Part 1 - To have loved and lost…

Now that I am here standing at the top of the cliff, I’m not exactly sure what to do next. The wind rushes around me, whipping my hair across my face and rippling the surface of the water below. I glance down at the exercise book-turned-journal in my hands. I started writing here, so it makes sense that I destroy it here. A burning would have been preferable if it weren’t for the fire ban in the national park. I could bury the journal, but someone might unearth it. The only way I can think to make it disappear is by tearing it to pieces. It’s a good thing it’s windy. The journal was psychologist-number-three’s idea. Over the last two years, I’ve imprinted my feelings onto its pages. And the simple fact is, I don’t want to be that person anymore. 𝐼 𝒹𝑜𝓃’𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝓉𝑜 𝒷𝑒 𝒷𝓇𝑜𝓀𝑒𝓃 𝒶𝓃𝓎𝓂𝑜𝓇𝑒.

At the time when I met Dylan, I managed to cover her in coffee, which was definitely not one of my finest moments. I wouldn’t have been surprised if she screamed at me and walked off, which was pretty much the stock reaction in a big city even for lesser crimes…but she was gracious enough to let me buy her a replacement, and we enjoyed each other’s company enough that we agreed to meet again later for a drink. I had no idea of the weight she carried on her shoulders…

The actual name of this place is Mackenzie Cliff, though I don’t know why. Everyone calls it Peace Rock because of the big peace sign graffitied on the front face of the rock. Considering the graffiti sits about five meters above the water, that’s quite an artistic achievement. I don’t know if the graffiti gave the rock its name or the rock’s name inspired the graffiti. Or it could simply be because this place -was- peaceful. That was before me. I breathe in the familiar eucalyptus smell of the bush that surrounds the pool, and close my eyes, listening to the sound of the waterfall. On some days the waterfall gushes, making it impossible to hear your thoughts. Other times, like today, it trickles into the pool. I can sit here for hours. This is the only place where no one expects anything of me, the only place I can’t disappoint anyone. With a deep breath, I open the journal and grab hold of the first few pages. The binding is tight and I have to wrestle them out. Things would be a lot easier if it was a nice spiral-bound notebook instead of a plain writing book. Dr Hayes said because it was so plain, I’d feel free to write without fear of making a mistake. She didn’t consider the implications of her choice on any future journal-destroying undertakings. I was against the idea of the journal at the beginning like journal-must-die sort of against it. It was the most unoriginal idea I’d heard, not only because Dr Hayes was supposed to be an expert in supporting people with amnesia or memory loss – which at first sounded like a WW2 experiment – but also because the sessions were costing more per hour than dinner at one of those expensive restaurants whose menus are full of words like jus and fondant. So I gave it a go.

It was later that evening, when she told me her story. She’d been found, washed up, no memory of her past life. She’d spent the last three years trying, and failing, to put the missing pages of who she was back together. Most everyone she shared that knowledge with didn’t know how to react, often shying away from the situation entirely, so she’d learned to keep it to herself a lot of the time. With me, it was different. In more ways than one.

The first few journal entries contain the word fuck a lot. I tear them in half, then in half again. The wind carries the squares of paper out of my hands before I even have a chance to outstretch my arm. I watched those weeks of my life get swept away over the water and disappear into the trees.

“You need to make some new memories, then”. The words fell out of my mouth so nonchalantly, as if it seemed the obvious solution. After all, to someone who’d spent as long as I had travelling the world, doing something I loved, exploring, adventuring and tourist-ing along the way? It was. To those she’d spoken to before, those forced to live paycheck to paycheck, it maybe hadn’t seemed quite so straightforward.


July 1st, 1863, midday
Battle of Gettysburg, Day One

It was, without doubt, the calm before the storm. General Lee and his army of Northern Virginia had made good progress on day one of the battle. General Daniel Sickles and his III Corps had been ordered to take up position on Cemetery Ridge. A gathering of Union forces double-checked their equipment, and tested their rifles ready for an onslaught. Had the Confederate forces pushed their advantage into the night, it could have been a different story, but instead the soldiers seemed calm, well-rested, and prepared.

The General approaches one of his officers with a slight change of plan.

Sergeant Cross.

Yes, General Sickles?

I need you to take these men and establish us in the peach orchard up there, we want the high ground.

From a few paces away, the conversation catches the attention of another Union soldier, a young female.

Yes sir.

The Sergeant, with one last check of his pack, prepares to move out with the members of his Corp. A voice from behind stops him in his tracks.

Mark?

Don’t worry, Dylan…I remembered my bulletproof cloak this morning.

As he leans in to kiss her on the cheek, he gives her hand a reassuring squeeze.

You’d better come back to me.

I always will.

With a smirk and an almost ironic salute, young Sergeant Cross slings his pack over his shoulder, setting off in the direction of the slope, and the Sherfy family peach orchard.

