Post by LACKLAN on Jun 2, 2018 10:46:44 GMT -5
4/27/2017
“Il est ressuscité.”
A woman sits upon the ground, her arms wrapped around her knees and hugging them to her body, long strands of dark brown hair flitted with shots of grey down her back and touching the ground. A light rain came down on the woman, not much more than a warm mist, but her soaked clothes, a dirty and torn hospital gown, show how long she has sat upon the ground.
“Il est ressuscité.”
Her voice is strained, clearly full of pain. She speaks with a thick French accent, the words holding true to the nasal sound. She rocks back and forth slightly on the ground as she speaks the phrase over and over.
“Il est ressuscité.”
She sits on the ground next to large block of stone. The stone is fresh, gleaming slightly even in the murk of the warm mist, with lines written in it clear and strong. We take a moment to move away from the woman, away from the pain and anguish clear in her wails, to read the writing on the stone.
“Il est ressuscité.”
The woman rocks, repeating the phrase over and over, and we take this time to back away and leave her to her anguish.
Aveline Lacklan’s eyes snap open.
The dark green eyes are wild in the dark, the whites bright against the empty room, the pupils large to suck up what little bit of the light they can. Her bright white hair shines even stronger against the darkness, the strands waving down to her bare shoulders. She sits up in her cot, her sheet falling to her waist to reveal her bare chest. Her hands go to her face and eyes, coving them as she issues a shuddering sigh. The scars all up and down her arms can be seen, one side clean and neat, as if from the razor of a surgeon, the other jagged, as if given by a child.
“I miss you.”
She lets out another sigh and lowers her hands, her face looking more worn than it has before. She tosses her sheet off her body and turns her body off her cot, her feet angling to the ground. She does her best to be quiet and move slowly, so as to not upset the large mound lying next to her. She slips off the cot and pads on bare feet on the cold cement that is the floor of her warehouse until she finds herself by the area she has made her closet. She rummages through a dresser until she finds what she is looking for: A cell phone.
Ava plops down on the ground right where she is, ignoring the cold on her bottom, and flips through the phone. She sees pictures she had snapped of her step-daughter Sarah and all of her friends over the last year. Pictures of Kenzi Grey. Kitty Galore. Milisandre Crowthorne. Heidi Thompson. Roxy Cotton. Angie Vaughn. Katie Anderson. Stacy Sterling. Pictures of Sarah and Angie at a church in Los Angeles. Of Sarah and Kenzi at their wedding in Maine. Of Sarah and Stacy in Las Vegas. Of Sarah and Nikita Dolore in New York. Of Sarah wrestling in venues all throughout the country. Each one featuring Sarah. And each taken from a distance.
She moves from the gallery to the text messages, though there is only one contact. She moves through the history, her face blank, until she comes to the very beginning and reads outloud:
“Do not let the selfishness of a child keep you from what you deserve.”
I am shaking. Why am I shaking? This is right. THIS IS RIGHT. I HAVE EARNED THIS.
I deserve this.
I have always deserved this.
I deserve her. I deserve the queen. I DESERVE TO BE KING.
I don’t understand. Why doesn’t she. Love me. Why doesn’t
WHY DOESN’T SHE LOVE ME
I have always been there for her.
Always been there.
ALWAYS BEEN
But she pushes me. Pushes away. Why does she
A message on my phone. A new one. Pushing me. Pressing me. Encouraging me.
I don’t know who it is. Is it God? Is it Him? Does He want me to
The poison is ready. I tested it. On animals. On rats. Then on myself. It It It causes you to go limp. It hurts. You can see, you can hear, you just can’t feel.
WHY DOESN’T SHE LOVE ME
I see her. Shopping. Already shopping for Christmas. Already shopping for that fucking nig
I DESERVE MORE
I DESERVE TO BE KING
Another message on my phone. Selfish child. Yes. Yes. She is. Sarah is so selfish. I was her FIRST! I should be her LAST
No! NO!
I should be her ONLY
She belongs to ME
WHY DOESN’T SHE LOVE ME
I was so close before. First the Manor. Didn’t go well. Had to run. But then the message. On my phone. Telling me when and where she would be. At that bar. I just had to be there. Right place, right time. But then that damned monster of a man.
But nothing can hold me down. No prison holds me forever. Because I have love. Because I have her.
WHY DOESN’T SHE LOVE ME
The time is now. The time is NOW.
I move. She has left her guards. Always so arrogant. Always so sure.
I slip on a rock. She turns around. Damnit. Her eyes go wide. So wide. They are so beautiful. I want them.
WHY DOESN’T SHE LOVE ME
She tries to yell. Tries to scream. I don’t remember making a fist, but I punch her as hard as a can in the face. She is caught off guard. Red smeared on her pale cheek. I tackle her. She fights me. God, that feels good.
