Post by Datura on Jul 2, 2016 22:35:45 GMT -6
“I been talking for so long
I thought I’d never hear your voice again. Hurts to be your enemy-
worse to be your friend.
Without you even knowing it
Without you even knowing it
I been hiding for so long
I knew I’d die before I found you
It hurts to be without you,
worse to be inside you.
Without you even knowing it
Without you even knowing it.” -No Bird Sing
June 23rd, 2016
The air hung like dead men, and the heat of stale breath polluted the studio apartment like smog. The blankets made a mountain range on the bed, edges climbing upward from the hardwood floor. The day was a strange shade of lonely- colored by a creeping emptiness that made refuge in the room and built a home.
Morgan had run out to train or shop or wander; I couldn't remember, but the smell of her body, something like lilac and sweat, lingered on the sheets and clung to my nostrils. The imprint of her body was a coffin in the mattress, one that I decided that I would spend the morning in alongside the dying day.
Rather than lull myself into another dose of sleep, I rolled onto my stomach and reached out for my phone. Several clicks later, I found myself perusing the cesspool of Twitter mentions and updates. Through the self important taunting, a single picture jumped from the screen: a single pale hand sporting a wrist of pink bracelets and a finger adorned with a solitary ring.
The appropriate response was to be happy. Two people whom I considered family were beginning a chapter as a single unit, made official by the institution of marriage. I should've been ecstatic for them. Instead, there were vultures in my stomach, flapping their filthy feathers into my throat and picking at the scraps of my stomach. Water filled the corners of my eyes involuntarily, and I swallowed something that tasted like time.
There was so much time.
Always time.
Taunting us all from empty space
and memories.
Dear God, the memories.
I pushed myself from the bed and stumbled into the bathroom. After starting the shower, I turned on the sink, splashed cold water over my face, and swallowed, trying to keep the scraps down. Several moments later, my reflection was glossed over with fog.
I threw off my clothes in a rush, but once I lowered the black string from my waistline, my hands paused at my hips. There, jutting out from the bones , were two pink magnolias with petals reaching out for light. I traced the outline of ink and let out a shaky breath. Remnants of a history I couldn't onto.
They were Ryan's favorite.
Dearest Ryan.
Sweet, conflicted Ryan.
The water scorched every inch of skin it touched, adding red pigment down the length of my body. The burn took my mind off the situation for a short moment before the past hammered her way into my thoughts.
I closed my eyes.
The pictures came like the plague: slow at first, filling my brain with blurry outlines and movements. As it spread and infected every crevice, the images became clearer.
I was in the ring, standing over Cherri Bomb and her partner. Across the ring, my fellow debutee and partner leered at the bodies, eyes radiating a glance like I had never seen. I couldn't place it; those eyes harbored a destructive force that I had yet to understand. She grabbed the microphone and put Girl Power Wrestling on notice, claiming we would destroy anything that moved. My first thought wasn't on the graves I promised to dig or the bloodshed that I would wear like skin. It was simply:
We?
Ryan walked over and raised my hand. As we stood in the center of the ring, our fingers laced together like threads, I knew we were meant to be something like Hell.
These scene faded like a dream, replaced with a ring full of ladders and blood. The sound of stomping accompanied by chants of Holy Shit echoed throughout the arena. Canadian Conquest lived up to its potential, especially the culmination of Wicked Strong and Karma’s ongoing battles. It was our final chance to set grown Wicked Strong as the top seeded team in the company. Our bodies, dead weight made of rubber, tumbled from twenty feet up. I remember led vividly wanting to win that match not because I had something to prove to myself, but something to prove to Ryan.
I wanted to show her I meant it.
All of it.
Every word.
In our loss, we showed the entire world that KARMA was one of the top teams in the business, and we showed that our commitment to one another, the understanding and trust that provided the foundation of our relationship was something no one else would ever have.
Nothing I would ever have again.
