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++Chalk Outline - Satan Was An Angel++; Libby, Shaw
Topic Started: Apr 29 2018, 05:03 AM (36 Views)
FemmeIcon

##You keep coming back to the scene of the crime##
##But the dead can't speak and there's nothing left to say anyway##
##All you left behind##
##Is a chalk outline##




Miami, FL – Post Match – Backstage



++I knew there was a chance Shaw could lose. There is always a chance of a loss no matter what. What most people don't know is not many of our matches are scripted. We keep it as real as we can. Sometimes shit happens, someone needs a bit of time off, so a loss is scripted. Sometimes, you rub someone in management the wrong way and you end up on the receiving end of a L. Sometimes it's tough love, sometimes it's pettiness. One thing has been evident though for the past month, not once, not ONCE was I ever mentioned where it came to the feud with Shaw and Libby. Not until tonight. Management had no problems using my personal strife as a means to sell tickets and spike ratings but no, don't mention the sole reason for the entire feud. Pretend that everything is peachy during my own matches. Make it sound like I am just off my game when I lose or when I'm not meeting the standard. Don't tell the public the truth. Lets continue to pretend that there is nothing going on with me, that two men aren't fighting because of an incident involving me. Let's further encourage a man who needs some serious mental assistance to go further off the deep end over delusions and paranoia. Please. I sat on a train case, banging my head off the wall gently. I had retreated to a part of the arena that was not highly populated++



Apathy: I'm...not even mad I lost. If anyone expected me to have a clear head after seeing Libby win, they were very mistaken. I came here tonight with no fucks to give. I had nothing left to lose. A belt you say? I had a championship to lose? No my friends, belts are won and lost. They do not define me. They do not make me. I make them. A belt is just metal and leather until you put it around a persons waist and then and only then does that object take on the form of whatever reputation the person wearing it, gives it. Every woman in that match was deserving and I know that no woman would have or will bring disrespect to that belt. I aimed to set the standard. I felt I achieved that. I have nothing to be angry about. No, my anger lies elsewhere.



I am not ignorant to the fact that this business is a cruel mistress. Nor am I ignorant to the idea that the men, and women, who are in control of the reigns behind the scenes, who sign our checks, who dictate and steer our destinies, or end them, can be both generous and selfish. I know all too well how personal strife can make for good T.V. My career was made on it. Time after time. Tragedy after tragedy, dispute after dispute, and to be honest I was okay with it. For so many years I was put on display in front of the fans and all my dirty laundry put out like an exhibit time and time again. I went from city to city, state to state, country to country hearing "whore", "bitch", "fraud". So why, did this time make any difference?



I was younger then. I thought I was invincible. The reactions, the controversy, it all fueled me. It drove me. Then, the night happened when some bitch botched a baseball bat shot. I was in a coma for awhile. I lost my identity, I was manipulated, used and exploited. When I walked away from that, and I married my now deceased husband, I had a lot of time to think. I remember who I was. I had time to ask myself some very tough questions and the end result was, I wanted my private life to be left that, private. Everything was going fine. Then the incident with Libby occurred. Our management in their infinite wisdom saw a dilemma they could exploit. And they did. I was dodged, ignored, and dismissed at every turn. I was never consulted. The fact that this was my life, my business, my personal pain being exploited, meant nothing. Therefore, I meant nothing. They didn't even have the decency to mention me to give me some rub or anything. No. They built up this feud between two men, who were supposedly fighting over, surprise, me having an affair with Shaw. Which never happened. That was the whole point though, wasn't it? Cut out me, and leave the entire scenario up to interpretation.