WHY DOESN’T SHE LOVE ME
I pin her to the ground. Why am I shaking? I pull up her dress. She tries to scream. I shove my forearm into her mouth. She bites down. But too late. I get her dress up high and jam the needle into her thigh.
Piercing pain in my forearm. I can feel blood trickling down. Old times.
WHY DOESN’T SHE LOVE ME
It doesn’t take long. She goes limp. But she can see. Oh yes, she can see. I smile at her. Reassure her.
I will get what I deserve.
MINES
I hate being in the Lingerie Football League. I hate being a Hit Girl. I hate having had to make that deal with Sidney. I hate having to work with that idiotic child who spits on my husband’s name with every breath. But I do what I must. Because the Path of the Light teaches that we must tear down the world with our own hands. We must wash the feet of the sinners ourselves, if we are to lead them to the Light. And so I do. And so I am.
I hate entering this building. Money went into renovating this stadium. My husband’s money. Wasted. Flittered away. By the Demon Child and her idiot lover. I don’t care about the money...it was never about the money...but to see his hard work be used for THIS filth and sin?! Intolerable!
I am shaking as I walk through the halls. Weeks and weeks of being subjected to this ugly game. At least I am able to wear that uniform that the Coda girl wears, able to cover my curves up. And at least I am able to hit sinful women, seemingly the worst of ALL the sinners...lesbians...and rattle their brains and bruise and break them. I lead the team in sacks because I revel in the ability to hit them hard, hurt them. Create chaos. Because I can create order from the chaos.
I shake even harder as I get to the locker room. I see both the Demon Child and her idiot lover. I do not know how long I can keep this up. How many messages did I send the boy? How many times did I remind him of what he EARNED, of what he was OWED, by her? Dozens. Pushing. Prodding. The chaos I created in their little group of sinners...the chaos in which I would make the order...was glorious. Beautiful. I feel the weight of the phone in the pocket of my dress. I have found myself carrying it with me more often lately. Not just hiding in my fortress. But with me. Pushing me. Offering me the strength that I gave to the boy in the first place.
I feel hot. My nerves on edge. I mustn’t push. So much work left to be done. But I can’t help it. I can’t-
“Hello, Kenzi.”
I look down at the Demon Child in the chair and I can’t help myself. I give her a small nod.
“Cripple.”
I hate her. I HATE HER. She has taken EVERYTHING her father loved, EVERYTHING he gave her, EVERYTHING he fought for, and threw it in the trash. And for WHAT? Sex with a woman?! My husband is rolling over in his GRAVE as we speak because of what his daughter has become! His blood...his holy BLOOD...is WASTED on this SLUT!
“Aveline, I know what you are trying to do, and I want you to know that it’s not going to work…not anymore. I know that you’re upset and you have every right to be. Jean Paul was taken away from you when you were…”
I nearly lash out when she pauses for breath. That woman uses his name...HIS NAME...as if her lips are worthy of it! I am shaking even more now. Need to control myself. Need to-
“…forced away from him. I know how that feels…to have the thing that you love more than anything taken away from you.”
My rage nearly bursts out of me in laughter as she looks down at her cripple. “Taken away from you.” Oh, if she only knew. If she only-
“I won’t pretend that my experience compares to yours…but I think that you should at least try to find a way to get past it. You should at least find a way to hold on to what’s left of the man that both of you loved more than anything…”
Loved! As if the child loved her father! As if the child held his teachings and lessons to heart! As if the child did anything BUT spit in his face and on his grave! As if-
“...please...mother....”
I nearly choke at that word. Ever before, from the moment my identity became known to this little wretch, she has filled the words “Mother” and “Mom” with disdain and contempt. This idiot has a lovely and dedicated mother in Sidney and she bandies the word about with gleeful disregard! She fills it with venom and mirth! I must control myself. I must keep my cool, I must-
“You have no idea, child.”
I hear the words coming out of my mouth and cannot stop them. I have created so much chaos in which to make order, so much carnage in which to bring justice, and I cannot stop myself from letting the world know, from letting THEM know. The phone in my pocket is heavy. I feel its weight. I feel its heat. Searing. I step closer to Kenzi, getting close enough to look down at the shorter child, and steal a glance even further down to the Demon Child who took so much away from me with her petulance.
“No idea what it is like to lose the world. But at least you know some of that pain, now. At least you know some of that loss, now. At least SHE knows even a parcel of the pain that is caused when you take something away from someone has has earned it...who DESERVES it…”
I spare a glance down at her again. I intend on looking back up at Kenzi, but my eyes stick on her. The child wears the makeup and dress of the whore she always ways, paints her face like a harlot walking the streets. Well, rolling them, anyway. I nearly giggle at that thought. The child, so high and mighty and flying across the world with her father’s money, reduced to a chair and needing the help of others. I do let myself smirk. I can’t hold it in. I can’t-
“206 days is a long time...but has nothing on YEARS…”
I can’t help it. Can’t stop myself. The phone...so heavy...so hot...I look back at Kenzi and shrug.
