Post by Dreamkiller on Apr 19, 2021 6:14:42 GMT -5
8. Angel of Death
Only for the weak
I was a soldier. A good little soldier too. I did what was asked. I even took some joy in it. Or at least I thought I did. In the ring, we were like a pack of rabid dogs. Whatever the dark angel pointed at we made disappear. His enemies were many, his title reign became legendary. We would appear around the ring and we would all attack at once. He and his fake queen would watch and smile. Always smiling. The two brothers and I would attack and while they were tough, ultra-violent men...the truth is they weren’t the ones to be feared….
I was.
I was the most dangerous.,
See the brothers took joy in the pain they inflicted and laughed. They thought it was fun but they also knew when to stop. They knew any further and the risk outweighed the reward. But I. Well as I said in the ring we looked like a family. Behind all that I was treated like the family pet. The dog. Lower than dirt. The brothers took turns using me for their pleasures. Occasionally the dark angel would come and congratulate me for keeping his disciples happy... He would give me kind words, a smile, a warm stroke with his palm on my cold, beaten flesh.
This was my place in life, my gift to them in the name of faith. Despite the violent nature and the talent for it, I had shown week after week the dirty sad reality was that I was just a piece of meat. A warm hole for the brothers and the dark angel to unleash their aggression in when we were done. The stresses of the ring and the combat led them to need it and that was my job.
I didn’t care.
I felt nothing.
But then I started being given other jobs. Other targets. The dark angel, the blackened god. He called me his black widow. I was to use my looks, my youth to corrupt others, to lure them into a false sense of security. I was to break them from the inside. The same man had once used my sister the same way. Amber had broken two men who dared cross him. This was my spot...my future. But there was one who I couldn’t do it to. I had no idea why. He refused to fall for my charms.
Even after we slept together. Something I was told not to do. Something that I never planned on. But he was different. Stronger. Sure of himself. Then it hit me, the reason why my charms didn’t work. Why my body wasn’t enough. He was in love. And even though I couldn’t feel it I knew. I had lost the battle for his soul…
I can't tolerate your sadness
Cause it's me you're drowning
I won't allow any happiness
'Cause every time you laugh, I feel so guilty
"I blame the needs that you feed
'Cause selfish eyes would not see"
Dallas Texas
6 Years Ago
No need for sympathy, it's only for the weak
The smile was on point as I flashed my teeth. My green eyes angled up to give a little sparkle. I pushed my arms together as I sat forward, my low cut singlet top allowing him access to look straight down it as I popped the end of my finger against my lips pouting them out. Seduction, thy name is Kayla. He smirked and shook his head picking up his drink giving it a small sip, the amber liquid going down his throat. I was still too young to drink by the laws in the United States....
My mind flashed back to the night before. The passion he showed. The strength, the control. He didn’t lose it with me, he was forceful but calm, arrogant but attentive. It was amazing. But this was a job. It was a mission. The dark angel had told me to take him off his game. Learn his motives. Make sure he had no soul to follow. But as I sat here staring into those sparkling blue eyes. His boyish grin behind the dark beard, there was something different. Something too strong to corrupt.
I reached out and took his hand, my thumb massaging his palm. I used all my tricks. My tongue darting out to run over my lips, a cherry red lip gloss over them making them not only shine but smell amazing. My eyelashes batted up and down, I giggled at his jokes, I smiled and made eye contact, my foot moved up and down his calf under the table. I did everything I could think of and more. But there was something…...off….
He stared at me, his head tilted, his voice low and gruff as he then laughed. Was he mocking me?. Was he onto me?. Did he sleep with me the night before just to prove that tonight I wasn’t the one with the power?. his eyes. Oh god, his eyes. They were emotionless, a void. But not like mine. He had love behind them, a strong feeling of devotion and loyalty to someone to….her…..oh my god….I need to get out of here….
“Yes thank you for last night and tonight...I enjoyed it….”
I got to my feet fast, leaning in to keep up the facade as I kissed his cheek.
“Goodbye….Alex…..”
I turned and made my way out and past the rest of the bar patrons to the street, my high heels slamming against the concrete as my hands fumbled with my phone, my fingers dialed and I waited for him to pick up, he needed to know, he needed the information. My dark angel was being made a fool of, my loyalty to him was not in question but to her?. The loyalty died….how dare she…
“Hello?.....yes I just left him…...no…..no….look listen, she isn’t what she seems Angel…..I could see it in his eyes...feel it….Alex Jones and A-.....yes...alright….of course I love you….”
Snake Pit Poetry.
