Post by strat on Sept 25, 2022 20:28:59 GMT -5
El Paso, TX
30th August 2022
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all the faces
all the voices blur
change to one face
change to one voice
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The lights flutter into my vision, as I blink rapidly. Trying to stimulate the neurons to fire, faster. To clear the cobwebs. Like a tsunami, sound rushes back in and it’s deafening. I cover my head momentarily. The Don Haskins Center in El Paso can’t contain their joy, and in the distance I can hear the shrill high-pitched call of Arthur LaForge as he sells the satisfaction that every single Texan in attendance is reveling in.
What went wrong?
With the last ounce of energy within my being, I brace my elbows across the canvas and pull myself onto my knees. Somewhere beneath the layers of fog clouding my mind, there was a muscle memory preparing me for the follow up, for the coup de grace.
But then, the energy turns immediately negative, as the crowd’s elation turns to despair.
You have to trust the one you love, otherwise do you even have anything at all? Love is trust and trust is love.
From my vantage point, I can’t quite make out the exchange of words, but I see him leaning over the ropes aggressively giving a piece of his mind to my wife.
The referee frantically attempts to intervene, to restore some sort of order, but Eli looks like he has lost the plot. Fury flows through every vein and artery, and propels each of the neurons firing in his brain. Any sense of rationalism had long-since departed, each action coerced and enticed by the indignation that had finally consumed him.
Jigsaw pieces falling into place.
Before I can comprehend what my body is doing, my own instincts take control. I’m moving towards them. Demi steals a glance at me, making eye contact. She’s satisfied, and I thrust my arm over the champion’s shoulder, grabbing at his mouth, which was still filling with blood. I can feel the warm, thick blood mixing with his saliva as my fingers press against the soft palate in the roof of his mouth.
His body jerks, his discomfort forcing him to thrash around in hopes of scrambling free. I can feel his rough hands grabbing at mine to pull it away, but I’m in control of the situation. I release him, and before he has time to turn and face me, I thrust him toward the cold stainless steel turnbuckle that I prepared earlier. He ricochets back, seeing the same stars that had clouded me, and I knew that this would be the end.
There would be no recourse, no revenge. Less than one minute had passed since he had his opportunity to vanquish his adversary and lay to rest any doubt he or his girlfriend would have about the truth of matters. Yet, he acted out of anger once more - as predicted - and now he would pay the price.
I grabbed his head and drove it viciously down, chin-first, onto my shoulder.
“ Your winner of this match… AND NEEEEEEEWW LEVEL UP WRESTLING COURAGE CHAMPION! STEEEEPHEN STRATFOOOORRRRD!!! ”
As I rolled off his broken body, and looked up at the ceiling, I smirked to myself.
To some, the job might be done. But for me? This was just part of it.
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El Paso, TX
An hour later.
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sometimes I'm dreaming
expressionless the trance
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Demi lifts her hand once more to press more salve into the welts on my chest, and then arches back to admire her handiwork.
I cast my eyes once more to the small monitor over Demi’s shoulder, which is broadcasting the live feed from the event. Both competitors in the ring have been through it, taken each other to what anyone else might describe as ‘the limit’, and as it comes to a head I sense the momentum shifting in one way.
My heart race begins to quicken, and as I can hear Demi speaking to me, the words don’t compute. I’m focused on the grainy image, and I lean forward with my elbows pressing into my knees as I try to lock in and make sure I’m comprehending exactly what is transpiring. Buster Gloves looks poised to do it.
If I’m honest, I am surprised, but not disappointed. For my money, this was potentially a step too far for Sarah Wolf.
There is no doubt that what she lacks in formal training, she makes up for with relentless aggression and a willingness to go to depths that few people can conceive, let alone reach. But Buster Gloves is seasoned, experienced, and has likely dealt with plenty of capricious characters over his storied career.
But then my blood turns cold. Her elbows thrusting into the side of his skull seem to be having an impact, and no sooner was I certain that she’d fallen short, had she covered him in black and thrust her claws deep into his mouth.
