Post by jaysonray on Aug 31, 2005 17:35:36 GMT -5
A dark spiral of darkness swirled around his body, as he looked out the window of the large hotel suite. Overturned furniture scattered the room, as the man leaned against the window, his white dress shirt stained with what looked like blood. This man had been through a war that could last ages, and had apparently lost.
Shifting his weight the mans head slowly pressed off of the glass, bringing his face into view. It was the face of a man that had been to hell and back, and was willing to tell the tail. It was the face of Jayson Ray. Pushing off the glass, Jayson fully came into view, his black dress shoes shining onto the camera.
Running his hands over his permed black pony-tailed hair, Jayson let out a sigh of worry, possibly a sigh for his future or rather a sigh for his present.
Turning his body, Jayson spun back towards the window, pressing his hands upon the glass, face turned towards the clear object, looking out into the real world.
His head snapped back towards the camera, eyes slitting like that of a cat, as his almost vampiric fangs descended from his mouth. A crude, yet malicious smile crossed his face as the camera zoomed in closer.
The camera slowly zoomed out as Jayson turned his head back towards the window, drowning out what was all outside distraction.
Every now and then there comes a time, where a man must choose a distinctive path to take in life. Last Sunday Night, at Sunday Night Slam, my path was chosen for me.
Shifting his weight the mans head slowly pressed off of the glass, bringing his face into view. It was the face of a man that had been to hell and back, and was willing to tell the tail. It was the face of Jayson Ray. Pushing off the glass, Jayson fully came into view, his black dress shoes shining onto the camera.
Last Sunday, I was beaten into submission by a man that towered a foot and two inches over me, and outweighed me by 80 pounds. That I can deal with. But, those damn announcers calling me a "jobber" struck a cord with me. How dare they refer to me like the likes of the Brooklyn Brawler, and Funaki. I've held more titles than most men in this business could even think of yet the promoters at Valor choose to put me in lower card.
Running his hands over his permed black pony-tailed hair, Jayson let out a sigh of worry, possibly a sigh for his future or rather a sigh for his present.
Thats fine. They want to doubt the abilities I posses, let them. Because at Sunday Night Slam, I will show the whole world that I am the future of professional wrestling. Brandon Bailey, our current Valor Heavyweight Champion is supposedly the best there is to date. Pfff, I'll believe it when he proves it to me.
Turning his body, Jayson spun back towards the window, pressing his hands upon the glass, face turned towards the clear object, looking out into the real world.
But this Sunday, its not about Brandon Bailey. It is all about me demolishing Sane. I must say I haven't heard of Sane, which is partially my fault. But what won't be my fault is the death of Sane in the middle of the Valor ring. He wished to see my demons, now he will feel the brunt of my family lineage. The son of a oni, brother of the ferry of the river Styx, and a fallen angel. Sunday, Sane will will feel the wrath of heaven and hell combined, as I unleash my frustration on him.
His head snapped back towards the camera, eyes slitting like that of a cat, as his almost vampiric fangs descended from his mouth. A crude, yet malicious smile crossed his face as the camera zoomed in closer.
Sunday Night, I will show everyone in Valor why I am everyones new role-model. And I will show everyone why they should never underestimate Jayson-Motherf***in- Ray!
The camera slowly zoomed out as Jayson turned his head back towards the window, drowning out what was all outside distraction.