“...but you will catch up eventually. A lifetime to learn the lessons of not taking someone who loves you and throwing them in the garbage for a life of sin and betrayal.”
“Moth-"
She caught herself from saying that name again. I nearly cackled at her.
“Aveline, I know that you have lost and you have suffered. I know that it wasn’t fair and you deserved the chance to say all the things to Jean Paul that you have been saying since you arrived here. I get that...we get that...”
She put her hands on the shoulder of the wretched child. A shoulder with my own husband's mask tattooed in ink on it. What a harlot.
“…I just want you both to realize what you are missing out on by not at least trying to find the common ground between you! You’ve lost so much time and Sarah…she nearly had her life stolen away…our lives stolen away! Won’t you at least try to see that even though so much has happened, you can at least come back from it and still have each other?”
She reached forward and took my hand. TOOK MY HAND WITH HER OWN FILTHY HAND. If Jean was alive...he is risen...he would have strung her up to a cross and-
“It’s not too late to stop this fighting and put the past to rest. You haven’t done anything that you can’t come back from.”
My whole body shakes. What I've done...what I have prodded...what I have created. How I turned Jacob from a sad puppy dog wishing her could have his old flame and into someone willing to throw his life away, convinced that the child was the Juliette to his Romeo. But then I think of my dear husband. I think of his teachings. I think of what he showed me of how to sway the masses, how to change the world. Patience. Let your plans play out. Do not rush them. And so I calm. I steady my hands, even as my grip tightens on Kenzi's hand. I pull her in close so that she can feel and smell my breath. Pull her in close so that she must crane her neck to look up at me.
"You have no idea what I have done, child. But you will. Soon."
I glance down at the child in the chair again.
"Exodus. 21 through 25."
And back at Kenzi.
"Do your homework, child."
I release her hand, turn, and make my way out of the room.
Le Bord de Dieu bursts out of the double doors in the back of the Hit Girls stadium in Cincinnati and into an alley. She kicks over a trash can as she lets loose a litany of swears in French to leave any educated ears shriveling in horror and stomps down the alley. Blood flows from a gash on her forehead, the result of a particularly vicious game and her refusal to seek medical attention, cascading down her face, droplets falling to splash on the ground as if a crimson rain. She increases her stride in a rush and runs at the wall, reaching back and launching her fist into it with a wet crunch.
“Merde!”
She slams her fist into the wall again and again, each time with a curse piercing the air. The anger and frustration caused by the incident with Kenzi, especially with her almost breaking in and revealing the truth to her before she had planned to, has filled her with an anxious anger. Blood starts to spill from her fist, her hand sprouting its own from scrapes and cuts from the wall, and it falls to the gravel below to mix with that from her head. After several moments, she tires and leans forward, resting her head on the wall, the blood flowing down the wall and to the ground.
“...this is not important…”
She breathes hard as she rubs her head against the wall, the blood flowing even more freely.
“...what IS important…?”
She spins to face the camera, the motion causing droplets to fly out and get caught by the breeze, moving slowly to join their brethren upon the ground. The whites of her eyes blaze like a lighthouse against the mask of red her face has become, but no more so than the shock stock of white hair which has been seemingly dyed pink by the head wound.
“I am what is important. ME! The Champion of Chaos!”
She blows out hard from her mouth and blood goes flying toward the camera.
“The Massive Melee is but a few days away and everyone is fighting for the opportunity to face the World Champion at WrestleStock. Everyone is fighting for what they believe to be the pinnacle of this sport. Everyone is fighting for the opportunity to be recognized as the absolute best. But everyone is fighting for a lie.”
She points at the cut on her forehead.
“I am the pinnacle of this sport. The Champion of Chaos is the ultimate in accolades that you can be given. The World Championship means NOTHING when I, Le Bord de Deiu, the very Edge and Blade of God, stand tall and proud with my championship around my waist or on my shoulder. While I stand here, I am EVERYTHING that God wishes for wrestling to be. I am EVERYTHING that those within the business should strive to be. I am EVERYTHING that matters!
“I will not...will NOT...WILL NOT...allow anyone or anything in this company believe the lie that Lucy Wylde and Gabriel Baal are what is important. I will NOT allow anyone to believe the lie that ANY event I am on has ANY main event but whatever match I am in. I promise you..I PROMISE YOU...that after this Monday, it will once again be MY name that is uttered on the lips of the fans leaving the arena. Once again it will be MY actions what are the talk of wrestling sites everywhere. It will be MY devastating moves that will make all of the gif-makers busy for days on end as they make their click-bait. It will be ME! THE BLADE OF GOD!”