Demi can feel the tension in my muscles as I dig my fingers into my thighs, and I can hear that she’s saying words, but I’m deaf to them. Her hands snake up my face and rest with her palms each on one side of my face, fingertips pressing around my eyes and behind my ears.
As Sarah thrashes the skull of Buster Gloves into the canvas, rendering him completely unconscious, the realization crashes down that she was once more successful. Once more into the fire, unto the breach, she survives. Not unscathed, but victorious. At each turn, she raises her level and now it is inevitable. She has exceeded all of our expectations, and now we’re really in a fucking mess.
“ She can’t do this alone, it will destroy her. She will go to a place she can’t come back from. ” his warning echoed in my mind, as I watched her looking down at the Wisdom Championship that she laid on the canvas at her knees.
From a distance, I can hear my phone vibrating and the alert jingles that come along with it. The sounds of a non-standard ringtone breaks through the focused seal that I’ve got locked in on the screen, and I know what it means.
Demi is still trying to talk to me, but I take my right hand on top of hers and pull it away from my face.
My left hand picks up the cell phone from the bench next to me, and I raise it to see what is happening. Incoming call from “Sisyphus”.
It was him.
I press the ‘Reject Call’ button, and place my cell back down.
“ Stephen, is everything okay? ” she repeats, her fingers now resting on my thighs.
I shake it off, returning my focus to her. I look into her hazel eyes, and smile. “ Of course, darling. Everything in its right place. ”
Her expression is nonplussed, she doesn’t speak.
“ Shall we? Tradition? ” I changed the topic. Celebratory fast food is a staple in our post-match ritual.
As my body language softens, hers tightens. She doesn’t like it when I am guarded, because we share everything. It wasn’t so much that I am keeping anything from her, it is only that I know how disappointed he is going to be, and that the pressure is now increased many-fold, what with Sarah in prime position to enter the Tri Force Heroes main event and book her place at Final Fantasy.
In expressing my anxiety, it could easily convey a sense of disappointment that Demi herself did not, or was not able to, put a stop to this Sarah Wolf problem. And the last thing I would do is let her think that she had in some way let me down. It is not as simple as that. So, better to stay guarded.
“ You go ahead, darling. ” she speaks softly, but quickly. “ Charlotte is waiting for us, so I will give it a miss tonight. ”
I furrow my brow, wondering whether there was a smirk hiding behind her words and about to emerge.
“ Oh, we don’t have to. We can head straight back, maybe order room service and Charlotte can join in.. ” I offer, opening my body language.
“ Please, don’t let me stop you. It is fine, I promise. Have a lovely evening, I will see you at the hotel. ”
She stands, and takes another look at me down her nose. Satisfied with her work to patch me up, and hands me a towel, and smiles.
“ Okay, well, give me thirty seconds to throw on my boots and shirt, I’ll walk you to the car service. ”
She stops after two steps toward the door, only to half turn on her heel, “ No need. ”
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New Orleans, LA
20th September 2022
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sometimes i'm dreaming
where all the other people dance
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I watch her, as her miniature fingertips trace the emerald gemstones set into the edges of the large and weighty championship belt. She has it laid on the couch, its breadth spanning the entirety of the three seats afforded to it, and she marvels at it.
“ It’s so much less creepy looking than the other one. ” Charlotte says, looking back up at me.
I smile, absently. It is certainly less in-your-face and aggressive than the one that is mounted in what this little girl calls my ‘man cave’. Three skulls screeching into the void, extolling the virtues of immortality was a stark image in comparison to the sleek and minimalist gold, diamond and emerald championship that housed a giant green triangle as its centerpiece and the word Courage beneath it.
The truth is, I am largely responsible for what happened to Sarah Wolf.
I am the conduit from which she transformed from the bubbly but otherwise unremarkable little sister into the deranged, demonic and remarkably damaged individual that now walks alone, in self-exile from the other wolves in her pack.
We often hear stories in the headlines on local and national news stations about the innocent bystanders who get caught by stray bullets as rivals try to take some sort of momentum in the perennial game of one-upmanship. It is always so much more tragic, because for right or for wrong, the intended target is the intended target, and when someone else takes a bullet, we lament it so much more. Because they aren’t in ‘the life’.