I flicked through the next few pages of the journal. A lot of them are tear-stained. I don't believe in wiping tears away, I believe in letting them fall. What's the point of crying otherwise? Looking through these pages, I realised how much I wrote, despite my initial feelings. I wrote almost every day, most of the time here at the cliff. It isn't just words that fill these pages; there are pictures I drew, photos I'd taken, useless things I'd found and kept. Beautiful, painful and tragic. And now, all of it has to go. What would Dr Hayes say if she saw me now? She would ask how I feel. And as much as I love Dr Hayes, I hate this question. All psychologists ask it. The answer is never as simple as they'd like to think. Feelings don't line up in a neat row all nicely categorised, like my shoe collection. They're more chaotic and unorganised. The last time I visited Dr Hayes was at the end of the year before she left for the UK to see her daughter and new grandchild. A colleague is filling in for her while she is away, but I refuse to see anyone else. So until she comes back, I'm on my own. When I first walked into her office I was unrecognisable and I still am. I don’t know myself any more now than I did then. My efforts make me breathless, so I stopped for a moment. The birds chattered noisily in the trees around me. I find the noise peaceful. The birds, like the waterfall, never stop. I turn my attention back to the journal and continue tearing out  the pages until I reach a photo. That's how I know that I've come to the beginning. It's in a news clipping from the day I was found. My fingers gripped a handful of pages and pulled them taut. I wish I could slip into the pages of my journal and rewrite everything that happened that night. But there was nothing I could do. My hold on the journal tightens. It's better to erase that part of my life, pretend that it never happened. I tear the pages, into the smallest pieces possible. The wind carries them away like ashes. As I watched them lift higher and higher, I remember the first thing I saw on that night. The water’s edge lapped at my fingertips. Unable to move, unable to breathe. The sound of laughter makes me freeze. I looked towards the bush track that comes down from the car park, but I don't see anyone. I listened carefully, but when I don't hear it again I figure it must have been a bird. It would be around 9 o'clock now. People will start arriving soon with their towels and picnics. I need to finish this. There are only a few pages left clinging to the spine of the exercise book. There are a few recent entries, followed by a couple of crisp white, lined pages. This year can be different. It has to be different, because if it's not, then what sort of future will I have? I shake my head I don't want to think about it right now. All I want to think about is forgetting the past, starting over. In one chunk, I rip out those final pages, rip them up and, like that, they're gone, dancing through the air. I feel I should say something to mark this moment, but everything I think of sounds stupid in my head. The word that comes out of my mouth surprises me. “Jump.” I stand up and move forward until my toes touch the edge. I look at the still water below. “Don't think, just jump,” I say. But I can't make my feet move any more than I can make myself remember.

After three years of little progress, all it took was that one conversation, and a suggestion. An invite to join me at my home in Florida, to tag along on a mini road-trip out to my next planned show in Orlando, see a few sights along the way. It wasn’t romantic at first, I just wanted to help her, and seeing the state I’d fallen in love with through fresh eyes? It wasn’t exactly tough for me…but we fell hard…I found my partner in crime, my travel buddy…someone who could keep up with my crazy, match me every step of the way-


July 1st, 1863, late evening
Battle of Gettysburg, Day One

With the III Corp spread too thin between the Peach Orchard and Little Round Top, gaps formed in the line, making it impossible to hold the higher ground Sickles had so desperately wanted. Sergeant Cross joined in with the artillery battery in the withdrawal, helping to drag the gun backward with every shot, using the recoil of the weapon to aid in the movement.

Back the way they came, however, General William Barkdale and his men had been closing in on the Union position, and on General Sickles’ base of operation near the Trostle barn.

Seeing the position under siege sent the officer on a frenzy, searching for the girl he’d left behind just a day prior. As he found her-

D-Dylan, no…

The war was of little consequence anymore.

Hi Mark.

The battle had raged long, supplies of ammunition had grown scarce, and at times, the fighting had gotten up close and personal. As the Sergeant finally found his lover, it was on the ground, in a slick pool of her own blood, the puncture wound of a Confederate bayonet in her side.

Medic! S-somebody help her! MEDIC!

Desperate, the young man screamed at the top of his lungs. Weak legs finally collapsed as he fell to his knees by Dylan’s side, desperately pressing down against the wound.

They already tried, Mark.

No…no it can’t…

Only one of us is…bulletproof, remember?

I should…I should have given you the cloak…please…please don’t leave me…

Mark, I need you to listen-

Not wanting to believe it, not wanting to watch the life drain from her face, he remained with his head bowed, tears flung from side to side as he shook his head in a futile attempt at denial.

Please don’t-

Mark!

Even in such dire condition, she carried a kind of authority in her voice, the kind that even someone as stubborn as he he might listen to.

S-sorry…

I need you to know, Mark…you gave me my life back. You gave me more hope for my future in two weeks than two years in therapy ever did. You were fucking exhausting, all the time, but I’m so lucky you chose me.

I love you, Dylan-

I love…you…

With her last, dying breath, Mark leaned in, placing a soft kiss on her lips to send her on her way…and with that, she was gone…

They say it’s better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all. Then someone took my Dylan from me, and trust me, if I ever meet the person who coined that phrase? I’ll be telling them to go fuck themselves.

I can’t tell you why…I don’t know, if maybe she just left, disappeared without a trace, recaptured her old memories and decided I absolutely wasn’t for her. I don’t know if someone from her past life, maybe they recognised her, from my social media, that time she made the highlights for slide tackling me on the SCW tour in Europe…I don’t know…but there was no note, no ransom. Her phone was switched off, never came back on again, not even months later, believe me I’ve tried-

In the end, they stopped returning my calls, the police, that is. In the end I guess they got bored of saying it was in the hands of the FBI, that they’d contact me directly.