She brings one of her hands to her face and wipes at it, making an even more obscene pattern in the red by the negative space of pale skin left behind. Spittle of blood flies from her lips as she breathes hard and stares into the camera.
“I am what is best for this business! I am what is GREAT about this business! I, who NEVER take a day off, who NEVER talk to the match-makers to get a match changed after the booking sheet goes live, I who NEVER back down from ANY fight, am what each and every person should aspire to be! The Path of the Light teaches that we must use our bare hands to change the world, that we must physically tear down the walls of Jericho with our own trumpets if we are to make the world a better place, and it is I, more than ANY OTHER person in this company, who has done that this year. It is I that has fought on every card. It is I that have cut promotional video after promotional video. It is I who am the single most successful and recognized member of the roster across the last six months!
“NO ONE in this company has more wins than I do this year! Not Lucy. Not Gabriel. Not Jet or Zane. NO ONE. And only Zane, the Triple Champion himself, has more title match wins than I, a point which I myself made moot by holding one of his titles in a way which it has never been held before. NEVER before has the Chaos title meant so much! Never before have people fought for and vied for this championship as they do now. Not since the days of Chaos and Daisuke has this championship been so well regarded, and I daresay that even Ichabod himself quakes at the prestige I have given it.”
She again wipes her face, again makes grotesque lines of pale negative space before slinging lines of blood to the ground.
“This business believes that is the champion who makes the title, and it is in my experience in the UGWC thus far that most of the titles have meant little here. The Cross-Hemisphere title has been bandied about by so many lackluster children to the point where even someone the likes of Travis Pierce can be considered elite in a world where I am the pinnacle is as much of a joke as its next champion’s character. I daresay that it has not even been relevant since Vain threw it in the trash in order to fight vonKnorre and become World Champion! Twenty times that champion has been lost since then. Twenty times! Each a bigger embarrassment than the last!
“And now the World Title! Fought over by children who would rather play house, who would rather embrace the idiocy of some day time soap opera than embody the grace of God that He demands for this business! What is next? Will the challenger reveal that he is Lucy’s long-lost twin brother who is also Maggie’s father? Will Maggie reveal herself to be a man and thus make Lucy once again a heterosexual? Will Lucy’s father, who is honestly just trying to be a good parent for a petulant child, pull off his face to reveal it was a mask and, lo and behold, it is really our Creative Director underneath...the whole time?! Gasp and awe!”
She wipes her face with both hands, unable to stem the blood flow, the bright lines of white instantly becoming the flood of red once more. She leans back and spews out a mist of blood into the air before looking back into the camera.
“Pathetic. Lucy...Maggie...Baal...pathetic.”
She shakes her head.
“Thus, this Melee is NOT about the World Championship and the silliness which continues to transpire and thus devalue it. It is NOT about the opportunity to face the champion on the last day of WrestleStock. To win this event and take on Lucy simply means being wrapped up in the idiotic soap opera which as nothing to do with wrestling and everything to do with the question of what in the hell the inspectors were not called after a kidnapping happened live on television. To win this even and take on Lucy simply means being fed into a machine that has decided to make a mockery of what this business is and is about. To win this event and take on Lucy means to take everything you have ever wanted, needed, or loved from and about wrestling, ball it up, throw it in the trash next to the value of the Cross-Hemisphere Championship that Vain deposited, set it on fire with a Black 13 Tobacco Company match, and watch the importance of the entire BUSINESS burn to ash.
“Instead...instead...since I am what is BEST about this business...since being the Champion of Chaos is what is BEST about this company...if ANYONE has the ability to throw me to the ground...if ANYONE has the ability to toss me over the top rope and eliminate me...THEY will receive the next shot at the Chaos Championship. Because while winning the entire thing and facing Lucy means to become part of the destruction of our relevancy, eliminating ME means wrestling in a match that actually MATTERS at WresteStock. Eliminating ME means becoming the next title defence. Eliminating ME means joining the names of Payne, Necron, and Dynamo. Eliminating ME means losing to me at WrestleStock and helping me cement my legacy as not only the greatest Champion of Chaos there has ever been...but the greatest CHAMPION there has ever been.
“And if...in the end...no one is capable? If...in the end...I win the Melee and set my date for WrestleStock?”
She smiles, her bright white teeth now a matching pink for the blood-stained hair.
“Then I will take the World Title from whichever actor in ‘Days of Our Lives’ holds it and embarrass them as much as I have everyone else and actually give the World Title some credibility. And by God...it will be…beautiful.”
She pauses, breathing deeply, droplets of blood flying.
“Bonne nuit.”
~~FIN~~
“Il est ressuscité.”