“I suppose I should congratulate that idiot Pixie for winning that triple threat match. By pinning the waste of space known as Crash Rodriguez. So, congratulations Pixie, you won a match and pinned someone that wasn’t me…now, many would say that in doing so you earned yourself a shot at MY noble championship. But, that isn’t how it works. You’ve come into this company with two wins, but neither of them were over me...and make no mistake, winning that match by pinning the third person in it...is not the same as beating me.”
Her voice was calm and measured. Her British accent shining through as her red painted lips curled into a grin, her heavily made-up eyes with a smokey green eyeshadow slowly opened. The eyeshadow almost matching her emerald green eyes that sparkled like fire as she continued.
“Truth be told, I should backhand you across the face, like a bitch. I mean honestly, you beating me? It’s laughable. It’s as laughable as Jason Long believing he could by attempting for fucking bore me to death.”
“This brand, and this company have some of the most selfish, whiny, useless cunts in all of wrestling at the top. And you Pixie, you would fit in well with them. See, I watched a brother and sister go to war over a championship and make such a big deal out of it and cry like children. If either of my sisters had something I wanted do you think I would shed any tears? No, of course not. And now, the biggest baddest champion in the company is going to a pay per view and not even defending her title and instead facing someone not even in the company…”
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
“People like me are always looked down upon because I dare to tell the truth and the truth is Fallout is dangerous. The entire brand is dangerous and I am the alpha hunter in this fucking jungle. It’s not Elena DeDraca, it’s not Kasey Winterborne, it’s not even fucking Drago. It’s me. And while his booking decisions have been questionable with me as of late, Christian Demarco is still a better GM than Indy Darling, I don’t see him booking himself in matches against my brands top champion to stop him from defending his goddamn title on a pay per view...do you?”
She scoffs and shakes her head, her long black hair flowing as her head moves and a chuckle following the breathy sound.
“Just so we’re clear on this. Proving Ground is hosting a show where only one of their titles is being defended. The least important one, the tag team champions are booked in singles matches, the former Grand champion is hanging about in the mid card, where the “current” grand champion is also floundering whole facing the GM who just vacated his title while the Legacy champion has a match with no stakes that means nothing and the main event is being contested between a pair of choke artists with bad accents….”
“Is that what passes for a pay per view these days?”
“And you dare to call Fallout the “B” show?.”
“You idiots want to know why you should tune into Fallout V and skip shelling out money for the “pay per view”?. Alright I’ll give you all a fucking reason. While Proving Ground has a show called “Public execution”, I’m about to fucking commit one. While “top champions” on that brand get put in nothing matches and don’t defend their titles, I will be sending a fucking message. Now, the rest of Fallout may want to tune into that match and get ready for a show because what I am about to do is a criminal act in all fifty goddamn states of the US, so, we’re lucky this show is taking place in the South American shithole known as Brazil…”
She pauses for a moment and pops a piece of gum in her mouth chewing while looking up to gather her thoughts and wonder if her comments will spark some form of an international incident.
“And who is the victim in this horrible set of circumstances may you ask?”
“Martha Atlas…”
Kayla stops for dramatic pauses that never actually come, her eyes roll before she continues.
“That’s right, tell Batman and Superman I’m ever so sorry, but I’m going to kill Martha.”
And there it was instant regret. She used a nerdy pop culture reference. Now Kayla had the sudden and unstoppable urge to “Dickie Watson” herself. Oh no, I hope Kayla's Twitter doesn’t get reported by someone who looks mysteriously like Kevin Hunter but isn’t..
“Now, Martha hasn’t done anything directly to me to earn such a fate or have my anger directed towards her, but as ever within this company if I lose, or rather, fail to win due to someone else, a message must be sent. And Martha Atlas is just the notebook I will be writing said message upon. See, I am an artist when it comes to what happens in that ring. An artist of violence. And I get it, some of you will sit there and think of that as a pretentious statement. And, it absolutely fucking is. But, ask yourselves. Do I care?”
“Absolutely. Fucking. Not.”
“Just like,l to be perfectly honest, don’t care about your mental state Martha. See you’ve tried to put forward this vision of mental instability and I while I don’t want to go down into Pixie territory after that wood elf little bitch tried to get in my head, but what kind of mentally ill person gets ointo wrestling and uses her fucking Doctor as a manager? Honey, that’s not crazy, that’s not dangerous. That’s just stupid. And the thing is everything you try and be, everything you dream to be...is me…”
“I’m dangerous, I have no soul, no empathy. No kindness, no happiness. I can take you down and break every single bone in your stupid little body and all I will feel is...nothing...I’ll feel nothing. But even that is a lie. See Martha, when that match ends, when I am standing above you and I know I have ended you….there will be a small part of me that smiles...and will be happy…”
Only for the weak
I was a soldier. A good little soldier too. I did what was asked. I even took some joy in it. Or at least I thought I did. In the ring, we were like a pack of rabid dogs. Whatever the dark angel pointed at we made disappear. His enemies were many, his title reign became legendary. We would appear around the ring and we would all attack at once. He and his fake queen would watch and smile. Always smiling. The two brothers and I would attack and while they were tough, ultra-violent men...the truth is they weren’t the ones to be feared….
