Let me tell you a story using three words,
Chaos often multiplies.
Now what does that mean? It insinuates chaos refuses to stay silent, it refuses to sit still, so it moves, it reformulates, it adapts with one goal in mind...
Turmoil.
So, we tilted the axis, shuffled the deck, and brought chaos to your predictable.
You wanted your favourites to rush through the Blast from the Past tournament, you wanted to see your Queens stay rulers, your Hall of Famers stay untarnished, you wanted predictable, you wanted nice. However, the third impression is here to remind you of the truth.
Kingdoms fall, legends die, and the scenery always changes.
Tis the season, the season of the unknown that will swarm over Sin City Wrestling like a cloud, a storm brewing to cast doubt over your fabricated legends, your self-proclaimed queens, your happy go lucky cheer girls. You put your money on the wrong victors and so your blind-sidedness will go to spoils.
Your comeback kid, your happy blond will rot beneath our feet, and you’ll only have yourselves to blame. As round three isn’t where Jaycee and I get off the express to the finals, oh no… round three is where we make you see reason and take note. Sleepy heads don’t rise, complacency never builds a shift it just cripples the momentum.
Predictability shouldn’t be a virtue, it’s a blatant disadvantage.
I learnt the hard way that waiting to take what you want never comes, I learnt that through fire, blood, and ash. I’d be foolish to wait again, that’s why I refuse to hold back any longer.
Sunday night you’ll see the demise of another princess, death to another claim and the expiry of a precious regeneration.
I don’t have time to waste entertaining your nostalgia, so instead I’ll force the hands of time and seize your golden opportunity.
- - - - - - -
Climax Control – Three Hundred and Twenty-Three…
We had made it, to round three of the Blast from the Past with Jaycee picking up the victory once more for our team by defeating Hitamashi. I should have felt proud for us, I should have been shouting with joy as I walked backstage towards the bombshell locker room. But I couldn’t bring my lips to even amuse a smile. The burning flames had already started coursing through my veins. Burning me from the inside out. I was a failure. We didn’t win because of me. I was grateful to see Jaycee living out his dream but the voice inside my head couldn’t help but wave its pom poms when it whispered that our victory had nothing to do with me. Once again, I was bystander in our team, once again I had let Jaycee down and he had to do all the heavy lifting. It wasn’t like me. I wasn’t the type of girl to stand back and let the world race on in front of her eyes. I was the type of girl who caught the world as it spun, just to tilt it in my favour. When was I going to have my moment in the sun? When was I going to prove to the world that I’m more than just a pretty face?
These blue eyes were death of me at times.
Maybe it was a good thing I didn’t take the reins, because I’ve never been the one to know when to stop. I couldn’t trust myself to be in the ring when the bell run at the end of the match, because it only tolled three times, when I knew… I knew my chaos would demand seven. However, my rage wasn’t just pointed at myself, it was focused on the snake that was Carter. What gave him the right to interfere in my match? I couldn’t give two shits about his feud with Hitamashi, once false move from Carter could have been catastrophic for Jaycee and I.
I fucking hate selfish pricks, and I hate people who have to use others to make a statement. I was no one’s canvas, I was no ones message to be sent.
Making my way towards the shower I shouldered off my leather jacket and dropped it on the tiled floor. I didn’t even bother to remove my clothing as I stepped into the bathroom that joined onto the Bombshell locker room. I just needed to feel ice cold water on my skin. Turning the cold water on to fall blast, I kicked my shoes off and closed the door. I knew the water would only shimmer the burn, but I knew it wouldn’t stop the urges. Bringing my right first up the tiled wall in front of me I hammered my balled-up fist into the porcelain.
One, for Carter’s fucking face. I saw red. I needed to visualise blood pouring from his nose to try and at least satisfy the rage that was bubbling away in my core. How fucking dare, he? I would never stick my nose in his business what gave him the right to do the opposite to me.
Water poured down my face blurring my vision, but I couldn’t stop the inevitable. The animal inside me needed to be pacified and the only way I knew how to bring her down to a more manageable stated was to let her feel the soothing lashings of pain.
Two, for the way that I had let Amber toss me around the ring for longer than I should have. I shouldn’t have given her and inch of my time, regardless of if she was the current World Bombshell Champion. I knew how to handle men three times size of her and yet, she had treated me like a ragdoll.