Sarah seemed like a happy-go-lucky person who was in a good relationship and had a wildly successful career as an agent to some of the biggest names in wrestling, and beyond. She represented a whole portfolio of talent, many of whom stood and still stand atop organizations at the very forefront of the industry. So, what happened to her was tragic. Lamentable.
And I take responsibility for my part.
“ Aren’t you proud of it, Dad? ” I’m jolted from my thoughts, and I look up at her once more. “ You don’t seem very happy about it. ”
She turns her head away, back to the championship. Carefully, she begins to fold the straps beneath the plates.
In the distance, another room down the hall, I can hear Demi rummaging through cupboards, and cabinets closing and opening, as though she is trying to find something misplaced. She has seemed a little off since we returned from Texas, as though something has her on edge. But I don’t see the value in putting myself in her firing line.
Meanwhile, Charlotte has moved onto the couch and is scrolling through the TV guide, searching for something specific.
But the truth is, my transgression was not the act that set the series of events in motion.
The betrayal by her brothers is what caused this. One day, one way, it would have come to light. If not by my hand, then by somebody else’s. Her brothers made a lot of enemies, and left a lot more people envious of them.
One of them was going through a high-profile divorce as he embarked on the life he always wish he’d taken with Frank – you likely know her as Vhodka Black, but to me she is and will always be Frank – rather than the beige and generic nuclear family that he ultimately chose with Candice “VooDoo” Wolf.
The other had just won the OPW Immortal Championship in a seven-person Stairway To Heaven match, the championship being held in both of our hands before a twist of fate fell in his favor and he claimed the prize. He was the most sought-after personality in the game and he stood on many toes on his journey to the top, including members of his own extended family.
It was a matter of time before somebody was invested enough in their downfall to sniff around and find the rotten bodies buried in their closets. I didn’t put the bodies there, I just found them.
I didn’t want to ruin her life, no more than I wanted to ruin Frank’s life when I informed her reacquainted lover that he was the father to a child that she had subsequently hidden from him, and put up for adoption.
The truth is, secrecy is to blame. Deceptive actions by untrusting actors. The Human Condition.
“ There’s never anything interesting on TV. Murder mysery, old film, ancient TV series about a chemistry teacher who makes drugs. Why isn’t there ever anything good on? ” Charlotte quips, trying to draw something out of me. I can hear her, but I have more important things on my mind than getting drawn into a meaningless conversation with her about pop culture or the latest trendy thing that she’s obsessed with.
Half-heartedly, I shrug in her direction, hopeful that my continued non-engagement will lead her to form her own conclusion that age-appropriate television for a twelve year old isn’t typically broadcast at 10pm, and furthermore, she will find some other way to occupy herself.
However.
As a consequence of what transpired, the so-called deconstruction of reality as she knew it, she became liberated. She was able to be free of the shackles that held her so rigidly in place. She was able to express herself through unbridled rage, unapologetically spitting venom in the face of anybody who dared cross her path.
Her single-minded obsession to destroy anybody and everybody in her path, to prove a point? To whom? Herself? Her brothers?
She walked away from her brothers, before returning to try to finish them off. She very nearly killed Vincent Black – Frank’s husband, for those still following – live at FIGHT! NYC’s Toxic Tag event, and that was not moments later than when she sent a fetus to Frank’s locker room.
You might say that after the months of torture, the ordeal of human trafficking, and whatever else that happened as a result of the wrong information falling into the wrong hands, she could be forgiven. Given a pass.
Perhaps she deserves her vengeance, and we should step aside and let it happen. Could I live with myself, carrying the burden that I’d played my part in doing this to her and that I hadn’t allowed her the opportunity to play it out and find her own solace and inner peace?
Charlotte nuzzles her auburn curls into my chest, pressing the top of her head into the regrowing pigmentless stubble wirily growing from my chin and neck.
“ I love you, Dad. I’m sorry if you’re mad at me. ” Immediately, I’m jolted from my thoughts. Kids have a knack of knowing how to crack your heart just a little, don’t they? It’s like they sense weakness.