Sitting on the apron after the bell had rung, I watched as Ryan, Salem, and Nina were stretchered off toward the ambulances. There, among the jeering audience and broken vision, Ryan's presence illuminated the arena. Even in her injured state, as her body was wheeled off, her face displayed a unique level of strength, one that I would never get close to reaching.
As that dissipated, I was met with a collage of brevity: fingerprints stroked across cheeks, figures wrapped in silk sheets, kisses goodbye, doors locking from the outside.
Goodbye.
Goodbye.
Goodbye.
For a moment I could taste it.
For a moment
I was saying goodbye all over again.
A spasm ran through my bones. I opened my eyes to a wave of cold water flying from the shower head. I spun the dial and stood there shivering, trying to deconstruct the pieces of myself that I had seen. I stepped out of the shower.
Still dripping, I hunted for something, anything that I could put on. My chest heaved in panic, each breath I took in feeling like the room was frozen. I grabbed a pair of jeans and a gray hoodie, covered my soaked frame, and exploded from the apartment, not even bothering to lock the door.
Four flights of stairs later, I burst onto the sidewalk and reached for the concrete sign that beckoned in front of the complex. I tried to catch my breath through the hyperventilating, but my stomach had alternative plans. I bit my fist in an attempt to keep down the contents, but my body lurched and a stream of stomach acid tumbled from my lips.
As I raised my head, a flash of green and white invaded my peripherals. I turned my head slightly and gazed upon the pack of Marlboro Menthols that were thrust in my face. I removed one from the box and let it dangle from my lips, thankful I had something for my mouth to fixate on. Slowly, I lowered my head and pressed it against the concrete, lowering my eyes to the ground.
“Thanks...” I mumbled.
“I'm assuming you saw it.” Despite the lethargy, my head shot back up. There, Cameron stood in his vest and tie, blazer dangling from his shoulder. I began to ask why he was there, but the words couldn't push their way through the lump in my throat. I surrendered the idea of it and simply nodded, thankful that he had left work to visit.
Standing there, I didn't see the Cameron who I had known for years. The stern look of disapproval was nowhere to be found. The disappointment and darkness was absent as well. Instead, as I gazed into his eyes, I swore I saw pity.
“I-”
“Hush, now.” Cameron's hand fell on my back as he guided me to a nearby bench. He lowered me down in attempt to keep me from wrenching again. In that moment, I couldn't help but break out into tears.
“I knew..” I attempted to wipe my nose, “I knew this was coming. I shouldn't-”
“Let it out.” He scooted closer and wrapped his arm around my shoulder.
“I shouldn't be upset, but I miss her,” I stammered
“I know, Elizabeth. I know.”
“It's just...no one’s ever pushed me like she did. She made me…” I caught myself and trailed off, looking up to Cameron who raised waved his hand and chuckled.
“I could never do for you what Ryan did.” He sighed, removing a pipe from his breast pocket. He lit it carefully and took a harsh drag. The scent of opium and tobacco billowed into the air, “She was certainly special.”
“Yeah…”
“Real love will do that, I suppose.” He puffed slowly, allowing the smoke to trail up into his face. “She possessed every quality you needed in a partner. She simply needed another direction.”
I pondered over the thought. I started to debate the point, but I knew in that moment he was right. Despite the amalgamation of chaos and disregard she held in her heart, a part of her demanded a level of normalcy I refused to give her and that Nina a would.
“I think I need to be alone right now.”
“Of course.” Cameron nodded and leaned back, allowing me space to stand. I wobbled to my feet and trudged through the the parking lot, toward the graying sky.
---
The camera panned through the study, falling upon stacks and stacks of literary classics and reference books. They went on for ages, reaching up toward the ceiling, stopped only by the ceiling. As it panned, Elizabeth hovered over a heavy oak desk, her eyes alert and visibly annoyed. Her pressed her hands upon the desktop and raised her head.
