PROLOGUE
[ The line between sanity and insanity is obscure at best. ]
[ Madness is subjective. Acting ordinary, or "sane", may sometimes echo the hallmarks of a classic, straight out of the psychology textbook insanity. After all, is insanity not doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results? What may seem "insane" to most may seem perfectly rational to the person in question. Of course, is that not the very essence of insanity? ]
[ So, you see the conundrum. ]
[ After all, no matter how many diplomas a doctor has, no matter how far their supposed expertise reaches, how can you ever truly be an expert on something that, by its nature, is indefinable; something that is true inner chaos? How can you ever make sense of something that only comes about when a human being has, as far as your tests can tell you, lost their own sense? What gives you the fucking right, anyway? Just maybe, somewhere, you're as crazy as that person you fear for their instability. ]
[ Maybe you're so quick to dismiss them as "insane" because you're afraid to take that long look in the mirror and realize a lot of those traits may exist within you. ]
[ Of course, this is not to say that insanity doesn't exist. Far from it - psychosis is indeed becoming more and more common in a day and age where there's so much pressure on every mundane task required of you as you drag your feet through this battering life. Find a good, stable job. Show up on time. Find a nice boy or girl to settle down with. Be decent and polite, even when you're treated like dirt. Don't make waves. Don't speak out. Don't complain. Don't show you're talented or special in any fashion, for fear you'll be considered an outcast or arrogant. Pick up others slack for little or no credit. Sit there and take all the shit you're handed day in and day out, and be grateful for it. Smile and bear it. ]
[ Be average. Be normal. Force happiness. Until the day you're put in the ground. ]
[ Is it any wonder that people go crazy as often as they seem to? ]
[ As vague and ambiguous as the parameters of insanity may be, however, there can be no denying that it is very real. It's never more real, of course, than when you see it happen right in front of you. When you, with your own two eyes, see a human mind bent to it's breaking point ...it's unnerving, perhaps even terrifying, but more than that, it's certainty. You can't deny the proof that you've seen. ]
[ Seeing is believing. ]
[ It's dysfunction. It's implied by, it's blood thirst. It's staring into a man's face and not seeing a human being staring back. They hold the form of a human. They have flesh and bone, just like you or I. Something, though, is missing - or been taken. Something behind gleaming pupils is vacant. Stress, grief, anger; whatever lever that has been pulled to cause somebody to lose a part of who they are, and no doubt who they have been for year after year, there's no doubt it's a calculated destination. ]
[ For the people who, for whatever reason, do wind up going insane in this life, it's somewhat of a foregone conclusion. It's as if it was wired into them from the moment they inhaled and took that first rush of oxygen into their lungs. Even with no evidence, zero signs of a crack in their mental foundation for the majority of their life, there's an eerie feeling that, maybe, they were always meant to lose their mind. They were always just a hair's breadth away from that perilous cliff face, even if they themselves had no idea. ]
[ The differentiating factor in every case is what - or who - pushed them over that edge. ]
________________________________________________________
[ The rain batters the cracked, untended concrete beneath our feet. Every minute drop is insignificant by itself, true, but when aligned with the tens of thousands of others, it unleashes a barrage that is whipping sideways across our scene. Together, they seem unstoppable - untameable. The standard light grey of the road has been stained to the point it's almost opaque, glistening like black diamonds as more water volleys from the clouds to the Earth as fast as it possibly can. This day is not one that most would choose to spend outside. Yet, here we are, exposed under the overcast skies as the downpour continues on further with no signs of slowing. ]
[ Wherever our cameraman is unfortunate enough to find himself on this day, it's certainly far from civilization. Despite the aforementioned road, there's nothing of note around. There are no landmarks, no buildings - an electricity pylon buzzes ominously overhead, the last bastion of hope that society and humanity isn't too far away. The camera spins three hundred and sixty degrees, and we still have no better bearing on our whereabouts; the only thing, as far as the lens can see, is a dusty terrain, turning into a mud swamp as a result of the constant rain assault. After a few seconds, it's almost like we hear something, ever so faint in the distance - ]
[ - crack ...crack - ]
[ Something, somewhere close, is colliding with another object. What that is, of course, is completely up to speculation at this point, but the E-Wrestling Alliance hires some remarkably intrepid explorers to work their cameras. Therefore, after a few seconds of establishing where the noise is perhaps coming from, we set off, climbing a short, but steep, embankment - on the other side, there is a tarpaulin standing alone in the vast, open wilderness, its support poles starting to sink into what was formerly sand. ]
