Jack’d the Ripper:
I hear stories. Wonderful stories about the people around me and their childhood. They like to tell stories about the wonderful times that they spent as children. Stories that take place in school or when they would venture with their mates to the shopping centers. Stories that often involve their close knit families; brothers and sisters. Sons and fathers. Daughters and .. mums.
And do you know where I find these tales to be the most prevalent? Right here. In wrestling. You can't swing a dead body without one of you reminiscing about time lost that can never be regained. Fond memories you call them, and do you know something?
You make me sick!
Twenty-plus years ago
Little Jack. Can’t you just picture him? A far cry from the near seven foot monster that now stalks the abandoned halls of wherever Sin City Wrestling happens to be hosting its weekly web broadcast; be it the GO Gym or Staggs Dungeon. Not a man that is well over 250 pounds of solid and imposing muscularity. Just a little boy, barely six years old. Skinny to the point of being called scrawny by schoolyard bullies who always seek and torment those like him. Children who they see as being smaller and weaker, thus; easy targets.
Little Jack sat in class of his absolute favorite teacher, Mrs. Warren; an older woman who was kindly to each and every student, making them feel special in every way imaginable. It would be a sad day when her retirement arrived, which could be this year or next. Jack simply didn’t know. She was one of those rare teachers that you know absolutely loved her job because not only did she love children, but she loved educating them as well. And when the light went on in the eyes of children like jack when they were learning something new that they enjoyed, well … Mrs. Warren once said it was that light that made them want to teach.
Mrs. Warren did little things for her students to make the day more enjoyable. If there was a film on a book she wanted “her kids” to read, after the book assignment was finished, she would wheel in that lovely cart with the TV and VCR and play the film to a room full of eager youngsters. And better still, she would spend her hard earned cash to make little snack bags with candy and cookies for each child to munch on.
Her only rule was that every two weeks, each child had to switch desks, moving back one row so the back row would be able to sit in the front and so on. Today, in fact, was the next move day. Jack was seated in the front row and would be moved back. Or would have been had the class door not opened and in walked his domineering mum.
Jack’s Mom:
Jack must always be seated in the front row!
That was his mum’s demand. No reason, no explanation. She simply expected it because “her Jack” was apparently too precious to be seated anywhere but! Or at least that is what his classroom antagonists claimed when they successfully turned the majority of his classmates against him for his helicopter mum’s actions.
One of the best things about the first grade was the end of the school year. The entire week before summer vacation, Jack’s grade would have Field Day where the students competed against each other in fun little exercises. Three-legged races. Race around the school track. Relay race. Etc The week culminated in a big party for the entire grade where Mrs. Warren and the other teacher would bring in punch and treats and they’d watch a movie that was voted on by the entire class.This year was to be the Disney classic 101 Dalmatians!
Or would have had Jack’s mum not marched into the school and declared these routines were harming her precious son’s education. Causing the principal to put an end to the first grade tradition.
It got no better that year, or next. In fact, when Jack’s mum learned that despite her ‘demand,’ Jack willingly moved back a row, she ‘volunteered’ to help in his class like other parents would. Of course, she was not like other parents. Jack’s mum showed up for the sole purpose of watching her son and video taping his every action throughout the school day.
When Mrs. Warren complained to the principal, Jack’s mum brought in her lawyer and threatened to sue the entire school district if she was not allowed to videotape her son’s lessons.
Jack’d the Ripper:
And you thought Norman Bates had mother issues.
“Gentleman” Jack sat on a chair in an otherwise empty room. The lights were turned down low and his menacing figure was cast completely in shadow.
Jack’d the Ripper:
You see? I have stories of my own to tell. Of course, mine tend to be a little more dramatic, or realistic if you want perfect clarity. Oh but the stories i could still tell! And perhaps I will, so you can come to understand what a real family is like, and how a real parent treats their flesh and blood to better protect them from the world around them.
But time for sharing stories comes later. Instead I get to share other things with a young man I get to make my SCW debut against, Lachlan Kane. What are those other things you might ask?
Experiences.
Pain. Agony. Injuries. Misery. Torment. Distress.Torture…
His shadowed head tilted to the side…
Jack’d the Ripper:
Failure. Failure, Lachlan. We’ve all been there in our life. Some of us simply handle it better than others. Some of us have had the love and support of the woman who gave birth to us to guide us through those difficult paths. Sadly, you have -- or had -- at least some semblance of support from a very lovely woman. Is she still in the picture? Will she still be there for you after you taste defeat at the hands of the Ripper? Perhaps so. This is about you, Lachlan. This is about how you will realize that your best days are now long since gone. In your past, dead and buried. Just like any respect you once had from your friends in this chosen career. Just like how you will realize to fight me is futile.
Over 100 years ago, my own beloved Whitechapel was terrorized by an unidentified serial killer. You’ve heard the stories Lachlan, of that I’m certain. The world has. The things this killer did, people thought he had to have been some sort of doctor because the cuts, the surgical precision -- they were things of beauty. Flawless in their perfection. Until that last, and it was simply carnage at its finest.
I am no doctor, Lachlan. And what I do to you will be far from precise. It will be your destruction. You, Lachlan Kane, will be the first. You will begin anew my very own Canonical Five.