I rewrapped my fist upon itself, tightening the ball I had made. My knuckles were white under the skin that was taunt. I wanted to feel it all, I’d break my knuckles if I had to anything to keep the voices at bay. I was a failure to them, and I would do anything I could to reverse that theory.
Three, for letting Jaycee take the reins once again leading us to victory. I knew this would only give anyone who we would face next the power to say he was carrying me in this tournament. I knew how people like Mikah, and Myra worked if they saw a thread of weakness, they would pull it try and unravel you. I didn’t want to be carried, I wanted to hold my own and so far, I’ve bene too far in my own head to direct us to any sort of victory.
The skin over my index and middle knuckle had busted and blood had started to trail down my arm, but I couldn’t see it as I kept my eyes locked on the one tile that was before my eyes. The sting of split skin did nothing to dull the burning that was still within my time frame. It felt as if the flames of hell itself was licking down each one of my veins, it felt as if I had set myself a light and even as I stood under the ice-cold water, the liquid couldn’t extinguish the flames. It wouldn’t soothe the burn. I needed to blister for I had fucked up.
Four, because I knew Evie was just lurking around the next corner to tell me where I had fucked up. I already knew she was angry at me for making a mockery of Amber in my promotional video last week, she told me that words like that would only get so far and that trying to out word play the current Sin City Wrestling World Bombshell Champion was suicide. I wanted to prove Evie wrong, but if anything in the match I had barely held my own against Amber. A Rookie error that I knew Evie was going to eat me alive for, but I couldn’t blame her. I did try and shock the world by bringing the champion to her knees.
I was too focused on the pain that I missed the sound of the bathroom door opening and slamming shut, all I could home in on was slamming my fist into the wall. The crack of my knuckles hitting the tiles had me closing my eyes relishing in the pain. Licking my lips like a crazed person who had just dipped her hand in melted chocolate. I didn’t need sex or drugs to feel a high, I just needed self-inflicted pain and had moans slipping between my glossed lips like a porn star.
Five, was for letting all of the bullshit get under my skin. I was better than this, I had been better than this. I was getting better but since joining Sin City Wrestling, I’ve almost lost my shit a number of times. I had it under control but as soon as I left my comfort zone, I found myself, feeling like that lost little girl all those years ago. I was better than this, but the voices said otherwise.
I smashed my knuckles into the wall, blood spraying the white tiles before the water washed it down the drain. The closer I got to seven the more the rage burned through my veins. It didn’t subside the closer I got to my obsession it only got worse.
Six, was for allowing myself to get this far gone. I had an empire to run, I didn’t need to be losing my shit at the drop of a hat but here I was picturing cold bloody murder. I wanted to wrap my hands around Carter’s neck and squeeze, I wanted to burn down Amber’s title reign, I wanted to slit the throat of anyone who spoke out against me. If anyone dared to say I was being carried through this process, I wouldn’t hesitate. It wouldn’t be the first time.
I didn’t miss the door being slammed inwards, but I couldn’t allow myself to miss the final blow.
Seven, just because... I had to make it to seven or otherwise I was going to rip the head off whom ever had just walked into the shower block and slammed their shoulder into the door busting it open on me.
There I stood clothed, wet and in a daze. My body slumping down at my shoulders as my balled-up fist finally turned back into a hand. All for what? All because I didn’t like the outcome on tonight’s match? Even though my team had won? I’m a complicated creature, one who will always punish myself for failures that other’s refuse to seek within themselves. A tortured little soul, wrapped in a tattooed body and blessed with big beautiful blue eyes. If people thought they could tear me down, they would have to form a nice long line behind my fucking self.
“WHAT THE FUCK, CADE?” Harsh and Australian, Evie’s voice hissed.
Turning to look at my mentor under the blizzard of a shower, I brought my right fist up to my lips and trailed my tongue across my bloody knuckles. My blue eyes not moving away from her emerald ones. Not even as the pin pricks of water slammed against my eyes. My tongue returned into my mouth to savour the taste of my blood, I couldn’t stop the cold fear-provoking smile from crossing my face. If Evie thought she was the only one who was a monster, she was sadly fucking mistaken and now she had just seen glimmer of how deep and dark I truly was.
Unpredictable, unreadable, impulsive.
Broken, battered, blooded.
Autonomous chaos…
My own worst fucking enemy.