[ "...crack ...crack ...CRACK. CRACK. CRACK." ]
[ Slowly, cautiously, we approach the makeshift shelter. It becomes apparent what the "crack" noise was almost instantly: a hammer descends on a rough, broken wooden box, smashing a lid shut permanently, with only a few more to go. The man holding the hammer is dressed in a thin black hooded sweatshirt with the hood flipped up, simple, frayed jeans and simple shoes, completely covered in the sand-dust-water hybrid the terrain has devolved into. Nothing too flashy for the task at hand. ]
[ CRACK. ]
[ CM Punk brings the hammer down once more, before setting it aside, flipping down his hood to wipe his brow off. It's at this moment that the Second City Saint turns to face the camera - he doesn't act surprised, though. It's clear he knew all along, his eyes frozen with the same determination and single mindedness that possessed him only seconds earlier, sealing the lid of his home made looking casket. Slowly, that turns to a strange look - one of almost tongue-in-cheek cheer, as his grin widens along with his eyes. ]
CM PUNK: Thy WWE ...more than that, professional wrestling fans worldwide ...welcome. We're out here in parts unknown, home of the Ultimate Warrior amongst others, to pay our respects. To pay our respects to something just as unusual and enigmatic as the numerous men through wrestling history that have hailed from here. Today, ladies and gentlemen, we put it down in the ground.
[ This is when CM Punk folds, his face immediately becoming something altogether more serious and threatening. ]
CM PUNK: Welcome to the burial of Gravespawn's sanity.
[ Punk lets that statement linger, almost tricking us into hearing it echo around the expanse before us. Punk's tongue creeps out of his mouth, slowly passing over his bottom lip as his face contorts into a classic scowl. Punk blinks, but ever so slowly and heavily, perhaps blinking the last beads of sweat out of his way from, as far as we can see, constructing a coffin in the middle of nowhere. ]
CM PUNK: By this point in the week, I'd be guessing you've already been subjected to yet another tirade by our TV Champion, where he lets you know what a thorn in his side I've become and just how crazy and dangerous that makes him. I'm also guess that he bored each and every one of you out there to near death, which means in order to salvage at least a shred of entertainment value from that walking mental breakdown, I'll have to speak my mind just a little bit, too.
[ The sinister, Straight Edge Messiah grin. You know that he, the truly sinister side of Punk, dwells within the man in front of us, laying dormant for now, but always just sitting beneath the surface. ]
CM PUNK: Gravespawn...well, I don't think Gravespawn has ever really understood all of this. In the ring, he understands it as well as anybody that's stepped through the ropes. Outside of the ring - that's a whole other matter. Gravespawn, you adapted remarkably well, but you weren't quite prepared for just how long the haul would be, were you? The psychological stress, the personal ties that it would fray and sever, the wear and tear on your body ...you thought professional wrestling was beneath you. All we need to do is look at your life post-Anarchy to figure that out ...or even the troubled years you had before it. The fact you've been as successful as you are is a testament to your talent and your ability to adapt. The fact that you let your demons get the best of you, and you let the me take away your very sanity is a testament to your inability to navigate this minefield. I've been in these trenches day in and day out to become the best at my craft since I was a teenager. You strolled in from the amateur circuit with your head in your ass and got the world on a silver platter, and still to this day you're pretending that those medals mean a damn thing.
[ Punk shakes his head, relaxed, maybe bemused, but all around you get the feeling that just by talking, Punk is freeing himself of a weeks worth of demons. It's probably the only way that he stays sane. The rain continues to smash into the Earth as the wind whips around, blowing Punk's hood to and fro behind his head. Something so trivial doesn't distract the Voice of the Voiceless of course, not when he's working up to full throttle. ]
CM PUNK: Now, with Anarchy only a few days away, you'd think I after all, it'd be bad for my image if I passed up a chance to talk, right? Still, I didn't come all the way out here and set up this elaborate metaphor to simply have it go to waste. I don't leave things half finished, the way you did, Gravespawn, when you will try to beat me at Anarchy. Or when you have used every trick in the books to stay tv champion.
[ CM Punk, cutting straight to the core of Gravespawn since I arrived here. You can tell Punk knows Gravespawn will be watching this, just from the disturbingly cheery glint in his eyes. ]
CM PUNK: This is your way of "saving" somebody, Gravespawn? I can't say it's the way I would've gone about it. You probably would have been better rotting away, drinking whiskey straight from the bottle and getting acquainted with strange men in some stagnant underpass than ever having anything. But you know that now, don't you Gravespawn? You know that for all your bravado, your self-righteous sermons, that you have less right than anyone to offer salvation.