“I've been placed in a peculiar position. As much as I despise the mundane, I have found myself even more perturbed at a series of events that has transpired over these last two weeks. After Fate of the Gods, I had assumed, misguidedly of course, that Miss Thade would consider it worth her while to avenge her fallen comrade. In fact, she made it a point to congratulate me online and practically begged me to come to the ring before our match to shake my hand. But that was before her little explosion. Then again, if I lost to our current tag team champions, twice no less, I'd be in a rather unloving mood as well.” She shrugs
“Now, with all this in mind, Joanna has decided that I'm not worth her time.” She chuckles, “Says a lot about Fury, doesn't it?” Elizabeth turns away, her gaze now fixed outside.
“What were your words, again? No reason to spill your blood?” She tilts her head and spits onto the floor.
“Adorable, coming from you, Joanna, leader of the hypocrites of the apocalypse. It's been cute watching your implosion, you know, and it's all of your own doing.” She reaches her hand into her pocket, pulls out a cigarette, and lights it.
“You could've avoided this entire debacle had you just shown the slightest bit of humility. You could have shown the world you weren't just a hapless band of delusional fetishists. Instead, because of your bravado, because of your endless attempts to be more fearsome than you could ever possibly be, you've shown the world that you are nothing but a figurehead on the pulpit, leading a group which is too big for the coffin they've dug themselves.” She grits her teeth and sneers.
“So after losing to the Neon Babes and failing to capture the gold, again, you've doubled down and given up singles competition until you and your sidekick can lose, again. Your timing is utterly impeccable.” She raises her pointer finger and shakes her head, rolling her eyes all the while.
“I have a theory. Do correct me if I'm wrong, though I'm sure you'll do so regardless of my accuracy, but I'm under the impression that you've realized the Horsewomen are not the force you've been hyped to be. You've realized that each speck of venom and each drop of vitriol has been nothing but a broken promise to us all. You are a liar, Joanna Thade…
and I don't fear you anymore.” Datura turns back and smirks, taking a long drag and blowing out the smoke.
“There was a time in which hearing your name would induce anxiety. I watched you aimlessly destroy your targets without mercy and without mind. We were a lot alike in that respect. I have no qualm in admitting that I never wanted to be matched against the prominent member of ChaosSworn. Then I got to thinking:
“Whereas I have toppled champions from ladders,
whereas I have crashed from on top of cages,
whereas I have etched my name on broken bodies,
whereas I have tormented legends,
whereas I have ended legends,
whereas I have conquered the limitations of my physical form,
whereas I continue to evolve,
whereas I will always be remembered for KARMA,
what have the Horsewoman done?
More importantly, what have you done?” She runs her tongue across her top row of teeth and sits down, lounging back in her chair.
“It's a question that needs to be asked, because frankly, I can find no reason to be afraid of a petulant child who babbles on about chaos, but can't deliver on her misguided oaths…
Think back to Girl Power Wrestling. While KARMA was setting buildings on fire, you were entrenched in battles against… The Sleepover Club. That's how you'll be remembered: constantly stagnant, fighting the team we annihilated in our debut. You have yet to move on, Joanna, constantly attacking little girls who you think can't hold a candle to you…
“Except here, in Visionaries of Wrestling, the curtain is falling. A team of over-caffeinated little girls have toppled you twice.
Which is why it makes all the sense in the world that you would back out of this match. After I dispatched Fury, you knew that I could cut the head from the snake. Rather than accept your failings and be ousted as a fraud, you whined that Zahara and I weren't worth it. Do you know what I do to people who say I, of all people, don't deserve their time?
“Ask Ashley Isaacs. Ask Dawn Lohan. Ask the GPW alumni that told me I wasn't worth it. Ask the cemetery why the wind smells of soot and hospital beds.
“Do not patronize me with your wax poetics. I can see through the voice upon the mountain. I can look into your eyes and see what you are- scared, trembling, hiding being your musings and your affinity for ‘Chaos.’” Elizabeth snarls this last word.
“I will meet you before what was supposed to be our match. I will walk out to that ring and accept whatever words you have for me. But know this-
If you so much at look at me with malice, I will build new legacy into the books: I will make it my mission to pick apart the Horsewomen one by one with my bare hands. Keep that in mind, dear.” Elizabeth grins, exhales, and waves her hand as if dismissing Thade from the conversation.