They never did. The agent I was given as a contact never called me back, never responded to my emails, my attempt to go down to their field office only resulted in being forcibly removed…it was weird.

It was like…I don’t know…I know Dylan was stabbed, when she was found…and nobody wanted to speak to me?

I don’t know…I keep thinking the FBI either lost one of their own…or re-captured someone they REALLY wanted back…but she didn’t seem the type…not a Field Agent or criminal mastermind, she was just…she was just mine…

After our first trip around Florida? Dylan stopped caring about her past, we both did. We focussed on our lives, our futures, our memories that we’d make together.

Maybe I should have done more…

Part 2 - …or to have never loved at all…

Pennsylvania State Memorial
Gettysburg
Present Day

We are greeted by a bright, sunny day in Pennsylvania, the light streaming through the trees as Mark “The Dragon” Cross walks soberly through the National Military Park, arriving a few moments later at the memorial. The monument stands along Cemetery Ridge, marking the Union battle line, and commemorating the 34,500 soldiers who fought across three vital days in the American Civil War.

Now I’m not one for documenting historical sites like this. You see the tour vlogs, to Auschwitz, to Chernobyl, and while nearly two decades in pro wrestling has taught me there’s nothing better than a little cheap heat…to me it always seemed a little disrespectful, the kind of moment you should experience alone.

This time though…I feel like I want to make an exception, because this one…this one hit me in a way that other site so poignant ever has before…maybe it’s what I’ve been going through the last few months, everything finally coming to a head but…umm…the love of my life, she either…she either left, or she was taken, I don’t know. I’ve struggled with that a lot.

I’m still struggling with it a lot.

In truth, I shouldn’t have signed up for this but yet…it feels more important than ever that I am still here competing. Like I’m honouring her somehow.

The thing was, Dylan loved to watch me wrestle. She said it made me look youthful, energised. It wasn’t like I wasn’t energised on a daily basis of course, driving her crazy with my early alarms to train, my impulse purchases, my next crazy project…but she also got to see me behind closed doors, tweezing out the grey hairs, or helping wipe off the black stains on the top of my ears when I’d been a little too exuberant with my bottle of Just for Men.

When I’m in that ring, and when that bell sounds, I transform into that mythical creature, the moniker I adopted from my first, terrible match in front of maybe 20 people, and carried through multiple World titles and crucially? Two Blast from the Past victories. The Dragon does it again. I may talk about the people I’ve lost…people who supported me on this journey, Dylan, my Dad…but I’m not like that Harris boy. Even when they’re missing, presumed dead I’m still not here for anyone but me.

I don’t keep a journal - This is my therapy.

You can rip whole chunks of my heart away from me outside of that ring, and trust me, life has done that more than a few times over the last forty years - But when I step through those ropes? Trust me, I’m completely whole again, and if anything, just a little bit more pissed off at the world with each passing year.

An anger that only kicking someone hard in the face, over and over again, can quell. At least until the next time.

So, like always, I put my head down, and I focus on the next opponent, and to that end, I’m sorry bird man, you didn’t quite get your wish. Artie falls into the clutches of Sean Parker, and you don’t get to make it to the Final. That’s unfortunate. It’s unfortunate, because I recognise that the potential of this match-up SCREAMS for the fanfare of a Supercard. It’s unfortunate, because I like this new conspiracy-theorist side to you…the veil of deception bullshit is way more spicy than the woe-is-me-how-can-I-buy-a-win version of you I faced in that very ring before. After all - You’re a completely different competitor now, completely transformed.

Your only problem? I’m exactly the same as I was back then.

I’ve done the things you’ve failed to accomplish. World title win. Blast from the Past, twice.

I see your big words, your bravado, how you’re going to tear the fucking world apart, how you’re going to rip a person’s whole life to shreds and with that I say welcome to the club. Welcome to the world where you’re finally willing to do everything in your power to get that victory. I think that may be one of the biggest reasons why you’ve started to turn your career around since we last met in a ring. You’re finally realising that it’s not just about working hard, training hard, and wrestling well. Good at the ol’ graps, you said of Ben Jordan, wasn’t it?

You’re finally starting to realise what needs to be done to reach the very top of the pyramid, no matter what the cost. You’re seeing what sets the likes of me ahead of a lot of those other past champions you’ve name-dropped, and to that end…how are things between you and Luna, lately?

Seriously, Lexi-baby-daddy, how have things been going between you two lately, as I can’t help but notice something of a pattern. This new-found determination of yours, this plan you have to pin the whole world’s shoulders to the mat and count 1-2-3, while you chase some form of higher power and enlightenment or whatever…I mean from the outside looking in…I’d say there’s some cracks appearing in the foundations of your relatiobship, right? Little stress fractures that were nowhere to be found when you were Mr. Unlucky, when you were the butt of everyone’s jokes. There are barriers to success, Raven, something has to be number one and after a while…if you push someone to second place…they won’t wait forever for you to realise your mistake, before they walk away from you,

I’ve loved and I’ve lost in my forty years on this earth. Some of you have seen those moments here on Sin City Wrestling…The gun that was held to my head, unless I revealed where I was hiding Micaela, on the run from her ex-husband…Hadley Wyatt…who I’d probably be living the American Dream with right now if only I’d hung up my wrestling boots and accepted that commentary position, taken my retirement plan early…Chase, the fiery redhead that you’ve never met…scared of running off with me to the middle of nowhere, away from prying eyes, knowing the draw of the ring would eat away at me until I couldn’t take it any longer or most recently, to Dylan…my travel buddy, who cemented herself in SCW history for her two-footed slide tackle when I was clowning around with the soccer ball…who I was too busy making happy memories for that I forgot to protect her.

