Post by Milisandre Crowthorne on Nov 2, 2019 20:02:16 GMT -5
Journal of the Whills
Volume 4
CHAPTER 2
A sors concursum
It is finally happening. Years and years in waiting have finally paid off. Sativa Nevaeh, one of the most controversial wrestlers in modern history, is FINALLY getting the match she has wanted for literal years. She is facing Johnny Bonecrusher in a No Holds Barred match. A match type she is very, VERY, familiar and comfortable with. She was going to enjoy this match to the best of her ability. Though she was at a disadvantage. The night before she shall be in a Deathmatch to get back a title in another company.
But Sativa fought best when she was injured. She seemed to feed off the pain and fought harder. This would be one of her favorite matches in her career. She could feel it. It was going to be one for the ages…
~~~
Sativa is sitting in her gaming/smoking room in her L.A. mansion. She leans back into the couch and grins. “Finally. How many years have you been ducking me, Johnny? How many years have you been running scared? You know, that doesn’t matter anymore. What I really want to know is, why now? Why after all these years have you finally grown a fucking pair? What changed? Huh?” She raises a brow for a moment.
“Don’t get me wrong. I’m glad you finally decided to pull your balls out of whoever’s purse they’ve been in all these years. Or, is it that you think I’ll be some pushover for your final match? That you can just shimmy your flabby ass into your old gear, waddle your potato lookin ass down to the ring, sweat all over me until you collapse in the throes of a heart attack? Johnny, when I first wanted this match with you years ago, I wanted a challenge. I wanted someone in the ring with me that I could beat and hold that as an achievement. Now? Beating you doesn’t mean as much. It would be like winning a boxing match against George Foreman.” Sativa scoffs and shakes her head.
“It isn’t as impressive. It’s like those old-time videos you see of men boxing bears. Hell, you were probably around when those were made weren’t you? Anyways, beating you would be like fighting one of them. Half-starved, muzzled, paws bound. You are a tiger without teeth. I’m almost worried I might be held liable for any major injury you sustain. As much as I dislike you, I do not want to be legally responsible for your care after I break you. You see Johnny, this match is suited towards me. You might break a hip, have a heart attack, a coronary, an embolism, something that will put you into the home you honestly deserve to be in. I don’t want to have to risk spending any time in jail or a courthouse because of it.”
“But that’s probably your hope, huh? You hate me so much you would risk your own safety to fuck me over like that. I would say it’s surprising but, honestly, it isn’t. Not when it comes to you. You’ve threatened death and a million other things on me and my girls. You can say it’s for this, that, or the other. But you’ve hated my guts since the moment you saw me. And you know what? I’ve honestly forgotten why. But it’s obviously something really bad if you’ve held onto it for all these years. Me? I just love getting you worked up. It’s so funny to watch you run around like a mad hornet. All I have to do is start in on the potato jokes and off you go.”
Sativa chuckles and shakes her head. “You know, I had an epiphany the other day. I was talking to someone about trying to fit in and getting lost in that. In the middle of that conversation, it hit me. I’ve watched who you align yourself with. Who you decide to call friends, confidants, companions. Then I started to see what was really going on. You are trying SO HARD to fit into a hole not made for you. You have an insatiable need to fit in. You crawl on your knees, licking boots of those far below you, trying and hoping for that little bit of praise. Oh, how the mighty have fallen, eh?”
“While you grovel around two-faced trash, gullible bimbos, and whores, you fall further and further from any pedestal you might have been on. You lower yourself, let yourself be degraded, talked down to, and made the butt of jokes all in the hopes of being liked. You think you are part of a group, that you have friends. But it’s all a lie, isn’t it? You don’t have friends, do you? You have those who would use you. Use what little fame and notoriety you have left. They try to elevate themselves off of your name. You are too pathetic now to see it. They don’t care about you. They don’t give one single fuck about you.”
Sativa sits up. “It’s sad really. That you think you actually matter to them. You’re trying to be so much like them it’s pathetic. You are so, so, SO, much better than them. You could have ended your career on a high note. But here you are, down in the gutter with literal trash. I guess I have to be the one to finally put you down. Make your name worth so little that you are freed from the shackles that bind you. Ruin your value to them so they cast you aside. Then, and only then, can you truly ascend to the greatness you believe you have. The weight around your neck must be so immense. So heavy. It’s no wonder you are so miserable.”