I was.
I was the most dangerous.,
See the brothers took joy in the pain they inflicted and laughed. They thought it was fun but they also knew when to stop. They knew any further and the risk outweighed the reward. But I. Well as I said in the ring we looked like a family. Behind all that I was treated like the family pet. The dog. Lower than dirt. The brothers took turns using me for their pleasures. Occasionally the dark angel would come and congratulate me for keeping his disciples happy... He would give me kind words, a smile, a warm stroke with his palm on my cold, beaten flesh.
This was my place in life, my gift to them in the name of faith. Despite the violent nature and the talent for it, I had shown week after week the dirty sad reality was that I was just a piece of meat. A warm hole for the brothers and the dark angel to unleash their aggression in when we were done. The stresses of the ring and the combat led them to need it and that was my job.
I didn’t care.
I felt nothing.
But then I started being given other jobs. Other targets. The dark angel, the blackened god. He called me his black widow. I was to use my looks, my youth to corrupt others, to lure them into a false sense of security. I was to break them from the inside. The same man had once used my sister the same way. Amber had broken two men who dared cross him. This was my spot...my future. But there was one who I couldn’t do it to. I had no idea why. He refused to fall for my charms.
Even after we slept together. Something I was told not to do. Something that I never planned on. But he was different. Stronger. Sure of himself. Then it hit me, the reason why my charms didn’t work. Why my body wasn’t enough. He was in love. And even though I couldn’t feel it I knew. I had lost the battle for his soul…
I can't tolerate your sadness
Cause it's me you're drowning
I won't allow any happiness
'Cause every time you laugh, I feel so guilty
"I blame the needs that you feed
'Cause selfish eyes would not see"
Dallas Texas
6 Years Ago
No need for sympathy, it's only for the weak
The smile was on point as I flashed my teeth. My green eyes angled up to give a little sparkle. I pushed my arms together as I sat forward, my low cut singlet top allowing him access to look straight down it as I popped the end of my finger against my lips pouting them out. Seduction, thy name is Kayla. He smirked and shook his head picking up his drink giving it a small sip, the amber liquid going down his throat. I was still too young to drink by the laws in the United States....
My mind flashed back to the night before. The passion he showed. The strength, the control. He didn’t lose it with me, he was forceful but calm, arrogant but attentive. It was amazing. But this was a job. It was a mission. The dark angel had told me to take him off his game. Learn his motives. Make sure he had no soul to follow. But as I sat here staring into those sparkling blue eyes. His boyish grin behind the dark beard, there was something different. Something too strong to corrupt.
I reached out and took his hand, my thumb massaging his palm. I used all my tricks. My tongue darting out to run over my lips, a cherry red lip gloss over them making them not only shine but smell amazing. My eyelashes batted up and down, I giggled at his jokes, I smiled and made eye contact, my foot moved up and down his calf under the table. I did everything I could think of and more. But there was something…...off….
He stared at me, his head tilted, his voice low and gruff as he then laughed. Was he mocking me?. Was he onto me?. Did he sleep with me the night before just to prove that tonight I wasn’t the one with the power?. his eyes. Oh god, his eyes. They were emotionless, a void. But not like mine. He had love behind them, a strong feeling of devotion and loyalty to someone to….her…..oh my god….I need to get out of here….
“Yes thank you for last night and tonight...I enjoyed it….”
I got to my feet fast, leaning in to keep up the facade as I kissed his cheek.
“Goodbye….Alex…..”
I turned and made my way out and past the rest of the bar patrons to the street, my high heels slamming against the concrete as my hands fumbled with my phone, my fingers dialed and I waited for him to pick up, he needed to know, he needed the information. My dark angel was being made a fool of, my loyalty to him was not in question but to her?. The loyalty died….how dare she…
“Hello?.....yes I just left him…...no…..no….look listen, she isn’t what she seems Angel…..I could see it in his eyes...feel it….Alex Jones and A-.....yes...alright….of course I love you….”
Snake Pit Poetry.