The truth is, though…they knew. They all knew.

They understood my work came above all else, even them…and sometimes, if you truly love someone, you have to let them go to be at their happiest. Even if that happiness isn’t with you.

I’ve sacrificed a lot, Alex, I’ll tell you that. I’ve sacrificed a lot, because I know, deep down in my heart, that I can’t give myself to someone like they give themselves to me. It’s often the case in a relationship that someone loves the other a little bit more…wants them more…needs them more, but I’ve taken that to extremes. I’ve tried to walk away, it keeps pulling me back. I’ve tried to take a lesser role, my results catapult me right back to the top.

I learned a long time ago, anyone who walks into my life will play second fiddle to my career…and until that stops being the case? All I’m going to bring is suffering at the end. Are you prepared to do the same?

I guess for you, Alex, we’re going to see where the future really lies for you on Sunday. I see you standing at something of a crossroads. You veer to the left, you stop being so angry at everyone and everything for contributing to ‘your downfall’...like the universe is all in some WhatsApp group chat and we’re posting our best Raven memes…you go back to being the man Luna fell in love with, maybe you go on another Internet title run, you can still march around and tell us that you transformed the division or whatever…keep a nice work/life balance, all things considered…or you veer to the right. You set about throwing every cheap shot you can, you pull apart relationships, parenting skills, every shitty thing we ever did while we were young and dumb in college, dig into the vices that some work so hard to keep off-camera, and off the radar of the random drug tests. You can prove that you really are ready to do whatever it takes to keep going.

Then you really can prove you’re on my level.

You see you really are just a year removed from that failure to win the World championship…just a year removed from failing to capture that Internet title belt where you looked so dominant for a while, and really, if we’re totally honest with ourselves, that’s your level, right? That’s the space Aiden Reynolds wanted to be in one day, because he recognised right off the bat that it wasn’t in his wheelhouse, not yet. You could push through that, sure, but growth in wrestling, it’s not like a global pandemic, the graph isn’t exponential. There’s periods of plateau-ing, where you start to hit that ceiling.

Are you at your ceiling, Alex? Are you just riding a wave of momentum, knowing it just takes the right calibre of opponent to stop you in your tracks?

You reel off names of your past victories, your past scalps, the men they used to be, and yet-

You don’t mention my name.

Is that because you’ve yet to cut off my head? Is that because you can’t believe you can?

Your new approach, Raven? I mean you’re more than welcome to try…but when things away from the ring are already seven shades of fucked…when I’m training harder than ever before just to distract myself? You can’t do any damage there, and oh, and for my first love, for wrestling, for the gladiatorial spirit? Trust me, that is one area where you definitely can’t get to me. Wrestling’s been my sole focus, my life blood, for longer than you can even fathom. Before this last year, Raven? This was just a job for you. This was money in your pocket so you wouldn’t cry yourself to sleep every week because you lost again. This is a head of steam, a hot streak, a purple patch…and just as quickly as you turned things in your favour?

It could all flip-reverse back the other way.

After all, a giant snowball starts off as something small enough that it can fit in your hands.

Maybe I just need to start the ball rolling, and another year later? You could be the butt of all our jokes again.

Just like that partner of yours, apparently, although for very different reasons.

I’ve heard Alexandra Calaway has a reputation of sorts…where you only have to breathe the wrong way to find a place on her social media block lists…and I guess while there’s two sides to every story, the truth always ends up falling somewhere in between, right? There’s a pattern emerging, it seems, of people who step into this business, hand out a few sharp words, because that’s what they think has to be done, only to throw their toys out of the pram when someone returns the favour and if that’s the case with you, Alex Callaway? You can add me to that list as well, because I’ve already wasted time on Reynolds and Harris, I don’t have the time to mingle with pretenders.

You have to have a thicker skin if you want to step into the wrestling business. Ability can take you places, sure, can’t deny that, but there are a whole host of people who have built careers around not needing to rely on that asset. You can have all the ability in the world, but the industry is full of opponents who know how to obscure the view just enough that the referee doesn’t see the low blow, the eye gouge. You may be able to out-wrestle someone but what if they keep surging forward, trying to maul you with a seemingly endless tank of gas, and that killer instinct burning in their eyes, never letting you get into a rhythm. Your partner’s started talking about doing the very same thing, you know it exists. You can block an opponent who chirps at you on Twitter, purge them from your timeline…but with it? You tell them that they got to you. You have to walk into the same arena, where they connect a not-so-accidental shoulder bump as they brush past. You’ll have their voice in their ear, talking you down the whole time you’re out there, trying to get under that skin of yours, right out there in the middle of the ring, where you need to be at your best.

To me? All part of the game. I expect to receive it, and I can guarantee I’m ready to give it back with interest. To you? Maybe it affects you a little more than most. Maybe it’s a sign you’re not really cut out for this long-term.

