Hanging On A Wire
Life has a way of dragging you down into the murky undersurface of the oceanic chemical compound famously known as H20. One minute you’re fighting against the grain, trying to keep an equal footing while bitches are doing all they can to give gravity a helping hand in pushing you back down to the bottom of a never ending cesspit of humanity.
You feel like you have this chance to truly be on an equal footing, that you’re gaining traction, little by little pushing against the natural order of life and the universe. You’re winning and getting closer to your inevitable goal of happiness and your quest is almost coming to fruition. If only you can make that last step, that last giant leap against your vacuous foe only for this cruelly devised world to throw a massive monkey wrench at your face.
But was it the world who did that?
NO!
It was Jessie Goddamn Salco.
It’s all part and parcel of the game we play. We all know the rules, the ways you can be blindsided and the curve balls thrown your way. No one has a divine right to claim victories, no one has a perfect record and no one can pretend they are invincible as not a soul can ever claim that to be a correct assumption.
In all walks of life there are the winners, the climbers of the echelons, the low rung wannabes. We all fit a certain criteria that has been created for us and that we are supposed to adhere to. A life of ordinary positional and humdrum order that we must follow by decree of the rich and powerful but do we want to stand and take that shit show of an empty and unfulfilled existence? Jessie had a split second in which to decide the way fate’s finger would point. She knew that, as she was slipping, she was being dragged back to her former life of anonymity, of a baseless existence on the bottom of life’s ocean.
Fair play. She was not going to go down alone. She was going to take someone with her into her meaningless life and thus she brought true meaning to herself. Only the downtrodden, the true bottom feeders like Jessie, could imagine a life of decadence and debauchery that came with making someone else suffer like she had. Only then could she climb over them and make her ascent to something more spectacular so she chose to grab that foot as she descended, to take her foe out of the game and then she could climb over her to stop those wheels from spinning forever more.
She had been successful in dragging Maki with her and using her to climb back on that ladder but did she not expect retribution? Did she think the greatest signing in the company’s history would just sink at the bottom of that pool to never return again or was it simply the case that she was really embracing the mindfulness lifestyle of purely living in the present and not heeding any repercussions in the future for her actions?
The real fact of the matter had been that yes Jessie caused her to fall into the pool and yes she had lost because of the actions of that simpleton but when she had signed up for this match she knew the outcome was one of many possibilities and this was one such scenario. Well played Jessie. If she was not going to win then she would take out the one person who would take that Roulette Bombshell Championship from Seleana. It was always going to be her or Seleana and everyone knew who would win that match. Yet, she had been robbed of another title but in the end it was all just for attention and in the grand scheme of her career it would not matter.
Yet, it gnawed at her how she had been treated, how Jessie had gone about her business. This was not a defeat as she hadn’t submitted or been pinned. All she had done was been dragged into the water. So therefore Seleana had still yet to pin her but that was a moot point and she would leave the champion alone for a while as she had to get compensation for what Jessie had done otherwise how could she ever be taken seriously? It is not revenge. It is about returning the favour and it shall be returned a thousand fold.
Your Heart is too Sweet to Die - A Flashback
In the year of Melissa Aki’s nineteenth anniversary of being on this planet she had been in America, training, wrestling small shows, trying to gain notoriety but all she had been known for was the Japanese surname with the English accent. Bookers had tried to make her out as the new rising Japanese sensation and boy when she grabbed that microphone she had been pure hatred for America. Talking about England but despite the creative direction forced on her she never ever claimed she was Japanese but they made her change her surname to Aki as no one would ever buy her as a Korean British wrestler. They had even tried to get her to fake an accent but she was awful at them anyway. She even spoke Korean with quite the south london accent and whenever she went to Seoul they all remarked how great her Korean was which always made her laugh.
She was obviously living her dream. That is what she told her family and her bratty and bitchy little sister too. How many people had told their parents they were off to live their dream only to find themselves homeless or whoring for the latest fashionable drug to abuse? It’s a tale as old as time yet even if her living quarters were not the best and Texas was not the place for an Anglo-Asian teenager to call home amongst the racism and stereotype racial filing they attested to her, she had found that Austin was a decent city to live in. She planned on moving to New York or Boston eventually as she had family there but she knew what she wanted to do and this was the best place for her development and if you need to harden up there is no better place than Texas to grow up in.