A woman sits upon the ground, her arms wrapped around her knees and hugging them to her body, long strands of dark brown hair flitted with shots of grey down her back and touching the ground. A light rain came down on the woman, not much more than a warm mist, but her soaked clothes, a dirty and torn hospital gown, show how long she has sat upon the ground.
“Il est ressuscité.”
Her voice is strained, clearly full of pain. She speaks with a thick French accent, the words holding true to the nasal sound. She rocks back and forth slightly on the ground as she speaks the phrase over and over.
“Il est ressuscité.”
She sits on the ground next to large block of stone. The stone is fresh, gleaming slightly even in the murk of the warm mist, with lines written in it clear and strong. We take a moment to move away from the woman, away from the pain and anguish clear in her wails, to read the writing on the stone.
Here Lies
Jean-Paul Lacklan
Father, Voice, Savior
He brought the Light
Jean-Paul Lacklan
Father, Voice, Savior
He brought the Light
“Il est ressuscité.”
The woman rocks, repeating the phrase over and over, and we take this time to back away and leave her to her anguish.
Presenting the Ballad of JayBird and SareBear, Supplemental: To take a life
The dark green eyes are wild in the dark, the whites bright against the empty room, the pupils large to suck up what little bit of the light they can. Her bright white hair shines even stronger against the darkness, the strands waving down to her bare shoulders. She sits up in her cot, her sheet falling to her waist to reveal her bare chest. Her hands go to her face and eyes, coving them as she issues a shuddering sigh. The scars all up and down her arms can be seen, one side clean and neat, as if from the razor of a surgeon, the other jagged, as if given by a child.
“I miss you.”
She lets out another sigh and lowers her hands, her face looking more worn than it has before. She tosses her sheet off her body and turns her body off her cot, her feet angling to the ground. She does her best to be quiet and move slowly, so as to not upset the large mound lying next to her. She slips off the cot and pads on bare feet on the cold cement that is the floor of her warehouse until she finds herself by the area she has made her closet. She rummages through a dresser until she finds what she is looking for: A cell phone.
Ava plops down on the ground right where she is, ignoring the cold on her bottom, and flips through the phone. She sees pictures she had snapped of her step-daughter Sarah and all of her friends over the last year. Pictures of Kenzi Grey. Kitty Galore. Milisandre Crowthorne. Heidi Thompson. Roxy Cotton. Angie Vaughn. Katie Anderson. Stacy Sterling. Pictures of Sarah and Angie at a church in Los Angeles. Of Sarah and Kenzi at their wedding in Maine. Of Sarah and Stacy in Las Vegas. Of Sarah and Nikita Dolore in New York. Of Sarah wrestling in venues all throughout the country. Each one featuring Sarah. And each taken from a distance.
She moves from the gallery to the text messages, though there is only one contact. She moves through the history, her face blank, until she comes to the very beginning and reads outloud:
“Do not let the selfishness of a child keep you from what you deserve.”
* * * * * * * * * *
I am shaking. Why am I shaking? This is right. THIS IS RIGHT. I HAVE EARNED THIS.
I deserve this.
I have always deserved this.
I deserve her. I deserve the queen. I DESERVE TO BE KING.
I don’t understand. Why doesn’t she. Love me. Why doesn’t
WHY DOESN’T SHE LOVE ME
I have always been there for her.
Always been there.
ALWAYS BEEN
But she pushes me. Pushes away. Why does she
A message on my phone. A new one. Pushing me. Pressing me. Encouraging me.
I don’t know who it is. Is it God? Is it Him? Does He want me to
The poison is ready. I tested it. On animals. On rats. Then on myself. It It It causes you to go limp. It hurts. You can see, you can hear, you just can’t feel.
WHY DOESN’T SHE LOVE ME
I see her. Shopping. Already shopping for Christmas. Already shopping for that fucking nig
I DESERVE MORE
I DESERVE TO BE KING
Another message on my phone. Selfish child. Yes. Yes. She is. Sarah is so selfish. I was her FIRST! I should be her LAST
No! NO!
I should be her ONLY
She belongs to ME
WHY DOESN’T SHE LOVE ME
I was so close before. First the Manor. Didn’t go well. Had to run. But then the message. On my phone. Telling me when and where she would be. At that bar. I just had to be there. Right place, right time. But then that damned monster of a man.
But nothing can hold me down. No prison holds me forever. Because I have love. Because I have her.
WHY DOESN’T SHE LOVE ME
The time is now. The time is NOW.
I move. She has left her guards. Always so arrogant. Always so sure.
I slip on a rock. She turns around. Damnit. Her eyes go wide. So wide. They are so beautiful. I want them.
WHY DOESN’T SHE LOVE ME
She tries to yell. Tries to scream. I don’t remember making a fist, but I punch her as hard as a can in the face. She is caught off guard. Red smeared on her pale cheek. I tackle her. She fights me. God, that feels good.
