When led by a fool, the foolish become emboldened.
Never more could the Syrian Bombshell known as Parand Ara testify that truth than when she returned to the United States which was now under the leadership of the reality star Donald Trump. Trump, a man that pushed the limits during his campaign, using the foul stench of hatred and fear of the people of the United States to push his campaign for the Presidency to the winner's circle.
"Is she really going to fly on the same flight as us?"
"I hope they check her luggage!"
"If she gets on that jet, then I won't! I'll complain!"
She heard it all since she first set foot into the states, and as Parand Ara walked through the airport terminal, the whisperings only grew louder and more frequent, and the angry, distrustful stares more emboldened. Of course these ignorant swine would look upon her with such distrust, even when not warranted. Their leader, the orange swine, fed them everything they wanted to hear to justify the racism that was underlying the land, waiting to sweep the people up in its rampant path of destruction. Of course, that was only a matter of time. It wouldn't have mattered whether Hillary had defeated him in `16 or not.
Not that she stood a chance, really. She may have had the popular vote, from Parand's understanding, but the 'good ol' boys' in the Electoral College was not going to allow woman in office. Especially one they could not control.
"Do they check who is under that hood?"
"What do they think they're doing, selling a ticket to a terrorist?"
Parand paused in the line for the security check, and turned her head and immediately knew the one who had uttered that vile insult. The older man, stomach hanging over his belt and jowls dangling comically from his neck like a turkey waddle, had the decency to flush having been overheard, yet he still stiffed his lower lip practically up to his nose in a faux sense of self righteousness. She stared him down, unafraid of the ignorant, until the line started moving again.
Parand paused to remove her slippers from her feet as everyone else were doing as they stepped up to the security scans, and placed her luggage on the conveyor belt to go through the x-ray.
Contrary to what some might believe or wonder, no. Parand Ara did not return to Syria after her wrestler career in SCW was cut short due to an undisclosed injury. It was one of the few, rare kindnesses she had been shown by the higher ups in the promotion, most notably Mark Ward. He had arranged for her to work behind the scenes as a production agent, showing a remarkable skill for the job that few appreciated. And even when SCW had temporarily closed its doors, Mark had laid groundwork at her feet to keep her employed so that she still not need return to the war-torn country.
She had no real need to return to the ring if that were her choice, but now with recent events in her native land, she again felt a need to prove herself. Plus, she was still fighting hard for a personal reason, for something left back in Syria that she wanted brought here. She could have went to Mark as he had been so forthcoming in his help, not that she desired or deserved it. This was something far more personal, something she and she alone would be responsible for.
"Excuse me, miss?"
Parand turned to the security agent at the end of the line, an older woman of color who gestured toward her bags.
Security Agent: "Could you step to the side, please? We need to check your luggage."
Parand bristled, as she lone had been singled out under the guise of a random check.
Parand Ara: "Of course you do."
She picked up her luggage case and followed the two agents, feeling the smug senses of satisfaction on the bigots still in line.
"What did you think would happen when you drew the short straw amongst your fellow... Bombshells, Seleana Zdunich? Did you do something to offend your superiors or the match making committee? The travesty you must feel, being set against the Syrian Terrorist inside of the ring! And a match to take place, where exactly?"
"In a den of debauchery, no less. In a place filled with drunken revelry where men force their attentions on the dancing, giggling fools that attract their lust with skin showing from top to bottom. Harlots who tease and titillate, then laugh at the poor fool's expense when they show their interest. Teases, they would be known as. Women whose tops are too low and skirts too high. Sluts who wish nothing more than to draw the eye to their bodies as a sense of satisfaction, knowing their are lovely and desired. Yet when you call them on their actions, they are affronted and offended."
"Call a slut a slut, and you become the guilty party."
"And then there is you, Seleana. The betrothed to the reigning Internet Champion, a title that now more than ever falls into the realm of obscurity. The soon-to-be-bride of Crystal Hilton, or is it Christina Rose? Is she even certain any longer? Bottom line, engaged to another woman."
"However, your own path to destruction is hardly my concern. What matters most to me is what lies immediately ahead of my own two feet; you, inside of the SCW's six-sided ring. The first to soon fall before me as I begin my path to showing the ignorant, the light. To show that loose breasts and open legs are a path of filth so many women rely on to get their way and get ahead in the world. Consider yourself lucky, Seleana. For even your God required a sacrifice every now and then. For me, you are my very own means to an end."
"And I do appreciate your generous contribution."
The security agent handed her luggage back and Parand pulled it hard from their grip and turned to move further into the terminal, ready to take flight and head to Nevada.
"Let the first casualty be brought forward."