She felt lonely a lot and in these times she wanted someone to cry with, laugh with, cuddle and motivate her but she had to do all that on her own. She was not without admirers but they were all disgusting people she didn’t even want to breathe the same oxygen as them. As she sat in her room which was her whole living quarters her measly little flip phone buzzed. She just didn’t feel like moving in the Texas heat, not even to grab her phone. She noticed the number. Si her coach was calling. Wonderful.
“Hey Si. How’s it going?”
“Hey Melly. You’re supposed to be at the gym already. Where are you?”
“It’s like a million degrees and I don't have an AC machine. I am melting into my sofa.”
“That is no excuse. Do you want to make it in this game? You have to prepare like it’s life or death.”
She sighed, “Fine. If my shitty car can get me there I will be over in an hour.”
“Make it ten minutes.” He hung up and she cursed which took a lot of warm air into her lungs and she coughed. Bloody coaches.
Later that day, she had finished training with another rookie called Sheila as she was Australian, obviously. They had traded moves and she had shocked Si and the other coaches when out of nowhere she had landed a Roundhouse kick that had knocked Sheila out cold.
They scolded her but also she could see the light in the eyes of the coaches and the management of ACW or Austin Championship Wrestling to give them their correct name. This was the first time she had used the move outside of England and they loved it. Her dexterity and striking ability had always shone through but people loved a superkick or a powerhouse move so she hadn’t used it.
Bobby Houston, the head booker and owner of ACW, called her into his office. It was tiny, with a small desk, a phone, some papers and a very uncomfortable chair. She had just popped out of the shower and got changed. She sat in the chair and was combing through her long black hair as he appraised her like all men do. Tits are okay, cute bum, nice long legs, good looking. Like all men appraise every woman they come into contact with. Shaggable or not shaggable is always their criteria.
“Thanks for coming here, Melissa.” He continued to appraise her chest. “We have had a few people call from Dallas who want you to be part of their show. What do you think?”
She smiled, thinking of going somewhere more cosmopolitan like Dallas. Her mum used to love that show and watch so many reruns but to her it was more about getting some acclaim which vindicated her decision to come here from London.
“Oh are you okay with that?”
He leaned back in his chair and it banged against the wall behind him but he didn’t seem to notice or care. “You’re on a rolling contract, remember? It will be a great exposure for us and we have thought about doing more projects together so it is win win for us.”
“Why me, though? I mean, Sabbatacus is the star here so why not him or Linda Ronda?”
“They want a Jap. You’re a Jap and you speak perfect english.”
“I AM NOT JAPANESE! I speak perfect English because I AM ENGLISH!”
She stood up, infuriated at this racial profiling all the time. It was wearing her down.
“Sit down, Melissa. Please.”
She shook her head and stared daggers at him before slowly sitting down again.
“Those legs. Anyway, you can fake it, right? You’re Asian so just pretend. It’s like a month’s money for you for one gig.”
She just stared at him.
“Do you have a Kimono or something? They have asked if you do. Okay, am sure we can rustle up something. I have wondered for a while, what killed that glint in your eyes when you first arrived here? They don’t want some pissed off Jap. They want a happy, clappy smiling one to face their big heel that is getting some buzz.”
She decided to ignore the Japanese aspect for now. “I ain’t enhancement talent. I know my worth and I am killing it here and we both know it.”
He sighed and lit a cigar, puffing the smoke directly into the fan which then hit her face with that disgusting odour.
“Want to know why I am mad all the time? So many reasons. My heart is shattered and splayed out on every mat for the morons to devour week after week. I sold my soul to be the very best I can be for leering men and women who want to beat me up in a back alley because their fellas want to bang me.
You want to bang me like the rest. You’re all god damn leeches. I am some sexy cash cow for you and it pisses me off. I miss my friends and family. I miss England. I do not want to admit I failed. I am in pain almost all of the time and you knob jockeys want me to get addicted to pills or drink so you can further control me. That's enough reason for you?”
He stared at her for a few seconds as he puffed on his cigar. He poured himself a whiskey, sipped at it in between puffs. All the while staring at her body and not her face.
“You’re a sweetheart. We all know it here. All the girls rave about how nice you are to them without asking for anything in return. The coaches say you just do what they ask and do it amazingly well. I think it is time you tapped into that. Be the person you are and not this beaten down version. Your heart is too sweet to die. Let it shine through.”
