TICK-TOCK, AJ WALKER
[The camera opens on the remains of what was once a wrestling ring at some forgotten independent wrestling event. The venue is practically deserted. The crowd has long since gone home, the merchandise tables have been packed away, and the sounds of the outside world have faded into an uncomfortable silence. All that remains is the occasional metallic clank of somebody dismantling equipment somewhere in the distance, the low hum of overhead fluorescent lights, and the faint squeak of a loose ceiling fan struggling to turn.]
[The ring itself is a disaster.]
[Two of the turnbuckles have been removed. One of the corner posts is leaning at an awkward angle, its padding discarded several feet away. The ropes have been loosened and partially detached, hanging in crooked lines across the squared circle. A section of the canvas has been peeled back, exposing the wooden boards underneath. Scattered around the ring are discarded cable ties, a half-empty bottle of water, and a few crumpled flyers advertising matches that nobody will remember by next week.]
[And sitting in the far corner, with his back pressed against the turnbuckle and his knees drawn toward his chest, is Miseria Bones.]
[Rocking.]
[Forward.]
[Backward.]
[Forward.]
[Backward.]
[His movements are slow at first, almost rhythmic. His head hangs low, his tangled hair partially obscuring his face. An American flag leather vest hangs loosely over his shoulders, the material worn and scuffed, its colors faded in places as though it has survived a hundred nights in a hundred different buildings. Beneath it, he wears a white straightjacket, the straps hanging untied and the sleeves sitting awkwardly against his wrists. The garment looks more like a discarded restraint than something intended to keep anybody under control.]
[His fingers twitch.]
[His lips move.]
[He is talking to himself.]
MISERIA BONES: “One little piggy went to market. One little piggy stayed at home. One little piggy ate roast beef, and one little piggy had none.”
[He abruptly stops rocking.]
[His head tilts to the left.]
MISERIA BONES: “And the last little piggy?”
[A pause.]
MISERIA BONES: “The last little piggy screamed all the way to Osaka.”
[He begins laughing. It starts as a quiet chuckle, a small bubbling sound escaping his throat, before escalating into a shrill, almost breathless cackle. He slaps his palm against the exposed wooden boards beside him.]
MISERIA BONES: “HA! HAHAHAHAHA! Oh, that's a good one! That's a REAL good one!”
[The laughter dies as suddenly as it began.]
[Silence.]
[Then, somewhere outside the ring, the sound of footsteps.]
[A small camera crew enters the venue through a side entrance. One cameraman shoulders his equipment while another production worker follows with a microphone. They appear to be looking for something—or someone. The cameraman pans across the dismantled ring, the scattered equipment, and the abandoned venue.]
[Then the lens finds him.]
[Miseria Bones is staring directly into the camera.]
[He hasn't moved his head.]
[He hasn't blinked.]
[But somehow, despite the distance between them, it feels as though he knew they were coming long before they arrived.]
MISERIA BONES: “There you are.”
[The camera operator hesitates.]
MISERIA BONES: “There you are! There you are, there you ARE!”
[He throws his arms wide, causing the loose straps of the straightjacket to swing around him.]
MISERIA BONES: “I was beginning to think the little picture box had forgotten about me! Imagine that! Miseria Bones, forgotten! Left in a corner with the broken toys and the broken promises and the broken little dreams of every poor bastard who thought he was gonna be somebody!”
[He starts rocking again, faster this time.]
MISERIA BONES: “Come closer. Come closer. Don't be shy. I don't bite.”
[He grins.]
MISERIA BONES: “Not unless you ask nicely.”
[The cameraman takes a cautious step forward.]
MISERIA BONES: “THERE WE GO!”
[The sudden shout makes the microphone operator flinch. Bones erupts into another fit of laughter, clutching at his stomach as he rocks violently in the corner. Then, with a strange, almost childlike curiosity, he reaches into the inside pocket of his American flag leather vest.]
[His fingers rummage around.]
[He pulls out a battered silver pocket watch.]
[The watch dangles from a thin chain, swinging back and forth in front of his face. Its casing is scratched and tarnished. He rubs the metal with his thumb, then presses the release with a sharp click.]
[The lid springs open.]
[Tick.]
[Tick.]
[Tick.]
[Bones stares at its face with an expression of absolute fascination.]
MISERIA BONES: “Ohhhhh. Hello, old friend.”
[He holds the watch close to his ear.]
MISERIA BONES: “Have you missed me? Have you been lonely? Have you been sitting there in the dark, counting the seconds, waiting for somebody to wind you up and let you do your little dance?”
[He nods several times as though somebody has answered him.]
MISERIA BONES: “Mhm. Mhm. I understand. I understand completely.”
[He turns the watch toward the camera.]