While we may not actually lay hands on each other, Alex…you and your partner are in my way, and I’ll repeat what I’ve said before…as my opponent, I’m not going to be fucking nice to you. You’re not going to be exempt, and if I can get a little edge on you…a few days before…at the arena…just before we’re due to walk out there…while I’m working out of your corner, you can guarantee I’ll be taking it.

Can you handle that? Or will you crumble, because you can’t hide behind your block walls out there.

I may sound like a broken record, recycling old phrases to use again, but look at where we are, look at what we’re doing. There’s an irony to this whole tour. The fact there’s so many battlegrounds we can visit, in different parts of the world, from different points in time…we’re only scratching the surface of how deep this runs, and it’s just one huge example of history repeating.

You’ve talked about changing your fortunes with Raven since your last attempt at this didn’t go so well…but let me tell you what HISTORY says is the more likely, what statistics say is the more likely outcome.

You continue to fall before the last hurdle.

Mark “The Dragon” Cross goes on to win yet another Blast from the Past. Thirty plus wins, three Blast from the Past victories, two World title reigns.

I’m not looking to change history here.

I don’t need to.

I just need to play the role I always play, and you and the bird man will just stay true to form.

My place in the final is inevitable.

As The Dragon moves out of shot, we are left with the image of the monument, the choir of bird song, and a feeling of eerie peace, given the history here. The scene fades to black.

“Alright then. Show me.” Luna said.

Sean nodded sombrely as he handed the device to Luna. Her eyes fixated on the swirling mist within. Her mind felt heavy almost instantly. Transfixed to the spot. She heard Sean say something to her. Instructions. The words to say. It was hard to really tell. Something about it all made her stomach feel sick. A part of her mind screams at her to throw the device back at Sean and leave.

Sean had been only sweet to her. She could trust him, right? He wouldn’t do anything to hurt her, or Alex. This was to protect him. She could feel his hand on her shoulder. His eyes too were locked upon the device. At least if this was going to ruin her mind, he was comforting her. There were small solaces in the smallest of actions. Her stomach twisted, but she repeated the words spoken to her.

“Mater et infans.”

She blinked and she was no longer sitting in that bar in Turkey. No, she was in a familiar place. The home she spent years growing up in. Alex’s family home. That hand-built slightly more than a shack building. There was something different about it though. It felt fresh, renewed. The stagnant air of grief and regret didn’t seem to be there anymore. The walls were freshly painted, the carpet new and clean. Out of the corner of her eye she spied the kitchen. It looked like it had been cleaned and cared for. Idyllic.

It was the home they had once spoken of, all those years ago. What Alex wanted for them. Things had changed since then. Cheating, marriages, dead friends and James. Alex’s parents had long since passed away at this point. Yet here she was, standing in this room. Standing in this place that was only ever a dream. Only ever spoken in warm moments of teenage innocence. She heard it then. The soft gurgling of a small child. Alex stepped out from the kitchen, a tiny little creature wrapped up in his arms.

He looked so much happier. His face wasn’t drawn heavy with fears and stress. Instead his eyes are full of life, full of happiness. His hair was long and grown out, the messy mane she adored. His beard shaved down tightly, but framing his face. As much as her brain was screaming at her that this was all wrong, she could barely move. Barely breathe.

In his arms, a tiny little baby. Ringlets of hair cascading down around its face. He smiled, lifting the sleepy little infant, pointing her face towards Luna. The tiny little balled up hands, the sleepy rubbing of the eyes. The goofy toothless smile as it recognised Luna. Recognised its… mother.

“Is that mama? Mama and her friend Sean are here. Violet, can you say hello?” Alex spoke softly. Even though the words were simple, he didn’t baby them up either. Even in an alternate time, space and world. Alex still talked to everyone the same, be they six months or sixty years old. She could feel the tears welling in her eyes. She could feel Sean’s hand slip from her shoulder. Letting her live in that moment. Letting her step towards Alex and the baby. To the daughter she wished with every part of her soul could be real.

Alex stepped into her, and they awkwardly shuffled Violet out his arms into hers. She so desperately wished right now that her mind wasn’t swimming. That she’d had a couple less drinks, and that she wasn’t on the borderline of being slightly too tipsy. She held the baby all the same, her eyes full of tears. She turned toward Sean, holding the small child.

“Violet, we always said if we had a girl. We’d call her Violet…” Luna managed to squeak out. She knew this couldn’t be real. Her mind was telling her that this was all an illusion. Some magic fuckery from that cultish creature Vita Mors. A distortion of the truth, playing on her deepest desires. Yet as much as she tried to validate it to herself. To try and tear down the scenario in her mind. To tell herself this couldn’t be. Not now, not ever. There was a part of her that wondered if this was something that could occur. What payment could one make to change their reality to that of what they want.

Would she even want to truly do that? This may have been her dream, but she married Alex as he is now. They’d long since deluded themselves into believing they didn’t want children. His vasectomy was a convenient cover. A cover for the truth that Alex had found out long ago with Lauren, that he was sterile. Nobody was more hurt at the idea than Alex. Anybody who asked, he was so certain that he didn’t want kids. That might even be the case now. Adoption didn’t resonate with him, and she was never certain why.