“You are certainly not the one who makes Breakthrough interesting. What will make this match interesting is the addition of you, Zahara.” Elizabeth’s demeanor changes. What tenseness she displayed evaporates as a smile creeps across her face.
“Sweet, kind, magical Zahara. Resilient, unwavering, lovely Zahara. I rue the moment that you were placed in this match. I have a sharp distaste for whomever decided that we would face one another. In truth, I hoped that I would be able to avoid a greeting in this form, but we can see how that turned out.” She shakes her head.
“I have watched you fondly, spreading cheer throughout your tenure here. In that time you have done more for collectives happiness than anyone, including our tag team champions, which is no minor accomplishment. Though, I thought when Winter spit at you, I thought you were going to kill her. I wish you would have” Elizabeth strokes her chin.
“It's rather obvious we ascribe to separate philosophies. You were born to be loved. You've mastered an art form not many of us would dream of attempting. I have nothing but kind words for your determination.” She allows a genuine light to beam across her face.
“I was glued to the television for the entirety of your Xcel Championship match. That northern lights suplex, that standing moonsault, that arm bar.” She throws up a circle and three fingers.
“If there was doubt in anyone's mind about your technical prowess, that rematch with Constance Chapin dispelled it, surely.” She inhales deeply and exhales, releasing the wonder brought forth from reliving that match in her head.
“I honestly thought after that victory over Elskerinne on Breakthrough that you were going to steal Constance’s championship. Unfortunately, it didn't pan out. But you, my dear, showed the world that Zahara Matisse can hang with the gods and goddesses of this industry…
“I cannot remember a time when someone stepped into a company and lit it on fire like you have. In fact, I'd wager to say that it will be years before someone like Zahara Matisse debuts again. Your resilience is unmatched, your tenacity is unquestionable. You fight for the love of it and channel the power of those who cheer for you.
“Just look at all the names that you've toppled: Elskerinne, Tyler Storm, Dathyn, Stacy Jones, Matt Slater… The list goes on. This is why I am so excited to face you, even if there will be dead weight sitting out. In fact, I think that this contest will be much better without her, don't you?
You have the opportunity to topple an opponent who speaks in different tongues and marches to a different order. You get the chance to win a match you're being counted out of.” Datura leans forward.
“This is the type of event you thrive at. Zahara, I plan on digging into your ribcage and clawing out your greatest performance. You may have reached your limits duringyour losses to Constance, but I'm a different beast entirely. I am going to stretch your tendons until they tear, I am going to bruise you until there is no more skin, I am going to drop you on your head until you see stars yourself, but I know that will not be enough.” She shakes her head.
“Oh no, Miss Matisse. I am not like the other competitors here. I do not go into matches with an abundance of overconfidence. I approach this match knowing very well what abilities you bring to the ring, whether I host more experience than you or not. I am not foolish enough to let your whimsical nature lure me into a sense of security. I know better.” Elizabeth stands up again, this time heading to her library. She pulls the Oxford Dictionary from its place along the wall and flips it open.
“Magic is defined as ‘The power of apparently influencing the course of events by using mysterious or supernatural forces.’ Zahara, do not leave your supernatural forces at ringside. Bring them to the ring in Toledo. I will not say you need them, but I beg of you to let me see them. Do not rob me of the chance to gaze upon them for myself. I have already been lied to by the Horsewomen. Don't be like them.” She closes the book and places it back on the shelf.
---
What are the qualities
that make a person whole?
Dedication?
Resiliency?
The ability to love and lose?
I have felt these things
and yet
I am a mannequin,
screws and plastic,
watching the world
bent and shaped
by lovers’ hands.
What are the qualities
that make a person empty?
Jealousy?
Envy?
The inability to love and lose?
I hold these things
like breath
and force them down
with rivers of medication.
Somewhere,
perhaps in another world,
I found a way to keep you
like a promise
instead of another body
in my bed.
I should've held you
closer than my vices.
I should've given you
my voice like a gift.
Instead,
I gave myself an empty room.