“But do not worry, Johnny, my psychotic little potato dwarf. I shall be your salvation. I shall be your saving grace. But it will not be an easy save. It will hurt. Our match shall be your crucible. I do so hope you will come out the other side stronger and better than you entered. But I also worry. I worry that you aren’t strong enough anymore. That you have fallen too far. That you are lost your strength. That you are weak. I hope, no, I WANT you to prove me wrong. Prove to me, and the world, that you are the great Johnny Bonecrusher of old. The one that is worth the fight. The one that means something. The one that used to be someone! Come on Johnny, can you dig deep and bring that version of yourself to our match?”
Sativa tilts her head questioningly. “Can you be the you of old? Can you tap into that greatness one last time? I’m even making it easy for you Johnny. I’m coming into this match less than twenty-four hours after going through literal hell. I’ll be half dead, likely covered in major burns. You have every, single, advantage in this match. You are healthy, at one hundred percent. Yet you still feel the need to drag one of your parasites with you. You need to try and stack the odds higher in your favor.”
A scoff escapes from Sativa. “Are you that scared of me, Johnny? Aren’t you the great and powerful Johnny Bonecrusher? The greatest wrestler to ever live? I mean, doing my research on you that’s what I assume you believe about yourself. I mean, who else has a list of ‘signature moves’ a mile long? I’m surprised your ego fits in your potato body. Yet despite all that pride, all that arrogance, you still show fear. You are so worried that, even half-dead, you can’t beat me. You are so terrified that you can’t live up to your own hype that you need help, backup, to get the job done.”
“I had no intention of having any of my girls come with me to the ring for this match. Even in the state I will be in I have no doubt of my talents and abilities. The only reason Morgan is coming with me now is to make sure Kenzie, or anyone else, doesn’t get involved. Unlike you, I do not need help to get the job done. I want to watch the light of hope fade as you slowly realize that you don’t have what it takes. That despite your bravado, your self hype, that you can’t beat me. The great Johnny Bonecrusher brought low by me. Little old Sativa Nevaeh. A worthless stoner. Someone so far below you that you take every opportunity to talk down to.”
Sativa picks up and lighter and starts to spin it in her fingers. “Johnny, this match isn’t happening by chance. This isn’t you finally allowing it to happen. This is fate, Johnny. Ever since that first moment we met, this was destined to happen. This was always meant to be. Just like Thanos’s snap in Infinity War, this was inevitable.” A smirk curls up a corner of Sativa’s mouth. “I know you didn’t want this. That you would have avoided it at all costs. But you couldn’t. You can never outrun your fate. The real question is, will this be a good fate for you, or a bad one? Will this be your great swan song? The picturesque ending to your career or the tailspin into burning wreckage?”
“That is what has yet to be decided. But I have a feeling I know which way it shall go. You see, you are stepping into the ring with The Blood Countess. The Deranged Duchess. Darth Ganja. The Three-Eyed Wolf. I can see what will be. I have done it time and time again. This shall be no different, Johnny. This has been a long time coming. Something I’ve wanted for literally YEARS. I hope you know, this will not be over quick. This will not be a kindness to you. I will take my time beating you. I will savor every sweet moment of agony that I bring you.” That smirk morphs into a sadistic grin. “I will bring out your greatness. I will help you rise from the gutter. After we are finished, you will be remembered, Johnny. You will get your place cemented in history like you want. Call it a parting gift. Me granting the wish of a dying man.”
“Because that is what you are, Johnny. You just don’t know it yet. I will be your angel of mercy. Your angel of death. I will grant you that sweet release you want. I will remove the burden from your shoulders. After I am done with you, you shall be a free man. No more weight around your neck. No pressure to continue living the lie that you do. After you have been through pain, torture, and punishment, you shall look up into those bright, bright lights and rejoice. For you shall be looking into the face of your savior. The face of Sativa Nevaeh. The face of your own, personal…” She pauses for a moment, a gleam coming to her eyes.
“Santa muerte.”
Sativa gives a wink and a small wave.