- - - - - - -
The scene opens up on the remains of a burnt down home in the West Las Vegas, the horrid side of town, where tourists should stay far, far away from if they wish to keep their wallets firmly in their pockets. Although close to the strip itself, this poverty-stricken part of town is an obvious reminder that not all that glitters in the city of sin is gold. It’s often blood splatters on asphalt roads, the gleam from the blade of a knife or the last little sparkle in a Deadman’s eyes. In 2020 West Las Vegas reported 14,159 acts of crime alone, a high percentage of those crimes no doubt taking part in this very street. You might not think 14,000 isn’t a high count, but considering 20,000 people call this side of town home… I’d say you’ve been corrected.
The darkness of night had just fallen, but there was just enough light from the shimmering moon dangling high above in the sky to cast the shadow of the rubble that was laid out behind me. The only part of this house to survive was the doorframe, so I took a seat where the front porch used to be and pressed my back up against the crispy doorframe. Ripped black jeans cover my legs, whilst my black leathers keep my shoulders covered as my blood red halter neck shirt keep the girls at bay. My long black hair whips around my face from the gentle breeze that howls through this part of the desert. With a lick of my glossed lips, I turn to address the cameraman that is eagerly awaiting to hightail it out of this side of town.
“Lucky number three will be fucking unlucky for some. Those some being Max Burke and Myra Rivers.” I hiss.
I still hate talking in front of a camera, so I grit my teeth and attempt to stuff down the choking feeling that’s riding up my throat.
“Let’s talk about the homecoming kid, shall we? Welcome back Max, did you get the return you desired? Was the roar of the crowd everything you anticipated? Did it cover your skin in bumps because in that very moment you had all eyes on you, you were the comeback kid, the faded memory in everyone’s minds that had finally stepped out of the shadows of obscurity… I hope you held on to that core memory, I hope it filled your heart with joy, I hope it filled your belly with a passionate fire because it’s the last time you’re EVER going to feel that way again. This week your rise to the top will be extinguished, but I’m sure that’s a feeling your already accustomed to.” I smirk, wildly.
Licking my lips, I rub them together before continuing.
“You first graced SCW in 2012, bright eyed and bushy tailed as you promised the world you were going to cause waves in the superstar scene, but did you? Did you ever break out? Did you ever have your moment? I mean, lets be honest the only memory I have of you in Sin City Wrestling, is your whiskey filled nights with Ben Jordan and if were shooting from the hip here Max, that has nothing to do with you being inside the ring. Yet, people speak so highly of you, as if you’re a legend and remind me? What have you done to entertain such a fable? One Roulette Championship run… that’s it. That’s your claim to SCW fame? That’s what your hitching your wagon to and that’s the driving force behind your over inflated head? You think a man that is a third-generation wrester, would hold more weight… but it’s true every family has its own set of dead weight… and that’s you. I wonder, did daddy dearest slap you on the back when he was around you to tell you he was proud? If he did, it would be nothing more than a lie.” A chuckle leaves my lips.
The camera pans in on my clear blue eyes, the reflection of the moon shines brightly.
“I bet your glorified wrestling family wishes you stayed buried alive in 2013, so they wouldn’t have to be constantly reminded of the fucking disappointment you are to the Burke family name. The tarnish to the Burke family crest, the black sheep in the flock of wrestling gods. Yet, once again you popped up and told the world you were coming for the Sin City Wrestling World Heavyweight Championship… how does it feel to make that promise twice now in your career, whilst being fully aware that you’re never going to cash in on such an oath? A lesser man would feel embarrassed but not you Max, you feel entitled and for what reason? You friends? Your fans? Your family? And when it all goes to shit, because it will this Sunday night at Climax Control when Jaycee reminds you, that it’s like to actually wrestle… You’ll just laugh it all off in a glass of whiskey because that’s where you feel the need to fuel your self-worth.” A disappointed sigh escapes my lips.
Moving my right hand up and sweep a long lock of my black hair and tuck it behind my ear as the wind picks up around me.