Instead,
I let you blossom into the light.
I thought I’d never hear your voice again. Hurts to be your enemy-
worse to be your friend.
Without you even knowing it
Without you even knowing it
I been hiding for so long
I knew I’d die before I found you
It hurts to be without you,
worse to be inside you.
Without you even knowing it
Without you even knowing it.” -No Bird Sing
June 23rd, 2016
The air hung like dead men, and the heat of stale breath polluted the studio apartment like smog. The blankets made a mountain range on the bed, edges climbing upward from the hardwood floor. The day was a strange shade of lonely- colored by a creeping emptiness that made refuge in the room and built a home.
Morgan had run out to train or shop or wander; I couldn't remember, but the smell of her body, something like lilac and sweat, lingered on the sheets and clung to my nostrils. The imprint of her body was a coffin in the mattress, one that I decided that I would spend the morning in alongside the dying day.
Rather than lull myself into another dose of sleep, I rolled onto my stomach and reached out for my phone. Several clicks later, I found myself perusing the cesspool of Twitter mentions and updates. Through the self important taunting, a single picture jumped from the screen: a single pale hand sporting a wrist of pink bracelets and a finger adorned with a solitary ring.
The appropriate response was to be happy. Two people whom I considered family were beginning a chapter as a single unit, made official by the institution of marriage. I should've been ecstatic for them. Instead, there were vultures in my stomach, flapping their filthy feathers into my throat and picking at the scraps of my stomach. Water filled the corners of my eyes involuntarily, and I swallowed something that tasted like time.
There was so much time.
Always time.
Taunting us all from empty space
and memories.
Dear God, the memories.
I pushed myself from the bed and stumbled into the bathroom. After starting the shower, I turned on the sink, splashed cold water over my face, and swallowed, trying to keep the scraps down. Several moments later, my reflection was glossed over with fog.
I threw off my clothes in a rush, but once I lowered the black string from my waistline, my hands paused at my hips. There, jutting out from the bones , were two pink magnolias with petals reaching out for light. I traced the outline of ink and let out a shaky breath. Remnants of a history I couldn't onto.
They were Ryan's favorite.
Dearest Ryan.
Sweet, conflicted Ryan.
The water scorched every inch of skin it touched, adding red pigment down the length of my body. The burn took my mind off the situation for a short moment before the past hammered her way into my thoughts.
I closed my eyes.
The pictures came like the plague: slow at first, filling my brain with blurry outlines and movements. As it spread and infected every crevice, the images became clearer.
I was in the ring, standing over Cherri Bomb and her partner. Across the ring, my fellow debutee and partner leered at the bodies, eyes radiating a glance like I had never seen. I couldn't place it; those eyes harbored a destructive force that I had yet to understand. She grabbed the microphone and put Girl Power Wrestling on notice, claiming we would destroy anything that moved. My first thought wasn't on the graves I promised to dig or the bloodshed that I would wear like skin. It was simply:
We?
Ryan walked over and raised my hand. As we stood in the center of the ring, our fingers laced together like threads, I knew we were meant to be something like Hell.
These scene faded like a dream, replaced with a ring full of ladders and blood. The sound of stomping accompanied by chants of Holy Shit echoed throughout the arena. Canadian Conquest lived up to its potential, especially the culmination of Wicked Strong and Karma’s ongoing battles. It was our final chance to set grown Wicked Strong as the top seeded team in the company. Our bodies, dead weight made of rubber, tumbled from twenty feet up. I remember led vividly wanting to win that match not because I had something to prove to myself, but something to prove to Ryan.
I wanted to show her I meant it.
All of it.
Every word.
In our loss, we showed the entire world that KARMA was one of the top teams in the business, and we showed that our commitment to one another, the understanding and trust that provided the foundation of our relationship was something no one else would ever have.
Nothing I would ever have again.
Sitting on the apron after the bell had rung, I watched as Ryan, Salem, and Nina were stretchered off toward the ambulances. There, among the jeering audience and broken vision, Ryan's presence illuminated the arena. Even in her injured state, as her body was wheeled off, her face displayed a unique level of strength, one that I would never get close to reaching.
