Sam sat in the corner in the barns loft sobbing and rocking back and forth.

“Craz’ness.” He murmured to himself.

For you idiots who didn’t catch DEFtv038 last week, he is speaking of the incident that happened where (his girlfriend?) Charlene Crank was found at the bottom of the staging stairwell and he stood at the top looking down as he was being blamed for it.

“Who dun it?” He questioned the inner most part of his soul trying to figure out whom to blame, who to ask and who to murderdeathkill.

The image of Charlene lying on the ground with blood pouring out of her lifeless body haunted Sam’s mind was burnt on the inside of his eye lids. He wasn’t able to escape the image no matter how hard he tried.

“Charlene, baybee,” He whimpered like a lost puppy dog as the tears began to fall.

His mind was shot. His emotions were running high and he couldn’t shake what had happened.

“Why did ‘is have ta happen ta ya?” He screamed as he wiped the tears from his eyes.

Sam had been run through the ringer since Charlene went down. He was removed from the arena as a suspect to the incident. Then he was put into handcuffs and taken to the local police station to be questioned. Next he was released and able to come back to Harlan Co. He hadn’t talked to Charlene since she fell, he’d called but there was no answer.

“My dear Charlene an err unborn baybee. Who’d a do sumthin like ‘at? Why’d ‘ey do it?” He managed sob out the words as his tears fell like rain drops.

Sam put his face in his hands and cried like a baby. He tried to quit, but the harder he tried the more they fell onto the strap of his overalls, soaking them through and through.

He began to rock back and forth again and was shaking once again.

~

While Sam has faced Tucker G. Alston around ten times since Tucker debuted, now he has the distinct displeasure of teaming up with him just to have a shot Chance Von Crank’s Southern Heritage title. This wasn’t what Sam wanted; he wanted Chance all to himself. He didn’t want any excuses but it looks like the Defiance brass is trying to keep him from winning the title.

Sam sat at the kitchen table talking to his parents.

“Why would ‘ey have me team wiff ‘at ole Tuck’r? He’s a tryin ta get back inta the black wiff his money tro’bles. Maybe he thanks ‘m gunna help him get ta tha title match, but I ain’t gunna. If we win it’ll be cause of him, I ain’t gunna try ta pin anyone in tha match.” Sam said to his dad.

Sam Sr. shook his head as he listened.

“Junior, I ain’t thank ‘ey’d try ta screw ya er nuttin like ‘at, er not on purpus.” Sam Sr. said as he tried to boost Sam Jr.’s confidence level.

Sam Jr. shook his head in disagreement with his dad.

“Now fella’s just calm down a lil bit. Junior, you gots ta do your bes’ so ‘at ‘ey don’t fire ya fer losin sa much.” Susan boasted to the two of them.

Sam Sr. stubbed up and crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair.

“Tha boy needs ta be worryin bout ole Curtis Penn an Jamie Murray, but is he, no. He’s so hopped up on hatred fer Tuck’r ‘at he ain’t worried bout tha bigger pitcher.” Sam Sr. said angrily. “Just beat Penn an Murray, an ‘en get your hands on Tuck’r an Chance at tha same time. Thank boy, thank. Ya big dummy.”

Sam looks at his dad with bonedaggers.

“Paw, I’ll get ma hands on Chance one way, place an time. He ain’t getting ta far away from ole Harlan Co. His fam’ly ain’t nuttin wiffout’em. ‘Ey’s a bunch a losers ‘at shake n’ bake ‘at meth er crank, which’ere it is.” Sam blasted off at the mouth.

Sam was done with the conversation as he jumped up from the table like he’d been shot.

“I’m done, I’ll do what’er I wanna do, understand.” Sam said as he looked at his parents. “Sorry maw, I ain’t mean ta offend er snap at’cha.”

Sam left out of the house in a hurry huffing and puffing with every step he took.

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