Seeing him in this moment, it made it somewhat clearer in her mind. It wasn’t that he was so against it. It was that he was so destroyed by the idea that he never would be able to have a kid of his own. Seeing his face, the life in him. The happiness in the man she loved. Or at least, a representation of that. She could instantly understand. What she would give to change everything. To fix the wrongs of their own world and universe. To make them a fucking family.

“I don’t want to leave.” Luna mumbled to herself, sitting in a nearby chair. Holding the baby, staring into her tiny gorgeous little face. Her own eyes looking back at her. She had Alex’s features, his nose, his jaw and even his hair. The eyes however? They were like staring into a mirror. Staring into her very own eyes. Her heart panged, and the waterworks fell. Alex had strolled off back to the kitchen. Maybe he was cooking? She didn’t know. She didn’t really care. She didn’t ever want to leave this moment.

She looked at Sean, and did her best to suppress the tears. To stop crying in front of this person she barely knew. This person who was making her see her biggest dreams. Making her live her biggest, most perfect and wonderful dream. The person she thought was her friend, who was showing her something she’d never have. It was then the anger began to bubble. To boil-over. Why did Sean do this to her? Why would he make her see something this impossible?

There was resentment in her eyes.

Her mind was struggling. Struggling to understand everything. It knew this wasn’t real, but the longer she stayed in the moment. The longer she spent sitting there, the quieter that part of her brain became. The harder it became to differentiate. A knock at the door. A shattering of the silence. Another moment in time, another thing to understand.

“I’ve got one of my arms elbow deep in a chicken’s ass in here, the doors open! Come in!” Alex yelled out from the kitchen. The front door opened a few seconds later, not far from them. Her back was to the door, but she broke her eyes away from Sean just for a moment. To see who it was. Her heart broke at that moment.

Leather jacket, skinny jeans, an incredibly out of style black deep cut v-neck, long unwieldy mane of dark brown hair, and the same eyes. The Pasilno eyes. The soul-piercing, water freezing and thousand yard stare of the Pasilno family. She’d buried her brother. She’d seen him slowly fade away into death. Yet here, here in this perfect place. In this world where she had a baby. Baby Violet, with a warm, alive and happy Alex. In this already perfect world, her brother. Her brother had never fucking died.

She was rooted to the spot, but that didn’t matter. The person wearing her brother’s face beamed a flashy smile at her. His eyes met with Sean’s for a moment. An extended smile, as he strolled over. Long gangly steps from the 6’8” man. He placed a kiss to the top of Luna’s head, gave a gentle caress of the cheek to the baby, and nodded at Sean. In this world, everything was perfect. In this world… she was happy, and life hadn’t fucked them over. Life hadn’t stolen their family from them. Life hadn’t dangled baby Violet in their face, and it hadn’t ripped her best friend away.

She looked at Sean once more, and shook her head slowly. The tears were still hanging in her eyes. She was broken. Despite all the happiness and peace, in that moment. She was broken.

“I want to go home now.” Luna mumbled. She looked down at the baby in her arms. Felt her brother’s hand on her shoulder. The gentle squeeze. His strong hands. His comforting hands. She looked at Sean and waited. Waited for them to go home.

“Veni domum.” Sean said.

It felt like only a second. Her head snapped back, tears hanging heavily on her face, her eyes wet. She looked away from the weird little device Sean had and sucked in a deep breath. She could still feel her brother’s hand on her shoulder. Feel the warmness of the kiss on the top of her head. The heaviness of the baby in her arms. Yet, she was sitting at some random bar in Turkey, with a half eaten chicken burger and an array of empty beer bottles and a hardly touched mimosa.

“Why the fuck would you do that to me?” Luna said shakily, her mind struggling to adjust to reality. Her mind was shaken. Her breathing heavy and her body hollow. What she had thought was going to be simple trickery, had done everything it could to taunt her. Taunt her with a world she would never fucking have.


“Might as well call me a psychic at this point. Day one, I said that this was going to be my year. Though it may have started off just a touch rocky, things are all coming up Luna. Ignoring the waste of space and enhancement filler that is Justin Smith, I am the hardest working bitch in all of Sin City. The first bombshell to reach double digits in matches for the year. After this week? I’ll be one step closer to Kayla Richards and that World Bombshell Title, and then. Nobody will be able to question Luna fucking Pasilno.”

“See, I’ve proven, week in and week out. That I am the bitch to watch. That I am the woman who is taking the reigns in Sin City Wrestling and showing everyone what it means to be a true fucking talent. First round it was Kat Jones, and we put her in her fucking place. Out to pasture like any other nobody hack who thinks they can stop me. This was right after ending little miss Marlowe’s goddamn career. Sending her to the glue factory and getting one last iota of use out of her nobody ass. Then, last week. The bad child Roux was put in front of me. The adopted nobody sibling of Courtney Pierce. The woman who was going to tell her story, except… oops. When it came to actually standing on her own two feet?”

“The bright lights were all she could see.”

“But it’s alright, you know? I get it. It’s hard to step up to people who have more experience. She wasn’t confident, she didn’t think this was going to take her places. This was just to shun the naysayers. To quiet those who wiggle and worm their way to the top to keep pretty little kiddies like her and me down here in the mucky muck. The most unfortunate thing for little Roux, was that she had to carry big old Billy boy. Except… Billy boy wasn’t the loser. That’s got to do wonders for her confidence. The late blooming lady, and her rising star partner put the boots to the ungrateful little bitch and the nostalgic bulldog. Which brings us here.”