MISERIA BONES: “You know what this is?”
[He doesn't wait for an answer.]
MISERIA BONES: “It's a reminder.”
[His smile slowly fades.]
MISERIA BONES: “A reminder that everything ends.”
[He snaps the lid shut.]
CLICK.
MISERIA BONES: “Matches. Careers. Dreams. Little boys who grow up thinking that a pair of wrestling boots and a fancy entrance song means the world owes them a standing ovation.”
[He leans forward, his elbows resting against his knees.]
MISERIA BONES: “And on Monday, October nineteenth, two thousand and twenty-six…”
[He draws out each syllable, as though reading the date from a calendar only he can see.]
MISERIA BONES: “…the clock is gonna strike a very special hour.”
[His eyes widen.]
MISERIA BONES: “AWS MONDAY NIGHT WARD! NUMBER THREE-SIX-NINE! OSAKA, JAPAN!”
[He thrusts the pocket watch toward the lens.]
MISERIA BONES: “And guess who's got himself a ticket to the show?”
[He whispers.]
MISERIA BONES: “Miseria Bones.”
[He laughs again, but this time there is no joy in it.]
MISERIA BONES: “And guess who's gonna be standing across that ring from me?”
[He lets the watch fall against his chest. It swings from its chain, tapping against the leather vest.]
MISERIA BONES: “AJ Walker.”
[The name seems to change something in him.]
[His rocking slows. His grin disappears. He looks down at the watch, then slowly raises his eyes toward the camera. For several seconds, he says nothing.]
MISERIA BONES: “A.J. Walker.”
[He pronounces the name carefully, testing each letter on his tongue.]
MISERIA BONES: “AJ. Walker. Walker, walker, walker. Walking down the street. Walking through the door. Walking into the arena. Walking toward the ring. Walking around like a man who knows where he's going.”
[He begins shaking his head.]
MISERIA BONES: “But do you, AJ? Do you REALLY know where you're going?”
[He leans his head against the exposed corner post.]
MISERIA BONES: “Because I've been doing a little thinking about you, Mr. Walker. Oh, yes. I've been thinking and thinking and thinking until the thoughts started bumping into one another inside my skull, and do you know what happens when thoughts bump into one another?”
[He taps the side of his head.]
MISERIA BONES: “They make a mess.”
[He giggles.]
MISERIA BONES: “A great big, beautiful, horrible mess.”
[He suddenly crawls forward on his hands and knees, dragging the straightjacket sleeves across the canvas. His face comes closer to the camera, his eyes darting from one side of the lens to the other.]
MISERIA BONES: “Tell me something, AJ. When you heard my name, what did you think?”
[He pauses.]
MISERIA BONES: “Did you think about winning? Did you think about the crowd? Did you picture yourself standing tall in the middle of that ring while the referee raises your hand and everybody claps and cheers and tells you what a wonderful little wrestler you are?”
[He claps his hands softly.]
MISERIA BONES: “Bravo! Bravo, Mr. Walker! Such a lovely performance! Such a wonderful job! Would you like a gold star? Would you like a cookie?”
[His face twists into an exaggerated smile.]
MISERIA BONES: “Would you like me to tuck you into bed when the lights go out?”
[The smile vanishes.]
MISERIA BONES: “Because that's the thing about the dark, AJ.”
[He lowers his voice until it is barely audible.]
MISERIA BONES: “The dark doesn't care how many people love you.”
[He taps the pocket watch against the wooden boards.]
MISERIA BONES: “It doesn't care how many matches you've won. It doesn't care how hard you've worked, how many times you've picked yourself up, or how many people have told you that you're destined for something special.”
[Tap.]
MISERIA BONES: “The dark doesn't care.”
[Tap.]
MISERIA BONES: “And neither do I.”
[He bursts into laughter and rolls onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. His legs kick against the canvas, his laughter echoing around the empty venue.]
MISERIA BONES: “Oh, I can see it now! I can see it! Monday night! Osaka! The lights! The noise! All those lovely people packed into one building, sitting in their little seats, eating their little snacks, waiting for their little heroes to come out and make them feel something!”
[He sits up so quickly that the chain of the pocket watch snaps taut against his vest.]
MISERIA BONES: “And then there's me.”
[He points to himself with both hands.]
MISERIA BONES: “The ugly noise in the middle of their beautiful song.”
[He begins humming an off-key tune.]
MISERIA BONES: “La la la, here comes AJ! La la la, he's on his way! La la la, the match is set! La la la, he hasn't suffered yet!”
[He stops humming and grins.]
MISERIA BONES: “Yet.”
[He lets the word hang in the air.]
[For a moment, the camera catches the dismantled ring around him. The missing ropes. The exposed wood. The empty corners. It looks like a place where something has already ended.]