“You’ve had it pretty cushy since your return Max… Todd Williams, Miles Kasey, two people that have made less of an impact than you in Sin City Wrestling history, so I get why your puffing your chest, I get why you think you stand a chance but let me remind you… you know nothing about Jaycee, so you can’t prepare and even with all the training in the world, your frail failed body will let you down once more on Sunday night. You chase to reach the finals of the BFTP will snap quicker than your tendon. Your journey to the top stops this week Max… and whilst the crowd will be chanting your name like the gladiator you pose to be, I can assure you the silence after the bell after we beat you... will be the reaction you deserve.” I pause, letting my words sink in.
The sound of sirens in the background steals the airways for a moment, whilst the sound of muffled shouting from the side of the camera brings home the pit of the town that I’m sitting in. yet I remain unaffected and unharmed.
“Now Myra, don’t work that pretty little of head of your into overtime… I haven’t forgotten about you, I mean how could anyone forget about you? You run your mouth each and every time you’re in front of a camera and once they stop rolling you jump onto Twitter to let the whole world know your little ramblings. Have you ever stopped to think that no one fucking cares? No one cares that you have finally found your happiness… I find it odd that people still live under the false presumption that you can just find something like an emotion, it’s not like a fucking Where’s Wally and yet, here you are holding your happiness in the palm of your hands telling everyone that your life turned around the moment you decided to let the light back in.” My voice bleeds into a chuckle.
A roll of my clear blue eyes is all that statement is worth. People are fucking foolish, its sickening.
“It’s a beautiful thing, how people fear the dark but refuse to see the light for what it is. The moon doesn’t kill you and yet thousands of people die each year from the sun and yet, people want to bask in the glory that the light brings to them. Foolish, fucking childish. You’ve placed your emotions in a bag and labelled them happy and now because you’ve happened to stumble across this endearing emotion you think that’s going to put your name on the map? You think that just flashing a smile is going to remove the mask that’s evident on your face? You may think you have it all figured out, you may think that your bright eyes and beaming smile is what’s going to lead you towards your second Blast from the Past final and then on to victory, followed by your big moment, where you believe that you’re going to win the World Bombshell Championship… the reality is… it’s not.” A wicked smile crosses my face.
Another chuckle passes my lips as I look down the lens of the camera.
“I get it you’re one of the most successful bombshells in SCW history but what have your failed to do each and every time it’s presented in front of you? Win the big one… walk away with the World Bombshell Championship and do you know what we call that? We call that being a choke. You don’t have the stamina to hold onto the reigns in high pressure moments and that’s why you’ll always be the bridesmaid and never the fucking bride. That’s why you’ll always be the one crawling on your hands and knees to get anywhere near the prized possession that is the World Bombshell Championship, while others will blast straight past you and take what you really wish was yours. Let the truth speak for itself sometimes great things remain out of reach to those who talk too much and refuse to put in the hard work. You tell the world you’re putting in the effort but that’s just the thing, instead of walking the miles, you run your mouth. I can tell you the whole world is sick of it… but please continue to humiliate yourself week in and week out with this new found energy of yours because fabricated happiness isn’t joy and joy isn’t something you can maintain when it’s fictional.” I can’t help but smile.
The wind howls through the door frame that I’m pressed up against, the old wood groans in protest wishing it to was a pile of rubble. Ignoring it I continue.
“Each week you step up to the plate with endless words, your rip apart your opponents promotional videos like your biology class dissecting a frog and for what reason? You feel the need to defend yourself. Because the new found confidence you brag about is superficial, if you truly didn’t care what people thought about you, you wouldn’t pull them apart word by word, twisting them in your favour… no you wouldn’t have to, because words shouldn’t be your downfall Myra and yet every week you let them blister you, you let them bruise you and you THINK by running over them with a fine tooth comb and defending every shred of negativity that is thrown your way that you’re going to outwit them? Look into my eyes when I say this… GROW A FUCKING SPINE.” I growl.
Shaking my head from side to side, I let my anger show. I let the number seven take over me as I count them in my head before I turn my attention back towards the camera.
“You just look like a little girl trapped inside a woman’s body who is begging to be accepted. You want the world to fall to your feet, you want the soft, calm words of the world to protect you and guide you. Sadly, little girl, this world is bitter, its cruel and it’s against everything you stand for. I’m not here to pet your ego, I’m not here to listen to you week in and week out run through the dictionary defending yourself. I’m here to take what is mine and by doing so, I’ll rip the rug out from underneath you, so once again when you hit the floor there will be nothing to cushion the blow. You consider yourself a wordsmith, but when you say things that have no meaning… can you truly hold an audience? Riddle me this Myra… is your actual goal to become the World Bombshell Champion or is your objective just to run through the motions and pray to the high heavens that someone, anyone, will start believing in you?” I say with a cold smile.