As that dissipated, I was met with a collage of brevity: fingerprints stroked across cheeks, figures wrapped in silk sheets, kisses goodbye, doors locking from the outside.
Goodbye.
Goodbye.
Goodbye.
For a moment I could taste it.
For a moment
I was saying goodbye all over again.
A spasm ran through my bones. I opened my eyes to a wave of cold water flying from the shower head. I spun the dial and stood there shivering, trying to deconstruct the pieces of myself that I had seen. I stepped out of the shower.
Still dripping, I hunted for something, anything that I could put on. My chest heaved in panic, each breath I took in feeling like the room was frozen. I grabbed a pair of jeans and a gray hoodie, covered my soaked frame, and exploded from the apartment, not even bothering to lock the door.
Four flights of stairs later, I burst onto the sidewalk and reached for the concrete sign that beckoned in front of the complex. I tried to catch my breath through the hyperventilating, but my stomach had alternative plans. I bit my fist in an attempt to keep down the contents, but my body lurched and a stream of stomach acid tumbled from my lips.
As I raised my head, a flash of green and white invaded my peripherals. I turned my head slightly and gazed upon the pack of Marlboro Menthols that were thrust in my face. I removed one from the box and let it dangle from my lips, thankful I had something for my mouth to fixate on. Slowly, I lowered my head and pressed it against the concrete, lowering my eyes to the ground.
“Thanks...” I mumbled.
“I'm assuming you saw it.” Despite the lethargy, my head shot back up. There, Cameron stood in his vest and tie, blazer dangling from his shoulder. I began to ask why he was there, but the words couldn't push their way through the lump in my throat. I surrendered the idea of it and simply nodded, thankful that he had left work to visit.
Standing there, I didn't see the Cameron who I had known for years. The stern look of disapproval was nowhere to be found. The disappointment and darkness was absent as well. Instead, as I gazed into his eyes, I swore I saw pity.
“I-”
“Hush, now.” Cameron's hand fell on my back as he guided me to a nearby bench. He lowered me down in attempt to keep me from wrenching again. In that moment, I couldn't help but break out into tears.
“I knew..” I attempted to wipe my nose, “I knew this was coming. I shouldn't-”
“Let it out.” He scooted closer and wrapped his arm around my shoulder.
“I shouldn't be upset, but I miss her,” I stammered
“I know, Elizabeth. I know.”
“It's just...no one’s ever pushed me like she did. She made me…” I caught myself and trailed off, looking up to Cameron who raised waved his hand and chuckled.
“I could never do for you what Ryan did.” He sighed, removing a pipe from his breast pocket. He lit it carefully and took a harsh drag. The scent of opium and tobacco billowed into the air, “She was certainly special.”
“Yeah…”
“Real love will do that, I suppose.” He puffed slowly, allowing the smoke to trail up into his face. “She possessed every quality you needed in a partner. She simply needed another direction.”
I pondered over the thought. I started to debate the point, but I knew in that moment he was right. Despite the amalgamation of chaos and disregard she held in her heart, a part of her demanded a level of normalcy I refused to give her and that Nina a would.
“I think I need to be alone right now.”
“Of course.” Cameron nodded and leaned back, allowing me space to stand. I wobbled to my feet and trudged through the the parking lot, toward the graying sky.
---
The camera panned through the study, falling upon stacks and stacks of literary classics and reference books. They went on for ages, reaching up toward the ceiling, stopped only by the ceiling. As it panned, Elizabeth hovered over a heavy oak desk, her eyes alert and visibly annoyed. Her pressed her hands upon the desktop and raised her head.