I look down at her, and slide my arm around her shoulders and pull her even closer, tight enough to make her wince. Then I let go, and kissed the top of her head, lingering for a moment. Absorbing the same scent that she has carried since the day she was born. She smells of Charlotte.
“ I love you, Sometimes. I’m not mad at you, not at all. I just have a lot on my mind, is all. I’m sorry. ”
From the doorway, Demi’s voice carries with a beckon for Charlotte to go to the kitchen. She groans, the innocence of childhood immediately replaced with the snark of a tween who doesn’t like being told what to do.
“ Better hurry along, Sometimes. She doesn’t like to ask twice. ”
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sometimes i'm dreaming
charlotte, sometimes
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As she begrudgingly slinks out of the room and toward her mother’s beckon, I rise from my position, and press my hand against the white painted wooden door with latticed windows that separates this room from the balcony.
The freshness of the air takes my breath away, momentarily. It is followed by the gardenia, fragrant as ever, dispersing its scent throughout our little corner of the French Quarter. My focus rests almost at the horizon, where a large stately mansion stands out from the rows of houses. A sliver of bourgeoisie nestled warmly on all sides by the comforting swadle of poverty. Very apropos.
And the real truth is that Sarah has come a lot further than most expected her to.
Now she is a champion, with a championship that is of equal prestige to the one that I myself captured on the same night.
But when you look at who she fought, the same person she will team with when we come face to face in a few short days, perhaps you start to question the impressiveness of her feat. It is easy to buy into the fairytale that Buster Gloves is a respected and respectable veteran and a great champion who was on a one way track to the top, with a one-stop exhibition against Larry Tact to determine who would be the next to headline Final Fantasy. But that is the narrative of the unoriginal who live in denial of the empirical facts. When was the last time Buster won a match of note? The last time he lost, he didn’t just lose his match, he lost his sobriety. Then his championship. And since losing to Sarah, he came up short against Shawn Warstein, and lost his job.
At one time, the narrative may have been believable. At one time, he may have been something. At one time, he may have even convinced himself of that narrative. But he’s off the wagon, off his game, and I don’t think even he is deluded enough to think that he has any chance of changing the narrative anymore. Playing house with a girl young enough to be his child, and with the brain cells to match. He’s in a full midlife meltdown.
But Sarah? She defeated my wife. Twice. That is not something that many people can lay claim to. In her moments, Sarah has been spectacular. Even if I may not say the same for the former Wisdom champion who will play the part of her tag team partner.
But here is the kicker.
If I was willing to play my part in tragically changing the entire trajectory of her life when she was an innocent bystander, just imagine what I would be willing to do to her if I had an incentive.
What happened to her, happened because her brothers thought they could do whatever they pleased without consequence. They manicured and manipulated the truth, with wanton disregard for what it cost the people in their path. And when I stood in their path, people got hurt.
I take responsibility, that much is sure. But I bear no guilt.
And I would do it again.
And if I have to, I will.
“ Stephen? ” Demi speaks softly, but startles me nonetheless.
As I turn to face her, she is buttoned up in a full-length plaid coat, fastened at the waist with a black belt, her shiny black stilettos sit delicately at the end of her black stocking clad legs, punctuating each step she takes. In one hand, she has a small suitcase on wheels, and tucked under her other arm is a neatly wrapped bouquet of white roses and gardenia, garnished with an awkward looking flash of yellowy golden honeysuckle.
“ Stephen, darling, do hurry. It’ll be past midnight by the time we get there. ”
I nod, my muscle memory maneuvering me through, as I search the recesses of my mind for what in heaven’s name she is talking about.
“ We are going to Grandmother’s house, remember? ”
Oh. Yes. Now I remembered.
To see Little Red Riding Hood.
I stood, pulling a leather jacket from the balcony. As I turned to close the window, I noticed a light turning on in the mansion down below.
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sometimes i'm dreaming
the sounds all stay the same
sometimes I'm dreaming
she hopes to open shadowed eyes
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