WHY DOESN’T SHE LOVE ME
I pin her to the ground. Why am I shaking? I pull up her dress. She tries to scream. I shove my forearm into her mouth. She bites down. But too late. I get her dress up high and jam the needle into her thigh.
Piercing pain in my forearm. I can feel blood trickling down. Old times.
WHY DOESN’T SHE LOVE ME
It doesn’t take long. She goes limp. But she can see. Oh yes, she can see. I smile at her. Reassure her.
I will get what I deserve.
MINES
* * * * * * * * * * *
I hate being in the Lingerie Football League. I hate being a Hit Girl. I hate having had to make that deal with Sidney. I hate having to work with that idiotic child who spits on my husband’s name with every breath. But I do what I must. Because the Path of the Light teaches that we must tear down the world with our own hands. We must wash the feet of the sinners ourselves, if we are to lead them to the Light. And so I do. And so I am.
I hate entering this building. Money went into renovating this stadium. My husband’s money. Wasted. Flittered away. By the Demon Child and her idiot lover. I don’t care about the money...it was never about the money...but to see his hard work be used for THIS filth and sin?! Intolerable!
I am shaking as I walk through the halls. Weeks and weeks of being subjected to this ugly game. At least I am able to wear that uniform that the Coda girl wears, able to cover my curves up. And at least I am able to hit sinful women, seemingly the worst of ALL the sinners...lesbians...and rattle their brains and bruise and break them. I lead the team in sacks because I revel in the ability to hit them hard, hurt them. Create chaos. Because I can create order from the chaos.
I shake even harder as I get to the locker room. I see both the Demon Child and her idiot lover. I do not know how long I can keep this up. How many messages did I send the boy? How many times did I remind him of what he EARNED, of what he was OWED, by her? Dozens. Pushing. Prodding. The chaos I created in their little group of sinners...the chaos in which I would make the order...was glorious. Beautiful. I feel the weight of the phone in the pocket of my dress. I have found myself carrying it with me more often lately. Not just hiding in my fortress. But with me. Pushing me. Offering me the strength that I gave to the boy in the first place.
I feel hot. My nerves on edge. I mustn’t push. So much work left to be done. But I can’t help it. I can’t-
“Hello, Kenzi.”
I look down at the Demon Child in the chair and I can’t help myself. I give her a small nod.
“Cripple.”
I hate her. I HATE HER. She has taken EVERYTHING her father loved, EVERYTHING he gave her, EVERYTHING he fought for, and threw it in the trash. And for WHAT? Sex with a woman?! My husband is rolling over in his GRAVE as we speak because of what his daughter has become! His blood...his holy BLOOD...is WASTED on this SLUT!
“Aveline, I know what you are trying to do, and I want you to know that it’s not going to work…not anymore. I know that you’re upset and you have every right to be. Jean Paul was taken away from you when you were…”
I nearly lash out when she pauses for breath. That woman uses his name...HIS NAME...as if her lips are worthy of it! I am shaking even more now. Need to control myself. Need to-
“…forced away from him. I know how that feels…to have the thing that you love more than anything taken away from you.”
My rage nearly bursts out of me in laughter as she looks down at her cripple. “Taken away from you.” Oh, if she only knew. If she only-
“I won’t pretend that my experience compares to yours…but I think that you should at least try to find a way to get past it. You should at least find a way to hold on to what’s left of the man that both of you loved more than anything…”
Loved! As if the child loved her father! As if the child held his teachings and lessons to heart! As if the child did anything BUT spit in his face and on his grave! As if-
“...please...mother....”
I nearly choke at that word. Ever before, from the moment my identity became known to this little wretch, she has filled the words “Mother” and “Mom” with disdain and contempt. This idiot has a lovely and dedicated mother in Sidney and she bandies the word about with gleeful disregard! She fills it with venom and mirth! I must control myself. I must keep my cool, I must-
“You have no idea, child.”
I hear the words coming out of my mouth and cannot stop them. I have created so much chaos in which to make order, so much carnage in which to bring justice, and I cannot stop myself from letting the world know, from letting THEM know. The phone in my pocket is heavy. I feel its weight. I feel its heat. Searing. I step closer to Kenzi, getting close enough to look down at the shorter child, and steal a glance even further down to the Demon Child who took so much away from me with her petulance.
“No idea what it is like to lose the world. But at least you know some of that pain, now. At least you know some of that loss, now. At least SHE knows even a parcel of the pain that is caused when you take something away from someone has has earned it...who DESERVES it…”
I spare a glance down at her again. I intend on looking back up at Kenzi, but my eyes stick on her. The child wears the makeup and dress of the whore she always ways, paints her face like a harlot walking the streets. Well, rolling them, anyway. I nearly giggle at that thought. The child, so high and mighty and flying across the world with her father’s money, reduced to a chair and needing the help of others. I do let myself smirk. I can’t hold it in. I can’t-
“206 days is a long time...but has nothing on YEARS…”
I can’t help it. Can’t stop myself. The phone...so heavy...so hot...I look back at Kenzi and shrug.