Never once did you bastards stop to think that the fans, the public even my own colleagues would do, just that? No. You cared about the end game, the payoff. My reputation, my feelings, my work relationships none of that mattered to you, at all. You took from my personal pain and dilemma, only the parts that suited your needs and the rest was my problem. Once, where I could walk into an arena without the sense of eyes watching me, or being judged, that's gone. I hear the whispers. The gossip gets back to me. I see the horrid comments that are being spewed online. Are you fat cats proud of yourself? You got what you wanted, with your bullshit fantasy stipulation, and everybody shot their load when the guy who was the one you helped paint to be the underdog won. Now what? Nothing. That's what. He really thinks that little stipulation means he gets to keep me. Like I'm some sort of trinket or bauble. You encouraged his mental instability even farther.



Which one of you are going to be the ones to break it to him that it was just a façade? That He doesn't get to keep me? That with a restraining order, he HAS to stay away from me? That your company is legally bound to adhere to the rules of that restraining order? No one? So just me? I guess then I get to tell him that you guys KNEW all along that if he won, it wouldn't change anything. You get your payday, your match, your outcome, and I get to clean up the aftermath. Thanks. That is so much respect that you are showing me. I feel so respected and valued as a member of the women's roster right now. Maybe the problem is that I don't have powerful, highly respected men backing me, or a stable of my own? It seems that is the fad now? Everyone's scrambling to be in a stable, to be part of a collective and I just want to fight. I don't need a group. I also don't want to lead a bunch of people. It seems though that there is a pack mentality in this company these days. I even hear it on the broadcasts now. "Oh they're free agents" "who will pick them up?", why does anyone have to be a part of a body? Lone wolves exist, but it seems the ones that are lone wolves...eventually end up selling out for one group, or another.



Tell me, would I have been shown more courtesy or respect had I had someone like Brooks in my corner? Krimson? Are those the rules we are playing by now? Did the whole game change? I think it has. You greedy, selfish bastards left me as nothing but a chalk outline, you cultivated a festering wound of backlash and negativity against me in your thirst for a blood hungry revenge match. You took everything I tried to build with the belt and you tainted it with your disgusting desire to use my personal life as in ring fodder. Everything I put into that belt died and rotted the minute that Libby won and while you pompus assholes were counting your money, you didn't pay the least bit attention to the fact that you undermined, undercut and buried your Women's Champion.



I'm...glad I lost.



Tonight one man realized his destiny.



I may have lost, but it was necessasary. One cannot grow and transform with the burdens of the past.



++I looked at my hands, visualizing the many years of others blood on them, and smiled++



Apathy: You made me look like a whore. A liar. Is that what you really want? One more villian? Do you really want me to be the evil, wicked woman you made me out to be? Do you want me to show you what a bitch really is? Not some primadonna in feathers, touting a rose. Not a black amazon that wears too many damn scarves to look tough. No. You have truly underestimated your mistake. You want a succubus, I'll give you succubus. You want demoness, I'll give you demoness. You want hellspawn, you will get hellspawn.



I'm a one woman army and I proved that beyond a shadow of a doubt as a champion. The depths of my determination was proven again and again. Nobody, NOBODY balked at my tenacity. I went to lengths some of your own men wouldn't! Dice was too much of a pussy to set foot in the crowds, or anywhere else in the arena for that matter! Kimiko and I set THE fucking bar for your womens division! Yet...somehow I deserved this blatant backhand in the face.



You threw me under the bus for a glorified mid-card jobber and a guy that just doesn't seem to have your favor anymore. You killed whatever momentum Shaw had with that fucking farce of a match! Who the FUCK is Sean Libby to you? Seriously?! Next card he will be curtain jerking with that obnoxiously long entrance, that atrocious fucking robe and the whole match that he won, will have become fodder. What does Shaw get out of this? The embarassment of losing to that hack?



You can dock my pay, you can suspend me, fuck fire me! Go on! You opened this pandoras box so you better clench those ass cheeks and prepare for the reckoning. I sold my soul to the devil a long time ago boys, he's just been waiting patiently for a call up. I think it's just about time I reach out and touch somebody. You see the route I took weighed solely on one thing; who won that match. The wrong man won. Now I have to do what I have to do.



I'm going to hell and some of you sons of bitches are coming with me...

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