The light cast down from the starry night sky reflects off of Charlie’s bright orange construction jacket. The shaggy man continually walks towards the camera with a noticeable stumble to his step. His baggy blue jeans and over-sized black t-shirt sway gently from side to side as the garments get caught in the unsettled winds. The howls of the coyotes carry along the midnight breeze, traveling for miles. Charlie’s raggedy sneakers seemed to be torn up, although it was impossible to know if they looked like that when he put them on or if they became busted along the walk. His left shoe was missing it’s laces, his right shoe was missing half of it’s sole.The man walked in the middle of railroad tracks, stepping over the wooden planks in his torn up sketchers. Charlie gripped a half-empty bottle of whiskey firmly with his right hand. His left hand held loosely onto a mostly empty bottle of prescription medications with no lid.

Charlie: You can always find a broken man on the railroad tracks.

The intoxicated man brought himself to a halt mid-step. He looked to the camera for a few moments before cracking a wide smile. Charlie brought the orange bottle to his face, opening his mouth as he dumped the last few pills into his ever-craving gullet. He swallowed them dry as he tossed the now empty bottle on the ground. He brought his left hand up and wiped away some of the pharmaceutical dust from his lips as he took another step towards the camera.

Charlie: In the heartland, the tracks are everything man. The highways are no good, they’re crumbling. The railroads bring the supplies to the towns, everywhere from Billings to Steubenville. The rails may not mean much to the big shots and the city slickers, but to all the Toms, Bucks, and Larrys in the heartland the rails symbolize life itself. We’re all interconnected, you know? The rails….the farmers gotta use them to send the food to the coasts. And what do we get in return? Back here in everytown USA? Ohhhhhh all the latest consumer goods. Playstations, cigarettes, automobiles: you know, chrysler or chevy, what’s your team Jack? And don’t tell me ford. Ohhhh don’t you dare tell me it’s fucking ford!

Charlie continued to stumble along the tracks, whiskey bottle in hand. His left hand began to tug at his beard as he continued his inebriated rant. The orange glow from Charlie’s jacket was the primary source of lighting for the night-time shot. The stars overhead illuminated only the slightest indentations of a treeline set twenty or so feet from the tracks.

Charlie: Ford used to have a plant here in Steubenville, you know? For their trucks. Now I won’t say that we made the best trucks, but our union was strong and our work got us through. When wrestling wasn’t paying the bills, I’d pick up a few extra shifts at the plant. 6 a.m. to 10 p.m., wasn’t fun but it got us through. I’d take my vacation time to drive 900 miles to Omaha so I could fight seven other men in a ladder match. When I ran out of my vacation time but the promoters would call me, I’d take my sick pay to fight in a handicap match against their top tag team. I was planning to make it big time, baby! But that was almost fifteen years ago...

Charlie sighs softly as his pace of walking slows. A few beads of sweat drip from the man’s forehead to his beard.

Charlie: The factory wasn’t my plan, but it was a fallback that worked, man. It just worked. Connie didn’t bitch about money, I was putting the bread on the table. When I lost a match, or a jew promoter cut my purse short, I could take on extra shifts to make the difference. And I was doing good, you know? Ohhh man they loved me there. I was going to be an assistant floor manager.

The blaring horn of a train can be heard far off in the distance. Charlie seems undisturbed as he continues his tirade.

Charlie: I was in the locker room when I got the call. Connie was giving me a kiss on the cheek as she helped tape up my hands when my phone began to ring. Now this was back in the day, you know man? When phone calls used to mean something. Nowadays scammers from eastern Europe dial you daily trying to steal your identity. Wasn’t like that back in the day. Phone calls used to mean something. So I answered the call, and sure enough it was my manager. He called to tell me….that the plant was closing. Effective immediately. There I was, minutes before the biggest match of my career, finding out that my job had just been ripped out from under my feet. I didn’t take that news very well. I don’t think I won that match...

The bottle of whiskey was divorced from it’s lid as Charlie took a few large gulps of the off brand handle. He belched softly as he screwed the lid back onto the bottle. The camera’s point of view slowly shifts up a few inches, focusing more centrally on Charlie’s face as he prepares to launch back into his drunken rambling.

Charlie: My job was gone, just like that, overnight. Ford up and moved the factory, they didn’t ask me if that was okay. They didn’t ask how it would affect our community, affect Steubenville. They moved that plant overseas, so some job stealing fucks could do the work for ten cents an hour. Take our jobs, scam us, then take our hard earned tax dollars as foreign aid. That’s how they get ya’, the whole razzle dazzle. But, isn’t that the interconnectedness of it all? I lose my job, my wife, my home: but some foreign schmuck gets the best job in the village while some corporation saves thousands of dollars every year by fucking me over. That’s a con-stitu-tive relationship right there. One can’t exist without the other. Their happiness can only come from my pain. That’s just how life is sometimes, man. It isn’t right, it isn’t fair: but that’s just how life is! For some to rise, others must fall. All happiness...comes from pain! And suffering.