MISERIA BONES: “You see this place, AJ?”
[He sweeps his arm toward the wreckage.]
MISERIA BONES: “This was a wrestling ring once. People stood right here and threw punches and threw themselves off ropes and screamed until their throats hurt. People came here to be remembered.”
[He reaches down and runs his fingers over the canvas.]
MISERIA BONES: “And now look at it.”
[He gives a tiny shrug.]
MISERIA BONES: “Half taken apart. Stripped down to the bones. All the pretty decorations gone. All the lights switched off. All the people gone home.”
[He looks directly at the camera.]
MISERIA BONES: “Funny, isn't it? Take away the ropes, take away the lights, take away the applause, and all you're left with is a little bit of wood and a whole lot of hurt.”
[He scratches at his cheek, apparently considering this.]
MISERIA BONES: “I like that.”
[He nods.]
MISERIA BONES: “I like that very much.”
[He climbs back into the corner and resumes rocking. The pocket watch rests in his palm, its lid open once more.]
MISERIA BONES: “Because when I look at you, AJ, I don't see a name on a match card. I don't see another opponent. I see a man who's going to have to stand in the same ring as me and find out just how much of himself he's willing to put on the line.”
[He raises a finger.]
MISERIA BONES: “And don't misunderstand me. I'm not saying you can't wrestle. I'm not saying you haven't earned your place. I'm not saying you don't have a chance to walk into Ward and give me the fight of your life.”
[His smile returns, thin and unsettling.]
MISERIA BONES: “I'm saying that a chance is a funny little thing.”
[He watches the second hand move.]
MISERIA BONES: “A chance is a door. And sometimes, when you open a door, you find exactly what you've been looking for.”
[He snaps the watch shut.]
MISERIA BONES: “And sometimes…”
[He tilts his head.]
MISERIA BONES: “…something on the other side has been waiting for you.”
[He presses the watch against his ear again. His eyes move as though he's following an invisible conversation.]
MISERIA BONES: “What was that? What did you say?”
[He nods slowly.]
MISERIA BONES: “Oh. Oh, I know. I know, I know, I KNOW!”
[He leaps to his feet, startling the camera crew. His straightjacket hangs loosely around him, the untied straps dangling as he throws his arms toward the ceiling.]
MISERIA BONES: “IT'S ALMOST TIME!”
[His voice bounces off the empty walls.]
MISERIA BONES: “The days are crawling! The hours are limping! The minutes are dragging their little broken legs across the floor! October nineteenth is coming, AJ! It's coming closer and closer and closer, and there's not a damn thing either of us can do to stop that clock!”
[He begins pacing along the edge of the partially dismantled ring.]
MISERIA BONES: “Tick-tock! Tick-tock! Tick-tock!”
[With every repetition, he taps the pocket watch against his chest.]
MISERIA BONES: “You can train. You can prepare. You can watch the tapes. You can ask every friend you've ever had what they know about Miseria Bones. You can sit in a room and replay every possible scenario until you can't tell the difference between what might happen and what you've convinced yourself WILL happen!”
[He leans over the ropes—or what remains of them—and stares into the camera.]
MISERIA BONES: “But there's one thing you can't prepare for, AJ.”
[He whispers.]
MISERIA BONES: “Me.”
[He withdraws, giggling to himself.]
MISERIA BONES: “Oh, they'll tell you things. They'll tell you I'm strange. They'll tell you I'm unpredictable. They'll tell you I'm a problem that needs solving, a loose screw that needs tightening, a bad dream that ought to be forgotten when the sun comes up.”
[He looks down at the straightjacket hanging from his shoulders.]
MISERIA BONES: “They might even tell you I belong in one of these.”
[He pulls one of the loose straps between his fingers.]
MISERIA BONES: “Maybe they're right.”
[He shrugs.]
MISERIA BONES: “Maybe they're wrong.”
[He brings the strap to his lips and kisses it.]
MISERIA BONES: “But here's the funny part, AJ. Nobody's ever been able to agree on what to do with me.”
[He drops the strap.]
MISERIA BONES: “And on Monday, that's gonna be your problem.”
[He returns to the corner, but instead of sitting down, he crouches low with one hand gripping the turnbuckle post. His knuckles tighten around the metal.]
MISERIA BONES: “I wonder what you'll hear when the bell rings.”
[He closes his eyes.]
MISERIA BONES: “Will you hear the crowd?”
[He shakes his head.]
MISERIA BONES: “Will you hear your own heartbeat?”
[He places his hand against his chest.]
MISERIA BONES: “Or will you hear that little voice in the back of your head asking you if you're really ready for this?”
[He opens his eyes.]
MISERIA BONES: “Because I hear voices all the time, AJ.”