“...but you will catch up eventually. A lifetime to learn the lessons of not taking someone who loves you and throwing them in the garbage for a life of sin and betrayal.”
“Moth-"
She caught herself from saying that name again. I nearly cackled at her.
“Aveline, I know that you have lost and you have suffered. I know that it wasn’t fair and you deserved the chance to say all the things to Jean Paul that you have been saying since you arrived here. I get that...we get that...”
She put her hands on the shoulder of the wretched child. A shoulder with my own husband's mask tattooed in ink on it. What a harlot.
“…I just want you both to realize what you are missing out on by not at least trying to find the common ground between you! You’ve lost so much time and Sarah…she nearly had her life stolen away…our lives stolen away! Won’t you at least try to see that even though so much has happened, you can at least come back from it and still have each other?”
She reached forward and took my hand. TOOK MY HAND WITH HER OWN FILTHY HAND. If Jean was alive...he is risen...he would have strung her up to a cross and-
“It’s not too late to stop this fighting and put the past to rest. You haven’t done anything that you can’t come back from.”
My whole body shakes. What I've done...what I have prodded...what I have created. How I turned Jacob from a sad puppy dog wishing her could have his old flame and into someone willing to throw his life away, convinced that the child was the Juliette to his Romeo. But then I think of my dear husband. I think of his teachings. I think of what he showed me of how to sway the masses, how to change the world. Patience. Let your plans play out. Do not rush them. And so I calm. I steady my hands, even as my grip tightens on Kenzi's hand. I pull her in close so that she can feel and smell my breath. Pull her in close so that she must crane her neck to look up at me.
"You have no idea what I have done, child. But you will. Soon."
I glance down at the child in the chair again.
"Exodus. 21 through 25."
And back at Kenzi.
"Do your homework, child."
I release her hand, turn, and make my way out of the room.
* * * * * * * * * *
Le Bord de Dieu bursts out of the double doors in the back of the Hit Girls stadium in Cincinnati and into an alley. She kicks over a trash can as she lets loose a litany of swears in French to leave any educated ears shriveling in horror and stomps down the alley. Blood flows from a gash on her forehead, the result of a particularly vicious game and her refusal to seek medical attention, cascading down her face, droplets falling to splash on the ground as if a crimson rain. She increases her stride in a rush and runs at the wall, reaching back and launching her fist into it with a wet crunch.
“Merde!”
She slams her fist into the wall again and again, each time with a curse piercing the air. The anger and frustration caused by the incident with Kenzi, especially with her almost breaking in and revealing the truth to her before she had planned to, has filled her with an anxious anger. Blood starts to spill from her fist, her hand sprouting its own from scrapes and cuts from the wall, and it falls to the gravel below to mix with that from her head. After several moments, she tires and leans forward, resting her head on the wall, the blood flowing down the wall and to the ground.
“...this is not important…”
She breathes hard as she rubs her head against the wall, the blood flowing even more freely.
“...what IS important…?”
She spins to face the camera, the motion causing droplets to fly out and get caught by the breeze, moving slowly to join their brethren upon the ground. The whites of her eyes blaze like a lighthouse against the mask of red her face has become, but no more so than the shock stock of white hair which has been seemingly dyed pink by the head wound.
“I am what is important. ME! The Champion of Chaos!”
She blows out hard from her mouth and blood goes flying toward the camera.
“The Massive Melee is but a few days away and everyone is fighting for the opportunity to face the World Champion at WrestleStock. Everyone is fighting for what they believe to be the pinnacle of this sport. Everyone is fighting for the opportunity to be recognized as the absolute best. But everyone is fighting for a lie.”
She points at the cut on her forehead.
“I am the pinnacle of this sport. The Champion of Chaos is the ultimate in accolades that you can be given. The World Championship means NOTHING when I, Le Bord de Deiu, the very Edge and Blade of God, stand tall and proud with my championship around my waist or on my shoulder. While I stand here, I am EVERYTHING that God wishes for wrestling to be. I am EVERYTHING that those within the business should strive to be. I am EVERYTHING that matters!
“I will not...will NOT...WILL NOT...allow anyone or anything in this company believe the lie that Lucy Wylde and Gabriel Baal are what is important. I will NOT allow anyone to believe the lie that ANY event I am on has ANY main event but whatever match I am in. I promise you..I PROMISE YOU...that after this Monday, it will once again be MY name that is uttered on the lips of the fans leaving the arena. Once again it will be MY actions what are the talk of wrestling sites everywhere. It will be MY devastating moves that will make all of the gif-makers busy for days on end as they make their click-bait. It will be ME! THE BLADE OF GOD!”