“I've been placed in a peculiar position. As much as I despise the mundane, I have found myself even more perturbed at a series of events that has transpired over these last two weeks. After Fate of the Gods, I had assumed, misguidedly of course, that Miss Thade would consider it worth her while to avenge her fallen comrade. In fact, she made it a point to congratulate me online and practically begged me to come to the ring before our match to shake my hand. But that was before her little explosion. Then again, if I lost to our current tag team champions, twice no less, I'd be in a rather unloving mood as well.” She shrugs
“Now, with all this in mind, Joanna has decided that I'm not worth her time.” She chuckles, “Says a lot about Fury, doesn't it?” Elizabeth turns away, her gaze now fixed outside.
“What were your words, again? No reason to spill your blood?” She tilts her head and spits onto the floor.
“Adorable, coming from you, Joanna, leader of the hypocrites of the apocalypse. It's been cute watching your implosion, you know, and it's all of your own doing.” She reaches her hand into her pocket, pulls out a cigarette, and lights it.
“You could've avoided this entire debacle had you just shown the slightest bit of humility. You could have shown the world you weren't just a hapless band of delusional fetishists. Instead, because of your bravado, because of your endless attempts to be more fearsome than you could ever possibly be, you've shown the world that you are nothing but a figurehead on the pulpit, leading a group which is too big for the coffin they've dug themselves.” She grits her teeth and sneers.
“So after losing to the Neon Babes and failing to capture the gold, again, you've doubled down and given up singles competition until you and your sidekick can lose, again. Your timing is utterly impeccable.” She raises her pointer finger and shakes her head, rolling her eyes all the while.
“I have a theory. Do correct me if I'm wrong, though I'm sure you'll do so regardless of my accuracy, but I'm under the impression that you've realized the Horsewomen are not the force you've been hyped to be. You've realized that each speck of venom and each drop of vitriol has been nothing but a broken promise to us all. You are a liar, Joanna Thade…
and I don't fear you anymore.” Datura turns back and smirks, taking a long drag and blowing out the smoke.
“There was a time in which hearing your name would induce anxiety. I watched you aimlessly destroy your targets without mercy and without mind. We were a lot alike in that respect. I have no qualm in admitting that I never wanted to be matched against the prominent member of ChaosSworn. Then I got to thinking:
“Whereas I have toppled champions from ladders,
whereas I have crashed from on top of cages,
whereas I have etched my name on broken bodies,
whereas I have tormented legends,
whereas I have ended legends,
whereas I have conquered the limitations of my physical form,
whereas I continue to evolve,
whereas I will always be remembered for KARMA,
what have the Horsewoman done?
More importantly, what have you done?” She runs her tongue across her top row of teeth and sits down, lounging back in her chair.
“It's a question that needs to be asked, because frankly, I can find no reason to be afraid of a petulant child who babbles on about chaos, but can't deliver on her misguided oaths…
Think back to Girl Power Wrestling. While KARMA was setting buildings on fire, you were entrenched in battles against… The Sleepover Club. That's how you'll be remembered: constantly stagnant, fighting the team we annihilated in our debut. You have yet to move on, Joanna, constantly attacking little girls who you think can't hold a candle to you…
“Except here, in Visionaries of Wrestling, the curtain is falling. A team of over-caffeinated little girls have toppled you twice.
Which is why it makes all the sense in the world that you would back out of this match. After I dispatched Fury, you knew that I could cut the head from the snake. Rather than accept your failings and be ousted as a fraud, you whined that Zahara and I weren't worth it. Do you know what I do to people who say I, of all people, don't deserve their time?
“Ask Ashley Isaacs. Ask Dawn Lohan. Ask the GPW alumni that told me I wasn't worth it. Ask the cemetery why the wind smells of soot and hospital beds.
“Do not patronize me with your wax poetics. I can see through the voice upon the mountain. I can look into your eyes and see what you are- scared, trembling, hiding being your musings and your affinity for ‘Chaos.’” Elizabeth snarls this last word.
“I will meet you before what was supposed to be our match. I will walk out to that ring and accept whatever words you have for me. But know this-
If you so much at look at me with malice, I will build new legacy into the books: I will make it my mission to pick apart the Horsewomen one by one with my bare hands. Keep that in mind, dear.” Elizabeth grins, exhales, and waves her hand as if dismissing Thade from the conversation.