I can’t stand fake people and whilst talking about Myra, it makes my skin crawl. After a small pause for dramatics, I continue.
“I’m glad to see you brought your sister along last week, it was refreshing to see that at least someone in your fucked up family has some fucking balls. It just s shame that like you, she too didn’t know when to shut the fuck up.” My words drip like venom.
Drawing my fingers into the palms of my hands I let my knuckles crack, feeling the throb pass through me.
“Last week you had the nerve to talk about the trust you put into your partner, I find that hilarious as you can’t even trust yourself. Since you’ve lost your Internet Championship… you’ve faulted in every way possible. Calling yourself rebellious? What the fuck have you ever done that’s been scandalous? J walking isn’t included. You’re a fake. You’re untrustworthy, you can’t even be true to yourself and yet you believe that you and Max will win this tournament because you flash around the T word like it’s a fucking comma? You don’t just need trust to win a tag team match you fucking idiot… you need purpose, you need reason, you need motivation. Your motivation is trying to silence the rest of us when it should be silencing your fucking self. My motivation is simple I’m going to keep on proving that this tournament is ALL about Jaycee and me, this is our moment, we have faced the pressure of our debuts head on, and we haven’t crumbled, we haven’t slipped and we sure as hell haven’t fallen to our knees because of the pressure… where in your history can you tell me that you’ve done otherwise? Between you and Max, you’re the poster couple for failed dreams and come Sunday night at Climax Control, you’ll notch another glamour shot to hang in your wall of failures.” I hiss out.
Letting out a deep exhale I tilt my head back to look at the moon that’s hanging brightly in the sky. Letting the anger seep out of me with silence before I roll my head forward to look at the camera once again.
“Earlier this week you bragged about being in great spirits, with your motivation, training and psychologically… interesting crow, did you think that would rattle the cage who have put me in? Did you think I would stare at my screen and pray for the same things to happen to me? I don’t need false spirits, I don’t need to speak for my training, I don’t need to let the world know my mind is clear… because once a target becomes a target a trained eye never misses. When are you going to learn that humble bragging, is the same as vocal boasting and both of them are useless when you truly know your worth. I know what I’m worth, I know what I’m capable of. I don’t have to sit at your table and listen to you gab on about how great you are, because I’m too fucking busy building my own.” I chuckle.
Taking a step up, I push off the burnt frame of the house and take two steps towards the camera.
“I don’t need to defend a false promises, I don’t need to shield myself words… I’m here to show the world that when I say I’m going to do something I go through with it… I will end your blast from the past journey this Sunday night Myra, I’ll steal your back-to-back finals away from you… I’ll take the chance to become the World Bombshell Champion out of your reach once more and I’ll do it with every inch of hunger in my body. For I have nothing to lose but everything to fucking gain, while you have everything riding on this, you have everything to lose… your image is everything to you and as of Sunday night it will need some serious damage control. Begin to make peace with the fact that the crown will never fall on your head, for your neck is to weak and frail.” A loud exhale passes my lips.
I bring my right hand up to motion towards the burnt down home behind me, not even bothering to look back. I hate this place. I fucking despise it.
“While you live in a made-up world, let me enlighten you to my reality. This is my castle Myra… burnt and broken. These four walls never provided any sort of security… any sort of protection, it was just a shell that I slept in, where I made big promises and dreamt up wild dreams. I always told myself I was going to get out of this fucking hell hole, but the truth is… you’d have to drag me away kicking and screaming, hell you’d have to haul me away in a body bag before I’d willingly leave.” I hissed.
Pushing a lock of my black hair behind my right ear I continued. I still fucking hate speaking on camera, so a quick game is a good game.
“This is where I come from, this is where I rule… this isn’t a phoenix form the ashes story, this isn’t when I tell you I’ve been reborn. This is when I tell you I’ve never been one to bow and I’ll be fucking dead before I entertain the idea of doing so to you.”
I finally turn my back to the camera, looking at my old family home. Reaching forward I place my right hand on the burnt door frame and give it an almighty push and with that motion the frame comes crashing down around me. Ash spiralling around floating in the wind. The camera then fades to black.