“I suppose I should congratulate that idiot Pixie for winning that triple threat match. By pinning the waste of space known as Crash Rodriguez. So, congratulations Pixie, you won a match and pinned someone that wasn’t me…now, many would say that in doing so you earned yourself a shot at MY noble championship. But, that isn’t how it works. You’ve come into this company with two wins, but neither of them were over me...and make no mistake, winning that match by pinning the third person in it...is not the same as beating me.”
Her voice was calm and measured. Her British accent shining through as her red painted lips curled into a grin, her heavily made-up eyes with a smokey green eyeshadow slowly opened. The eyeshadow almost matching her emerald green eyes that sparkled like fire as she continued.
“Truth be told, I should backhand you across the face, like a bitch. I mean honestly, you beating me? It’s laughable. It’s as laughable as Jason Long believing he could by attempting for fucking bore me to death.”
“This brand, and this company have some of the most selfish, whiny, useless cunts in all of wrestling at the top. And you Pixie, you would fit in well with them. See, I watched a brother and sister go to war over a championship and make such a big deal out of it and cry like children. If either of my sisters had something I wanted do you think I would shed any tears? No, of course not. And now, the biggest baddest champion in the company is going to a pay per view and not even defending her title and instead facing someone not even in the company…”
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
“People like me are always looked down upon because I dare to tell the truth and the truth is Fallout is dangerous. The entire brand is dangerous and I am the alpha hunter in this fucking jungle. It’s not Elena DeDraca, it’s not Kasey Winterborne, it’s not even fucking Drago. It’s me. And while his booking decisions have been questionable with me as of late, Christian Demarco is still a better GM than Indy Darling, I don’t see him booking himself in matches against my brands top champion to stop him from defending his goddamn title on a pay per view...do you?”
She scoffs and shakes her head, her long black hair flowing as her head moves and a chuckle following the breathy sound.
“Just so we’re clear on this. Proving Ground is hosting a show where only one of their titles is being defended. The least important one, the tag team champions are booked in singles matches, the former Grand champion is hanging about in the mid card, where the “current” grand champion is also floundering whole facing the GM who just vacated his title while the Legacy champion has a match with no stakes that means nothing and the main event is being contested between a pair of choke artists with bad accents….”
“Is that what passes for a pay per view these days?”
“And you dare to call Fallout the “B” show?.”
“You idiots want to know why you should tune into Fallout V and skip shelling out money for the “pay per view”?. Alright I’ll give you all a fucking reason. While Proving Ground has a show called “Public execution”, I’m about to fucking commit one. While “top champions” on that brand get put in nothing matches and don’t defend their titles, I will be sending a fucking message. Now, the rest of Fallout may want to tune into that match and get ready for a show because what I am about to do is a criminal act in all fifty goddamn states of the US, so, we’re lucky this show is taking place in the South American shithole known as Brazil…”
She pauses for a moment and pops a piece of gum in her mouth chewing while looking up to gather her thoughts and wonder if her comments will spark some form of an international incident.
“And who is the victim in this horrible set of circumstances may you ask?”
“Martha Atlas…”
Kayla stops for dramatic pauses that never actually come, her eyes roll before she continues.
“That’s right, tell Batman and Superman I’m ever so sorry, but I’m going to kill Martha.”
And there it was instant regret. She used a nerdy pop culture reference. Now Kayla had the sudden and unstoppable urge to “Dickie Watson” herself. Oh no, I hope Kayla's Twitter doesn’t get reported by someone who looks mysteriously like Kevin Hunter but isn’t..
“Now, Martha hasn’t done anything directly to me to earn such a fate or have my anger directed towards her, but as ever within this company if I lose, or rather, fail to win due to someone else, a message must be sent. And Martha Atlas is just the notebook I will be writing said message upon. See, I am an artist when it comes to what happens in that ring. An artist of violence. And I get it, some of you will sit there and think of that as a pretentious statement. And, it absolutely fucking is. But, ask yourselves. Do I care?”
“Absolutely. Fucking. Not.”
“Just like,l to be perfectly honest, don’t care about your mental state Martha. See you’ve tried to put forward this vision of mental instability and I while I don’t want to go down into Pixie territory after that wood elf little bitch tried to get in my head, but what kind of mentally ill person gets ointo wrestling and uses her fucking Doctor as a manager? Honey, that’s not crazy, that’s not dangerous. That’s just stupid. And the thing is everything you try and be, everything you dream to be...is me…”
“I’m dangerous, I have no soul, no empathy. No kindness, no happiness. I can take you down and break every single bone in your stupid little body and all I will feel is...nothing...I’ll feel nothing. But even that is a lie. See Martha, when that match ends, when I am standing above you and I know I have ended you….there will be a small part of me that smiles...and will be happy…”