She rolled her eyes, “My heart is no longer beating. It’s done and please don’t give me that bullshit. I am not a sweetheart. Not at all. I am a narcissistic, evil bitch. I tried to kill my little sister not once but four times because she got more attention than me due to her aspergers. So do not give me this bullshit. You didn’t even have a response to the rest of my speech? Figures!”
He leaned forward, this time staring at her face. “ You’re a god damned sweetheart who wants everyone to think she is some sort of badass. In that ring for sure you are. Outside of it you’re not. We need a babyface for that match in Dallas and you’re it. Channel your real self and not this mask you keep portraying. Pack your bags. I already agreed on your behalf. The match is in three days so you better get going, kid.”
She thought about kicking him but even with her height and being in an enclosed space, she didn’t think she could reach him but she could slam his head on the desk but then she would need to touch his sweaty, fat head. She got up, kicked the chair against the wall and left the tiny office without once looking back but she knew he was staring at her arse.
As she drove home, in the crazy Austin traffic she thought back to his words. He called her a sweetheart. She hadn’t been called that in a long time. Was she a sweetheart or was she born incorrectly? Maybe the mask was that of the nice girl next door and the true face was the pissed off bitch that everyone manipulated for their own gain. One thing was for sure, when she hit that ring in Dallas she was going to knock that heel out and she was going to win and then drive to Boston and start again. This sweetheart was going to show the world you don’t mess with her more than once and she would be successful. She had to be. Ride or die, mother fecker. Ride or die.
The Sweetest Lie
Sitting on a hill in some barren wasteland in the glorious state of Nevada, Melissa Aki, was drinking her raspberry and cranberry vitamin water. Her face was damp with residue sweat from her bike and hike. She was wearing her classic pink aviators, her hair tied back in a very tight and high ponytail. She didn’t have any makeup on and her hiking gear was sodden with the effects of the hike. She looked down into the valley below as she calmed her breathing.
She turned her head to the side and saw something growing out of the desolate, clay filled ground. Two plants had managed to survive. One looked very green and happy while the other one, a hue of light green who had seen better days.
“Nature is a wonderful thing. In itself the word nature and how we speak of it is preposterous. We act as if it is some other form of life or some errant omnipotent being who causes destruction and beauty out of the chaos it brings. We class it as a Mother who creates life but also hands down her punishment on her wayward children. This is not correct. We, as a human race, not the colour of our skin but an actual race of animals, we exclude ourselves from this viewpoint. There is us and there is nature but aren’t we all a part of nature? The way we see ourselves is pure arrogance and the sweetest lie to make ourselves seem stronger than we actually are.”
She held the two flowers in her fingers, careful not to pull them from their roots. She drank some more vitamin water and a slight burp escaped from her. She giggled. If only someone had been here to hear it.
“Like these two flowers, one prospering where it shouldn’t and one in slight decay, we focus on the pretty one, standing tall with vibrant colours; the wilting one we discard like yesterday’s instagram post. Yet, we do not see the roots underneath holding on to the nutrients from the soil. What is wrong with this picture I have created in your mind?
The weed, the horrible, mean, pretty flower, is destroying and strangling the once glorious, peacocking flower from beneath the surface. The one you all care about is the evil one while the peaceful and happy one is slowly dying but it is trying to fight off that mean spirited one, her energy is dropping and she wilts in the hot Nevada sun.
Which one of these two iridescent natural beings am I in this story of the natural world? Go on. I will give you a few seconds to decide. Naturally, being the conceited human I am, you would probably state that I am the one fighting against this cruel being who usurped my position in this rocky clay terrain, correct? See now you’re wondering if I am the pretty one as we’re such a superficial race it could make you think that was the case too.”
She takes another swig of her vitamin water and smiles as she fusses with her hair coming loose from her ponytail.
“You see, myself or Marlowe could be either of them in all eventuality. I am neither, I am both, I am one or the other. You have already made your mind up about me. It doesn’t matter who I am to your own warped image you have of me. Yet, in this scenario I am the weed, glorious, self sustaining, slowly taking the life of the one who was here before me, taking what I want and diminishing you to the annals of natural history.”
Another smile, another swig as the water is almost gone, beads of sweat on her forehead. She then rips up both the weed and the wilting flower from their roots and tosses them over her shoulder.