“You are certainly not the one who makes Breakthrough interesting. What will make this match interesting is the addition of you, Zahara.” Elizabeth’s demeanor changes. What tenseness she displayed evaporates as a smile creeps across her face.
“Sweet, kind, magical Zahara. Resilient, unwavering, lovely Zahara. I rue the moment that you were placed in this match. I have a sharp distaste for whomever decided that we would face one another. In truth, I hoped that I would be able to avoid a greeting in this form, but we can see how that turned out.” She shakes her head.
“I have watched you fondly, spreading cheer throughout your tenure here. In that time you have done more for collectives happiness than anyone, including our tag team champions, which is no minor accomplishment. Though, I thought when Winter spit at you, I thought you were going to kill her. I wish you would have” Elizabeth strokes her chin.
“It's rather obvious we ascribe to separate philosophies. You were born to be loved. You've mastered an art form not many of us would dream of attempting. I have nothing but kind words for your determination.” She allows a genuine light to beam across her face.
“I was glued to the television for the entirety of your Xcel Championship match. That northern lights suplex, that standing moonsault, that arm bar.” She throws up a circle and three fingers.
“If there was doubt in anyone's mind about your technical prowess, that rematch with Constance Chapin dispelled it, surely.” She inhales deeply and exhales, releasing the wonder brought forth from reliving that match in her head.
“I honestly thought after that victory over Elskerinne on Breakthrough that you were going to steal Constance’s championship. Unfortunately, it didn't pan out. But you, my dear, showed the world that Zahara Matisse can hang with the gods and goddesses of this industry…
“I cannot remember a time when someone stepped into a company and lit it on fire like you have. In fact, I'd wager to say that it will be years before someone like Zahara Matisse debuts again. Your resilience is unmatched, your tenacity is unquestionable. You fight for the love of it and channel the power of those who cheer for you.
“Just look at all the names that you've toppled: Elskerinne, Tyler Storm, Dathyn, Stacy Jones, Matt Slater… The list goes on. This is why I am so excited to face you, even if there will be dead weight sitting out. In fact, I think that this contest will be much better without her, don't you?
You have the opportunity to topple an opponent who speaks in different tongues and marches to a different order. You get the chance to win a match you're being counted out of.” Datura leans forward.
“This is the type of event you thrive at. Zahara, I plan on digging into your ribcage and clawing out your greatest performance. You may have reached your limits duringyour losses to Constance, but I'm a different beast entirely. I am going to stretch your tendons until they tear, I am going to bruise you until there is no more skin, I am going to drop you on your head until you see stars yourself, but I know that will not be enough.” She shakes her head.
“Oh no, Miss Matisse. I am not like the other competitors here. I do not go into matches with an abundance of overconfidence. I approach this match knowing very well what abilities you bring to the ring, whether I host more experience than you or not. I am not foolish enough to let your whimsical nature lure me into a sense of security. I know better.” Elizabeth stands up again, this time heading to her library. She pulls the Oxford Dictionary from its place along the wall and flips it open.
“Magic is defined as ‘The power of apparently influencing the course of events by using mysterious or supernatural forces.’ Zahara, do not leave your supernatural forces at ringside. Bring them to the ring in Toledo. I will not say you need them, but I beg of you to let me see them. Do not rob me of the chance to gaze upon them for myself. I have already been lied to by the Horsewomen. Don't be like them.” She closes the book and places it back on the shelf.
---
What are the qualities
that make a person whole?
Dedication?
Resiliency?
The ability to love and lose?
I have felt these things
and yet
I am a mannequin,
screws and plastic,
watching the world
bent and shaped
by lovers’ hands.
What are the qualities
that make a person empty?
Jealousy?
Envy?
The inability to love and lose?
I hold these things
like breath
and force them down
with rivers of medication.
Somewhere,
perhaps in another world,
I found a way to keep you
like a promise
instead of another body
in my bed.
I should've held you
closer than my vices.
I should've given you
my voice like a gift.
Instead,
I gave myself an empty room.
Instead,
I let you blossom into the light.