The rambling man paused for a moment, looking off into the distance. He brought his left hand up to his head before running his fingers through his dirty brown hair. He lets out a long, relaxed sigh. Moments later Charlie unscrews the cap on his whiskey once again, this time tossing it to the ground as he chugged the rest of his adult beverage. He let out a burp so nasty you could almost smell it through the screen. Charlie’s lips curl into a sly grin as he lets out a short chuckle.

Charlie: I’m plannin’ to be a very happy man come Saturday night. This debut….it’s the most important moment of my life. 41 years of agony, chaos, and pain...all for this opportunity. I won’t let it slip through my fingers. Boris, Fantasia, Sissy Boy: you’re all on notice. Get your wills in order and say your final goodbyes. At least one of you isn’t making it out of that ring alive. See, I want to be reeeeaalllyyy happy Saturday night. And if all happiness comes from pain, well I don’t have much of a choice do I? If I want my little Tyler and Emily to overflow with joy, I have to cause immense suffering! Twisted, devilish torment. It’s out of my hands.

The blare of a train’s horn is heard clearly in the background. Charlie laughs to himself for a few seconds as he imagines the endless possibilities for joy and torment on Savage Saturday Night. He takes one last swig out of the now empty whiskey bottle before dropping it in the middle of the tracks. The glass bottle shatters upon contact with the ground. Charlie seems to pay this no mind as he points a finger at the camera and cuts back into promo mode.

Charlie: Now Sissy Boy if you’re watching this, I want you to listen close. You don’t belong in the X-treme Wrestling Federation. This is a sport of titans, an epic clashing of wills. Every man, woman, and monster looks after their own skin. Advances their own agenda. To go around the backstage locker rooms hanging up flyers begging for a partner, now what the fuck is wrong with you boy? You’re a parasite looking for a host to cling to. A father figure to carry you and vanquish every monster that comes your way. You need to at least be honest in your little advertisements, Sissy Boy. You’re not looking for a tag-team partner: you’re looking for a daddy. You make me sick.

Charlie spits on the ground.

Charlie: You can’t handle life in that ring. What kind of man lets a failed tag team ruin his debut? Folded in half by one spear. Pathetic. It’s people like you that are ruining this sport. You’re not a professional wrestler. You’re just a little boy who wants to play cowboy. You’re not cut out for this blood sport, boy. If you know what’s good for you you’ll ditch the wrestling pipe dream and apply to Julliard! This industry will destroy you. Chew you up and spit your body out like cheap gruel. You love the fans, but boy let me tell you, they don’t love you. It doesn’t matter how much those hyenas cheer for you in the heat of the moment. Between those ropes, it’s just you and me. They’re not going to be there to help you! And they’re going to turn on you. When they see me bashing your exposed skull against the steel stairs they’re going to fuckin’ love it. They’re going to go craaazzzzy. Just like they went crazy when Peter fucking Glimore and Chris Chaos beat your ass last Wednesday! Fans are bloodthirsty piranhas. A pack of wild wolves! You’re going to learn this lesson well, Sissy Boy. I won’t be your daddy, but on Saturday night I will be your teacher!

Charlie continues to walk along the railroad tracks towards the ever-retreating camera. The sounds of the local wildlife die down as the wrestler approaches the outskirts of the city. A few empty industrial buildings can be seen some twenty five feet or so off the tracks.

Charlie: Now despite what that bitch Connie told the cops, I don’t usually smack women around. We all have our slip ups here and there, a bit too much booze or a few too many rocks, though I don’t make a habit of it. But Fantasia, I won’t hesitate to snap your neck on the mat for that victory bonus. You seem like a nice girl, a bit on the stupid and slutty side, but nice enough! Now, I would never want my daughter to turn out like you, but I wouldn’t want her to turn out like me either. I haven’t always been there for Emily. My little sweetheart. I suspect your father wasn’t around much either Fantasia. It’s sad that life does that to some little girls. Forces them to grow up without a present father.

The inebriated man looks towards the ground as a look of regret gradually spread across his face. A few silent moments pass before the look of despair gives way to Charlie’s intoxicated aggressive confidence. Charlie looks back up to the camera with a fire in his eyes.