“To sweet little Artie, and the woman with the ability to actually carry a nobody to the apex, Kallie Reznik. Unfortunately for Artie and Kallie, there weren't any good or safe options for them this week. If it wasn’t Sean and I, it was going to be Calaway and my sweet dear husband, Alexander Raven. Hell, I might not like them, but… Cross and Eiley? They’d have eaten you and Artie alive little miss Reznik. And as much as Artie wants to prove he can stand on his own two feet. As much as Artie wants to take the power of what this opportunity can give him. To be the next J2H of Sin City Wrestling, oh sweet baby angels. The dream ends here.”


“This journey of hope and discovery? Of being good enough in the eyes of your betters? It ends here. It ends with me. It ends with Sean. And I’ve got so many more things to say to you, dear Artie. But first. We need to pay attention to Kallie, don’t we? The other half of the Australian sweetheart, Aiden Reynolds. I actually think I quite like you, Kallie. You seem to be someone who gets tarred with the brush of association. Just like me. People hating on the woman who just wants to prove she can tango with the salsa dancers. Connected in nothing but association of the associated with our world champions, Finn Whelan and Kayla Richards.”

“I feel for you, darling. I feel for you because I know what it feels like. I know how it feels to be considered less than simply because of who you throw your lot in with. Simply because of a short-coming here or there. Oh, lover, I do so understand. I’m Loopy Luna, Alexander Raven’s hanger-on. The transition queen. The bipolar Harley Quinn of Sin City Wrestling. Mind you we’ve got literal fucking nutbags like Juliana DiMaria walking around having weekly mental breaks, but, I’m the crazy one? I’m the crazy one for wanting to stand on my own. To be the one with the eyes on her. To be seen for what I am, and not brought down because of who I am with.”

“So, I see you, Miss Reznik. Oh darling, I know exactly what it is like to be you. Championships? Ignored for the sake of an argument. Victories? Forgotten in the face of a seemingly embarrassing defeat. Acknowledgement? Never, because that would invalidate their vanity, and girl. I am quite fucking familiar with vanity. The sweet vainglorious, masochistic and delusional Luna Pasilno. She’s just fucking full of herself, right? But there’s a world of difference in what you’re stepping into now, compared to what you’ve done.”

“Konrad Raab and Bea Barnhart? That was a shoe-in. Could’ve thrown Artie and a random member of the audience, and they’d have walked their asses from corner to post. Justin and Cordy? The only thing threatening about that was the shrill voice of Cordelia, and the loss of brain cells that come with Justin every time he opens his fucking mouth. Easy street is what you’ve had so far, Kallie. Some easy wins to boost your confidence back up. Now? Now you’ve got some real teeth to contend with. Now you’ve got a real bitch in the fight. Someone who can match you for speed, for athleticism. Someone who doesn’t mind getting a little rough and tumble and messing up a cute little lady’s fucking face.”

“So maybe you go and talk to Finn. Maybe you even go and talk to whoever is trying to get Artie in ship shape for this match. Maybe you get Aiden to show him how to get beaten up and beaten down. Learn a few things, and maybe. Just maybe, you’ll be able to help each other walk out of the ring. Sean may not be the same killer, but he’s a fighter regardless. The fairy tale ends with us. The real future winners of this whole damn shebang. And then you can look at what Kayla and I go on to do. You can look at what we do in order to make sure that the Bombshell Women’s Championship means something.”

“Presumptuous that it’ll be Kayla, I know. I think both of us are of the same opinion though, aren’t we, Kallie? Juliana had her time, and she got shown the fucking door. Fizzle and sizzle, and she’ll fall apart. Lord forbid she actually wrestle from time to time. Outworking and outpacing everyone, not dropping a single mixed tag match this year, being the one to win them over and over. And Juliana thinks she can talk her way through things. Not on our watch, right Kallie?”

“I guess it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter what your stance on it is at all, because at the end of the day. When it comes down to you or me. When it comes down to Sean or Artie. The answer is the same every single time. Here are your winners and advancing to the finals of the Blast from the Past tournament, Luna Pasilno and Sean Parker. The only opinion in the end that counts? Mine.”

“Which is why I need to address our sweet little amateur. Our boy with big dreams, and a heart of gold. The wimpy little stick of a husband to the perpetual gag relief that is Bobbie Dahl. It’s sweet little Artie. The boy who thinks he can. The boy who is going to learn that he most definitely can fucking not. The boy who is going to step to the plate, get knocked for fucking six and hopefully? Never gets back in the ring. Learns his place, learns his ability. Learn from this unfortunate mistake and fluke? It was always going to end poorly. I might like Kallie, but you Artie?”

“I don’t fucking like you.”

“I don’t like you because you don’t deserve this. You don’t deserve to be here. You don’t deserve to pretend like you belong. You didn’t earn anything. You didn’t work, you haven’t done a single fucking thing except sit there and support someone better than you. Hypocrisy I know, but at least in this case its fucking true. If Bobbie couldn’t get there with fucking Peter Vaughn, what chance do you have? Take your whipping, your bumps and your bruises. Take it all, and fucking walk away. Don’t ever disrespect me, Sean or any other person who works themselves to the bone for this business.”