[ Punk, who only a couple of years ago was the most dominate man in the company for his borderline religious zealot presentation, seems to relish in the fact that Gravespawn has tried to accomplish something similar, and has failed in such spectacular fashion. ]
CM PUNK: So Gravespawn, the tv champion, the unstoppable champion, is nothing more than another piece of garbage that shirks his responsibility as a champion. Be honest, Gravespawn - you must have known something was up. At Anarchy I'm going to prove you're not quite as intellectually cunning as you believe, you can't convince me you don't know how your a loser. How can you be a good wrestler when your not a good champion?
[ CM Punk certainly knows how to take that knife in both hands and twist it deeper and deeper still into the psyche of the tv champion. Outstretching his left, gloved hand, he runs it over the jagged wooden surface of the coffin with care as he starts to pace around its perimeter, staying under the safety of the plastic sheet overhead. ]
CM PUNK: Since I blew the lid off that little, low-key story. I've watched your mind unraveling on national television Gravespawn - and it's been a thing of a beauty, truly a creature of my own design come to life. I may have caused some, or all, of you. This is the business we're in; this is one of the ugly sides of the war you have to wage. This wasn't my preferred option - really, I'd love to just kick your ass one on one in the middle of the ring, but seeing as you seem intent on trying to keep me away from you, I did the next best thing. Really, none of this is a game, truly getting into a man's head and unplugging the parts you want, when you want, is pretty serious - but how could I help myself when you just made it so much fun? So management doesn't want me to be a champion? Fine: I'm sorry that Gravespawn is a loser. I'm sorry that Gravespawn, will lose his tv title at Anarchy.
[ So much for that. Punk is clearly as intense as he's ever been, this match with Gravespawn going further than maybe he even thought and perhaps forcing him to another place. Now that they're here, though, it's clear the Prodigal Son of Professional Wrestling has adapted and taken control of his surroundings, as is the modus operandi of his whole career. Punk tilts his head back, eyes closed, letting the cold, damp wind connect with his face for a second, and takes a deep breath, before his line of sight works its way back over to the camera lens. ]
CM PUNK: I didn't become a wrestler to not win championships or play nice with anybody. I here to do one thing, and that's prove beyond a doubt that I am exactly what I say I am, and that is the Best in the World. And really, that's where it all started, right Gravespawn? The fact that, in your warped mind, you couldn't handle somebody claiming, and having a legitimate stake, to the moniker and recognition you so dearly covet. The foundations I laid that have resulted in you crashing and burning over the past few weeks all began with your jealousy.
[ With every stinging remark Punk leaves up in the air, the look on his face seems to reflect the pleasure he gets in knowing they'll have just the shocking, brutal impact he desires. The Second City Saint takes a second to take a look at the lid of the casket, meanwhile the wind has whipped up the dust that remains on the desert floor, creating a brief, small-scale sandstorm that doesn't seem to affect the Straight Edge Messiah, who looks down in a concerned manner at his morbid contraption. ]
CM PUNK: I'm sure I'll see you frothing at the mouth about that statement a day or two from now, but let's call a spade a spade, Gravespawn - the only reason you're going to throw a tantrum over it is because you know it's the truth, and your brain will go into its tired defense mechanism: denial that you have any weaknesses. We both know that's not true, and anybody that's seen Thy WWE programming knows the same. You're something you've never considered yourself to be before; vulnerable.
[ Punk runs his hand over his face and shoulders, ridding himself of some of the sand that's attached itself to him. They say the eyes are the window to the soul - if that's the case, Punk's soul is black as the night, a shark that's long since smelt the blood, and is circling in the water. Despite the cold and the wet, Punk has hardly flinched at all. ]
CM PUNK: That's why I'm the Best, and more importantly, that's why I am better than Gravespawn. Gravespawn only understands one side of this business, but he's let himself become too clouded to stand back and see the whole picture - his arrogance and his envy made sure of that. Whether these people love me or loathe me, whether they truly hate me in their guts or whether they choose to chant my name, they always want to see me. They want to see me do my job, which is beating the crap out of people on a day-to-day basis. They want to see me because professional wrestling means more than wearing the spoils.Your a hasbeen, and that's why precisely the reason they can't wait until you are gone. It didn't have to be like this between us, you know. Sure, I was always going to beat you back and forth across the ring at some point, but it really didn't have to be so ...personal Gravespawn, you took it to this level, but it's a level that you weren't ready for; one that you can't play at. I think your state of mind is proof that this time, you finally bit off a little more than you can chew.