“I have done it all, seen it all and heard from so many people like good ol’ Sam Marlowe. I can even guess at what she will say about me, what she will say about herself, what she has done before blah blah blah. Anyone can do that trite bullshit, you know? I can state how many titles I have won, how I am the greatest signing to Sin City in its history. I could talk about how I have only been beaten properly once. I could say all these things but unlike, Marlowe, I am not claiming to be a sweetheart, I am not claiming to live in the past. I live in the present moment at all times. You can live off the back of these so-called achievements but you will not use me to make that leap back into the big time. If you dare to piggyback off of me I will take great pleasure in slowly tearing you apart just like that flower.”
She crossed her legs in the lotus position and exhaled loudly, holding her breath and then repeating. Meditation was her way of controlling her mind from running away with her thoughts.
“You’re not the first returning superstar I have had to face and you probably won’t be the last. So many times I have signed a deal whether long term or for cameo appearances. Every damn time I am warned about pissing off some legend in that company or about facing a returning one who has the backing of the fans, of management and of my peers. Do you know what I did to those so-called legends? I broke them physically and mentally. I lured them in by allowing them to believe in the hype they had made for themselves by coming back to the home of their greatest achievements and then knocked them out cold. That’s what is on your horizon, Sammie.
Let me tell you another story. One that is even more apt. You see, I have faced countless enemies in my life who pretend to be nice and a ‘Sweetheart’ when all along they are conniving bitches like you.
I went to a grammar school in England. It’s not a private school but for the more intelligent of the local school kids. I was the only Asian girl, I was the only one who straight A’s, the only one who didn’t need a crowd of friends to be popular. These haughty, popular girls sort me out. I was unique. I was a born leader but didn’t need to lead or be subservient to anyone. They tried to pretend to be interested in the same things as me. Like football, wrestling, rock music, reading and writing. They called themselves the sweethearts of the school. I would hang with anyone at school from any social group. So one day they asked if I wanted to get a bus to town so we could head to the mall so I thought why not.”
She paused for a few seconds as the blood raced to her cheeks, not from blushing but from the anger of what was to happen from all those years ago.
“They were a gang of sociopaths and were jealous of me so as I had never taken up their offer to be a sweetheart. We missed the bus and I was thinking maybe I should go home or see my Dad at his gym. My Maki senses were telling me something was off. I looked at some cute guys on the road opposite heading into the park so I did not notice the girls getting things out of their handbags. Not until it was too late. They had brushes filled with razors blades and viciously attacked me all over my body, ripping off my clothes so they could attack me all over. I ended up unconscious and covered in blood. I woke to hear the laughter of these sweethearts as they walked away. I tasted my own blood for the first time and I enjoyed the pleasure and pain of it but even more so as my mind started to create ways to get these sweethearts.
And get them I did. One by one until I hospitalised the leader so they could all be sweethearts together in some hospital ward. So one day I turned up and stuffed grapes in their mouths and held them until they passed out from suffocation. I made sure that they didn’t die but those sweethearts never tried to hurt me again. You see, Sammie, people who give themselves a fake moniker like Sweetheart are always the opposite and when you face me in that ring I am going to take great pleasure in making you bleed, tearing your insides to the point where you have internal and external bleeding. Then I will knock you the hell out, wake you up and then knock you out again. This is not about a returning legend against the newcomer. This is not some Hollywood fairytale of redemption for you. Your story has already been written. The villain never wins in the last chapter. The heroine does and that's me. So good luck out there and I hope you give me all you’ve got but in the end you aren’t even fit to pull on my bra straps let alone out wrestle me.”
She paused again to collect her thoughts, this time her attention changed from the sweetheart to the woman she believes robbed her.
“Jessie Salco. I cannot believe you have the gall to say you’re spinning your wheels and the next minute you dared to rob me of the Roulette Bombshells championship.You were appalling on the X structure and rightfully got dropped into the pool but what on earth were you thinking? Did it make sense to pull someone down with you? That Roxi clown wasn’t even close to doing what I was going to do and you had to just make sure someone else was taken out of the match instead of doing the right thing. You targeted me for some strange reason. Maybe you knew I was going to take that title and your petty jealousy couldn’t handle that so you gave the match to Seleana. No worries, love. I am a forgiving woman. I will forgive you one day but in order to forgive I must have my revenge. I am a good woman. I am giving you this information ahead of time. Prepare yourself for the inevitable. Your destruction is my vindication because frankly...there is no other option!”
She walked to the edge of the rocky hill, turned her back, dropped her bag, stretched out her arms and jumped backwards as we fade.