“I end another story this week. Oh, and remember this.”



“Luna… I’m sorry.” Sean had said as she gathered her things. She didn’t want to be there anymore, and she had stormed off.

They had gone on to win that week. Nobody the wiser. Tandem finishers again, another win chalked up to her. An undefeated tear for The Conspiracy. Both herself and Alex hadn’t lost a tag team match all year. But she didn’t want to be there. Not that night. She didn’t want to have to tag with someone who she thought could so callously try and upend her life. The worst part? She thought she was finally making a new friend. Someone who didn’t hate her for simply existing. For simply being who she was.

She’d taken the trek out to see Alex after that. They’d been inseparable since. Post match they had just left. Found out where they were bound for next, and just up and left. She couldn’t push the images from her mind. The happier husband, the living brother and beautiful child. These were all just constant images now. The worst part of it? She knew it wasn’t real. That it couldn’t be. That this was a manipulation to get to Alex. Sean had at least been honest enough to be straight out with the truth.

“Do you think, one day, things will be normal again?” Alex asked. His voice pulled her out of her fugue. Pulling her out of the haze in her head. They’d made a trip home. Stopped off at Adrienne’s to pick up their dog. Half a bottle of whiskey deep each, and a half full of ash tray. It seemed tonight they were both living in their heads. Alex had kept things rather close to his chest lately. She wasn’t entirely sure why, until that day with Sean.

She could understand it now.

“Define normal.” Luna said back with a snort, as she poured herself another shot, and one for Alex. He’d been nursing a mixer for a little while by the looks of it. The ice had all but completely melted. Seems they were both messes this week.

“Say, circa 2015?” Alex said, nodding to himself a little. He knocked back the last little bit of his drink, pouring the shot into the now empty glass. Another coke and whiskey mixer, no ice this time. Probably for the best.

“The year you got your head bashed in so much in a match they thought they were going to have to remove a chunk of your skull?” Luna asked quizzically in response.

“Simpler times, really. That Syco girl was an interesting one. Weird priorities, but I could get behind it. Her girlfriend though? Batshit.” Alex said, placing another coke and whiskey in front of Luna this time. At the very least, they were going to sleep well tonight, tomorrow morning and then be insufferably grumpy for the next couple days.

“I don’t think your definition of normal is what most people would say is normal.” Luna said softly, knocking back the shot she had poured for herself. A fresh cigarette was placed to her lips. The flash of a lighter and a quick lighting. A long, sharp and harsh drag. Blowing it out her nose in a waterfall of smoke.

“Maybe not, but life was a little bit simpler. World champion, seen as a leader, fall, become the True and the False. If anything, there was some real growth. I’d say less magic men, but realistically? We had those wannabe Vampires running about, Corey Bull and Salazar were a bit off-kilter at the best of times. It was a strange time.” Alex rambled on. He was avoiding being in his own mind. Some kind of internal conflict. She could see the worry in his face. The stress in his eyes. The strain in his voice.

“I don’t think I’d go that far back. Maybe just last year. No Sullivan in prison, you and Harrison still butting heads and not somehow weirdly getting along like you do now. Jimmy freshly opening this place. Maybe we’ll keep Adrienne, because she’s good value. I think that’s what I’d define as normal.” Luna said, lowering her head to rest on the bar top.

“You mean you don’t want to be hiding away in Australia helping us run Raven’s? You’d get to meet little Adrienne all over again. I think that could be fun. Though, if I had it my way? I wouldn’t have sold the original bar. I would’ve stuck it out. Normal.” Alex said, and then his phone buzzed. He didn’t instantly recognise the number, but Luna did. She glowered. Why was phone number permanency a thing for her?

“Don’t answer that. It’s Sean.” Luna said, taking a long sip of her drink, and then another long and harsh drag of her cigarette. Alex cocked an eyebrow in response, and let it go to voicemail. They sat there for a moment, before it stopped ringing. The voicemail message coming through. She rolled her eyes as he unlocked it and pressed play.

“Hey, Raven…um it’s Sean, Sean Parker. Look, I know we haven’t talked a lot. Hell, I think the last time we were in the same room, you were trying to cleave my head in two in Cambodia… anyway… look, I really need to talk to you, it’s about Vita Mors… call me back, please.” The message played out. Alex and Luna simply looked at each other.

“You know, it’s funny. I remember going to see him. I remember being in his office. I remember how much he looked like James. But I don’t remember much else. Next thing I knew, I was just standing there. Standing in that ring. Taking Jamie Dean apart. Then we were in Vimy Ridge.” Alex said, lighting his own cigarette. He looked off into the empty bar, his mind working things over. She knew it wasn’t the full story, but he also wasn’t lying. That might be why he was in such a state. His mind was hiding things from him.

“Sean showed me this thing. I don’t know what it was. But it felt so real, you know? I saw us in that house. Like we used to talk about. Jimmy was still alive. Fuck, I can still feel his hand on my shoulder, you know? I could smell my brother again, for just a moment. But now it’s all I can think of. And…” Luna began to trail off.

“And there was a baby.” Alex said, like something clicked in his head. Puzzle pieces falling into place.

“How did you know that?” Luna asked. Alex looked at her, and shook his head a little.

“I put on his mask. I saw everything.”

And then…