She brings one of her hands to her face and wipes at it, making an even more obscene pattern in the red by the negative space of pale skin left behind. Spittle of blood flies from her lips as she breathes hard and stares into the camera.
“I am what is best for this business! I am what is GREAT about this business! I, who NEVER take a day off, who NEVER talk to the match-makers to get a match changed after the booking sheet goes live, I who NEVER back down from ANY fight, am what each and every person should aspire to be! The Path of the Light teaches that we must use our bare hands to change the world, that we must physically tear down the walls of Jericho with our own trumpets if we are to make the world a better place, and it is I, more than ANY OTHER person in this company, who has done that this year. It is I that has fought on every card. It is I that have cut promotional video after promotional video. It is I who am the single most successful and recognized member of the roster across the last six months!
“NO ONE in this company has more wins than I do this year! Not Lucy. Not Gabriel. Not Jet or Zane. NO ONE. And only Zane, the Triple Champion himself, has more title match wins than I, a point which I myself made moot by holding one of his titles in a way which it has never been held before. NEVER before has the Chaos title meant so much! Never before have people fought for and vied for this championship as they do now. Not since the days of Chaos and Daisuke has this championship been so well regarded, and I daresay that even Ichabod himself quakes at the prestige I have given it.”
She again wipes her face, again makes grotesque lines of pale negative space before slinging lines of blood to the ground.
“This business believes that is the champion who makes the title, and it is in my experience in the UGWC thus far that most of the titles have meant little here. The Cross-Hemisphere title has been bandied about by so many lackluster children to the point where even someone the likes of Travis Pierce can be considered elite in a world where I am the pinnacle is as much of a joke as its next champion’s character. I daresay that it has not even been relevant since Vain threw it in the trash in order to fight vonKnorre and become World Champion! Twenty times that champion has been lost since then. Twenty times! Each a bigger embarrassment than the last!
“And now the World Title! Fought over by children who would rather play house, who would rather embrace the idiocy of some day time soap opera than embody the grace of God that He demands for this business! What is next? Will the challenger reveal that he is Lucy’s long-lost twin brother who is also Maggie’s father? Will Maggie reveal herself to be a man and thus make Lucy once again a heterosexual? Will Lucy’s father, who is honestly just trying to be a good parent for a petulant child, pull off his face to reveal it was a mask and, lo and behold, it is really our Creative Director underneath...the whole time?! Gasp and awe!”
She wipes her face with both hands, unable to stem the blood flow, the bright lines of white instantly becoming the flood of red once more. She leans back and spews out a mist of blood into the air before looking back into the camera.
“Pathetic. Lucy...Maggie...Baal...pathetic.”
She shakes her head.
“Thus, this Melee is NOT about the World Championship and the silliness which continues to transpire and thus devalue it. It is NOT about the opportunity to face the champion on the last day of WrestleStock. To win this event and take on Lucy simply means being wrapped up in the idiotic soap opera which as nothing to do with wrestling and everything to do with the question of what in the hell the inspectors were not called after a kidnapping happened live on television. To win this even and take on Lucy simply means being fed into a machine that has decided to make a mockery of what this business is and is about. To win this event and take on Lucy means to take everything you have ever wanted, needed, or loved from and about wrestling, ball it up, throw it in the trash next to the value of the Cross-Hemisphere Championship that Vain deposited, set it on fire with a Black 13 Tobacco Company match, and watch the importance of the entire BUSINESS burn to ash.
“Instead...instead...since I am what is BEST about this business...since being the Champion of Chaos is what is BEST about this company...if ANYONE has the ability to throw me to the ground...if ANYONE has the ability to toss me over the top rope and eliminate me...THEY will receive the next shot at the Chaos Championship. Because while winning the entire thing and facing Lucy means to become part of the destruction of our relevancy, eliminating ME means wrestling in a match that actually MATTERS at WresteStock. Eliminating ME means becoming the next title defence. Eliminating ME means joining the names of Payne, Necron, and Dynamo. Eliminating ME means losing to me at WrestleStock and helping me cement my legacy as not only the greatest Champion of Chaos there has ever been...but the greatest CHAMPION there has ever been.
“And if...in the end...no one is capable? If...in the end...I win the Melee and set my date for WrestleStock?”
She smiles, her bright white teeth now a matching pink for the blood-stained hair.
“Then I will take the World Title from whichever actor in ‘Days of Our Lives’ holds it and embarrass them as much as I have everyone else and actually give the World Title some credibility. And by God...it will be…beautiful.”
She pauses, breathing deeply, droplets of blood flying.
“Bonne nuit.”
~~FIN~~
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