Charlie: You’re not a professional wrestler. You’re just a fan who doesn’t understand where your fan-tasy ends and the real world begins. But I have a job to do, sweetheart, and I don’t have a choice. My family has to eat. Connie thinks Emily needs a college fund. She says our little girl is really going to be something special with that noggin’ of hers. I won’t let your life stand in the way of my child’s future! If our happiness must come from your suffering, I will milk your mutilated remains for all they’re worth!

A devilish grin fills the frame as Charlie runs through all the ways he could cripple Fantasia in his mind. After a few moments of silence from the rambling madman his grin gives way to an expressive contemplation.

Charlie: Now Boris. Boris, Boris, Boris. I made a mistake last week. A small error, an ignorant misstep! You are a professional wrestler, much to my chagrin. That’s what sets you apart from Sissy Boy and the girl. But you’re not a good professional wrestler. And that’s what sets me apart from you. That’s why I can’t recognize what you do as professional wrestling with a sober mind. I have spent 23 years honing this craft. Training day in and day out for this very match. I have sacrificed everything in my life to get on this card. Money, a wife, my relationship with my kids: all so that I could be inside that ring this Saturday. That’s what makes me a good professional wrestler! I will put it all on the line just for the CHANCE of being great. Of really achieving something. Of getting my name on the mount rushmore of wrestling! But you?

Charlie shakes his head from side to side in a dismissive manner as he waves away the notion with his hand.

Charlie: You don’t have the heart to be a good professional wrestler. But I can’t blame you. You don’t know what it’s like to have nothing else! If I didn’t win, my children didn’t eat! But you, Boris? You know nothing of struggle. In Ohio, our industry left us. Ford went and picked up the plants, shipped em’ overseas. We lost our healthcare, lost our homes, lost our future. But you bastards?

Charlie brings both his hands up to tug at either side of his beard as his eyebrows narrow and his expression turns sour.

Charlie: Well you bastards went ahead and took all of our factories, didn’t ye’? Slovakia’s economy is looking pretty up on that hill, isn’t it? Free college, good wages, and healthcare for everyone! All paid for by the auto industry. It’s true. Check the facts, jack! What, you don’t believe me? Why not! Just because I take my MEDICINE prescribed to me by my doctor? The fuck’s wrong with you! Give me your phone, jack! I’ll prove it. That commie bastard pretends to play poor for the gullible masses, but I see behind that mask! Check the facts, jack! Give me your phone!

The camera shakes from side to side as Charlie rushes forward, presumably to grab the cameraman’s cellphone.

Voice: Get off of me!

Charlie: Give me your phone, jack! I’ll prove it!

The camera falls to the ground as the two skirmish. The screen goes fuzzy for about 15 seconds before the signal picks back up again. The entire shot is now a jagged look down a set of dark and empty railroad tracks, with the camera clearly resting at an odd angle on the ground. Only a few more seconds pass before Charlie comes back into frame. He lays on the ground, crossing the tracks horizontally with his body. Smartphone in hand, he shows a few google image search results to the camera.

Charlie: Look at this, look at this shit!

Charlie brings the phone incredibly close up to the camera, swiping between two different images on google.





Charlie: You see that! I fucking told you!

Charlie lets the phone just drop to the ground, not even bothering to turn off the screen before he releases his grip. Still laying across the tracks, Charlie cuts back into promo mode as the horn of a train is heard clearly in the background.

Charlie: Apparently Slovakia’s labor force is more “productive” and “educated”. It’s a better “space for investment”. Less “turbulent”.

Charlie does the air quotes with his fingers.

Charlie: Well on Savage, I'll show you turbulence god damn it! I'll show you what all that productivity, education, and healthcare gets you inside that ring!

Charlie shakes his head side to side, as if he was shaking the anger out of his mind.

Charlie: You play the role of the poor party-hard immigrant for the masses, and it’s a good trick. Helps move the merchandise. But I see through your cheap communist tricks. See, I'm a real American Boris. Red blooded, built to last.

The blare of an approaching train's horn loudly crashes through the background.

Charlie: Do you know why I wear this orange jacket? I wear this jacket to make a statement. You know one of these days I may just pass out along these tracks, I've been coming here for decades when the bars close. And when that train conductor comes upon that broken man, passed out along the tracks, I want him to know what he did. I want him to panic, to know that he is about to take another human life as he turns that corner. I want him to scream, to blare that horn while pulling the brakes. I want to wake up from the noise just in time to see the sweet kiss of death meet me head-on in a game of chicken. But tonight is not my night.

Charlie pushes himself to his feet. The headlight from a train some ways in the distance can be seen reflecting off of his construction jacket. Charlie undoes the jacket, taking it off before taking a step towards the camera.

Charlie: I think I know someone that needs this jacket more tonight.

Charlie steps over the camera as the horn of a train continually blares in close proximity. The scene fades to black as the screeching of brakes echoes through the background.