[He smiles as though sharing a secret.]
MISERIA BONES: “Some tell me to behave. Some tell me to be quiet. Some tell me that I'm a lost cause, that I'm beyond help, that there's nothing left to salvage from the wreckage.”
[He slowly shakes his head.]
MISERIA BONES: “And do you know what I tell them?”
[He waits.]
MISERIA BONES: “I tell them to buy a ticket.”
[He throws his head back and howls with laughter.]
MISERIA BONES: “HAHAHAHAHAHA!”
[The camera shakes slightly as the operator adjusts his grip. Bones abruptly turns toward the sound, his laughter cutting off in an instant.]
MISERIA BONES: “Oh, don't look so frightened! We're all friends here!”
[He takes a step toward the camera.]
MISERIA BONES: “Aren't we?”
[He studies the lens for several long seconds, then gives a slow, exaggerated wink.]
MISERIA BONES: “Besides, I haven't even gotten to the best part.”
[He raises the pocket watch again.]
MISERIA BONES: “Because after all the talking, after all the waiting, after all the little games we play with ourselves to convince us that tomorrow is guaranteed…”
[He opens the lid.]
CLICK.
[The ticking resumes.]
MISERIA BONES: “There's gonna be a bell.”
[He looks at the watch.]
MISERIA BONES: “And when that bell rings, AJ Walker, there will be no more waiting.”
[He looks up.]
MISERIA BONES: “No more talking.”
[He closes the watch.]
MISERIA BONES: “No more promises.”
[He slips it back into the pocket of his American flag leather vest.]
MISERIA BONES: “Just you.”
[He points toward the camera.]
MISERIA BONES: “And me.”
[He points down at the dismantled canvas.]
MISERIA BONES: “And a wrestling ring that won't care which one of us leaves with his hand raised.”
[His expression grows almost serene.]
MISERIA BONES: “That's what I love about this business. The bell doesn't care about your excuses. The canvas doesn't care about your ambitions. And the three-count doesn't stop to ask whether you're ready to hear it.”
[He pauses.]
MISERIA BONES: “One.”
[He raises one finger.]
MISERIA BONES: “Two.”
[He raises a second.]
MISERIA BONES: “Three.”
[He lowers both fingers and stares at his palm.]
MISERIA BONES: “Funny little numbers, aren't they?”
[He slowly curls his hand into a fist.]
MISERIA BONES: “Three little numbers that can change everything.”
[He looks up, his eyes gleaming beneath the harsh fluorescent lights.]
MISERIA BONES: “So, AJ Walker, bring your boots. Bring your courage. Bring every last ounce of that determination that's carried you this far. Bring whatever it is that makes you believe you can stand across from me and make it through the night.”
[He spreads his arms wide.]
MISERIA BONES: “Bring it ALL!”
[His voice rises to a shriek.]
MISERIA BONES: “BECAUSE MISERIA BONES IS WAITING!”
[He slams his palm against the corner post.]
MISERIA BONES: “And I have been waiting a VERY, VERY, VERY LONG TIME!”
[He begins rocking again, standing upright, his shoulders swaying forward and backward like a broken pendulum.]
MISERIA BONES: “Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock.”
[His voice becomes softer with each repetition.]
MISERIA BONES: “Sleep tight, Mr. Walker.”
[He tilts his head.]
MISERIA BONES: “Don't let the bedbugs bite.”
[He giggles.]
MISERIA BONES: “And if you hear something scratching at your door in the middle of the night…”
[He leans forward until his face nearly fills the frame.]
MISERIA BONES: “Don't open it.”
[A beat.]
MISERIA BONES: “It might be me.”
[He explodes into laughter, throwing his head back as the camera begins to pull away. The crew retreats toward the exit, leaving Bones alone in the broken ring. His laughter follows them through the empty building, growing fainter as the camera moves down the corridor.]
[Just before the camera turns the corner, Bones calls out one last time.]
MISERIA BONES: “OH, AJ! ONE MORE THING!”
[The cameraman stops. The lens turns back toward the ring.]
[Bones is sitting in the corner again, his knees drawn up, the pocket watch dangling from his fingers.]
MISERIA BONES: “When you look at the clock on Monday night…”
[He opens the lid.]
CLICK.
MISERIA BONES: “Remember who's counting.”
[He smiles.]
MISERIA BONES: “I'll see you in Osaka.”
[He begins rocking again.]
MISERIA BONES: “Tick-tock.”
[The camera lingers on him for several seconds. The sound of the watch ticking becomes louder, gradually drowning out the hum of the fluorescent lights.]
[Then the picture cuts to black.]
MISERIA BONES (V.O.): “Time's up, little walker.”
[One final click.]
END ROLEPLAY.