of the end.
You like to call yourself Lady Dream, and I think that was a smart choice on your part. You put the women’s division to sleep. And in my eyes, you’re nothing to sleep over. So do whatever you have to do to prepare, even count sheep if it helps, because I can promise you this: When I beat you in that ring come Sunday, you won’t be waking up from a dream, but from reality hitting you in the face.