[ The super serious Punk that's been dominating this interview shows no signs of letting up, and it's enough to make you believe that, for all his talent and accomplishments, maybe Punk is right; maybe Gravespawn is trying to play a game he simply can't win against the Best in the World. ]
CM PUNK: You know, for these past couple of weeks, all anyone has been talking about is what CM Punk will do to Gravespawn, the extent to which I've broken him. People's silver tongues have been working overtime, saying that CM Punk drove Gravespawn insane, what a dangerous and unpredictable man he's been turned into ...and that really got me thinking about something that I haven't been able to get out of my mind all week. So, let me ask you one question.
[ Only stopping long enough to take a breath, Punk takes an extra second, as if to compose his thoughts exactly the way he needs them to come out of his mouth to cause maximum damage. ]
CM PUNK: Who is truly more dangerous: the insane man? Or ...the man that drove him to insanity?
[ A valid question indeed. Punk picks up a shovel that's been resting against the side of this glorified wooden box, letting it stay relaxed in his grasp as he moves forward, fearlessly verbalizing every thought. ]
CM PUNK: Now, I know you're treating you at Anarchy as a foregone conclusion - you'll be walking out still the TV of the World, right? How silly of me to overlook that crucial detail. Here's how this goes down to all those of us with a more tethered link to reality though, Gravespawn.
[ Albeit vague, it confirms something that many have wondered since Punk's run here in thy wwe; his title aspirations, his desire to sit at the top of the mountain, remain intact and stronger than ever. Punk hoists the shovel, caked from the sludge we're now surrounded by, over his shoulder. Punk takes a lingering look past his shelter, looking at the rain like an inconvenience, something that may have to cut this sermon slightly shorter than he potentially wanted. ]
CM PUNK: Gravespawn ...you can promenade as much as you want, attempting to convince me of just how dangerous you are. But I made you, Gravespawn, don't you see? This thing, this monster that you're claiming to be, I've stood across the ring from it, I've been the trigger in this game of Russian Roulette that blasted you clean in the temple. I've seen the truth of the situation in your eyes; you're beaten. I made you, and Gravespawn - I'm sure as hell intent on being the one that destroys you in turn.
[ Now, Punk drops the shovel from his shoulder, into a vice grip across both hands. The weather, location, and circumstances of severe personal and professional stress doesn't seem to have affected CM Punk; from the sick smile that keeps trying to make itself known, we'd wager that Punk is, against all odds, enjoying what this has become. ]
CM PUNK: What I've done over the past few weeks to my opponents is the same thing I've done here today, in parts unknown. I've been driving nail after nail into your sanity.
[ BAM!! Punk, only having taken a second to look down to the coffin on the right side, drives the shovel down with all his force, exploding suddenly with movement, and splintering the wood as he drives one final outstretched nail through the lid, fastening it shut. ]
CM PUNK: - put the final nail in your sanity's coffin. So now, I return it to the Earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust, never to be the same again.
[ With another almighty crack, Punk uses the shovel and his own foot to push the coffin into a hole in the ground, only a few feet deep. ]
CM PUNK: And you know, I dug a second shallow grave right next to this one, so after I'm done with you, I can bury your career right next to it.
[ With that statement leaving the camera somewhat in a shell shocked trance, Punk flips the hood of his hoodie back up, and presses both of his hands together - not in a prayer for Gravespawn's eternal soul, but instead in a fist as he bows his head. Is the Voice of the Voiceless praying that he becomes tv champion? Or is he simply hoping he'll get the chance to inflict some violence, physical or mental, on his most biggest opponent to date? ]
[ Only Punk knows that, as he drops the shovel to the floor and doesn't give the camera a second look as he pulls himself out through the sodden desert floor, out into the drain. No quip, no sign off line, no "Best in the World." CM Punk has Prudential Center and the challenges contained within it square in tunnel vision. Gravespawn has to face the Straight Edge Messiah at Anarchy, is one of the hardest tests any wrestler can go through: wrestling with the sinister mind of a Messiah. As we start to fade out, the camera slowly rotates towards the dirty, wet, mud covered coffin that lies in the ditch, and the empty grave next to it as we reach the same black screen we started with. ]
[ Be average. Be normal. Force happiness. Until the day you're put in the ground. ]
[ Is it any wonder that people go crazy as often as they seem to? ]
