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Extremely graphic descriptions of blood and extreme violence
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Alicia wasn't sure which of the three Black Violets was the one swinging the chair, but at the last possible moment, she dove to the floor with a grunt to avoid all three. CLANG! The earsplitting smack of steel against steel battered Alicia's headache-addled brain hard enough to feel like impact. A moment of peace followed as Black Violet regained her equilibrium after missing a night-ending swing, and Alicia threw one arm in front of the other and crawled for a bit of separation.
The rookie used the distance to wrap her legs around Black Violet's; one leg in front by her ankles, the other behind her calf. With a quick twist of her legs, Alicia executed a Drop Toehold, knocking Black Violet off-balance and sending her face-first to the ground. It looked like another chance. Alicia threw herself at her prone opponent, braving the overpowering, ripe aroma somewhere between sweaty athlete's foot and a clogged butcher shop drain. Alicia wrapped one hand around the scuffed, worn-through blue heel and the other around the ragged, barely white toe of Black Violet's secondhand wrestling shoe. The bloody wrestler struggled and yanked at the ratty material to little avail; she had no power or leverage from her position on the floor. It had been an impulsive decision, and the next dozen kicks to the head proved it was also a dumb one.
Black Violet crawled off of Alicia and dragged her headfirst into the steel staircase with a clang and an explosion of light that left her vision blurry. The unhinged wrestler grabbed another fistful of Alicia's french braid. Through the daze, Alicia threw a back elbow that struck Black Violet on the point of her nose, causing her to squeal in pain and relent. Scampering on her hands and knees, Alicia crawled up the steel steps and tumbled into the ring through the bottom and middle ropes. The damp wheezing grew louder in Alicia's ears as Black Violet closed the distance behind her.
It didn't matter–five more feet and the former hockey player would once again have her weapon in hand. Four feet, and a vice grip clamped around her right ankle. Three feet, and Alicia felt nails through her jeans in her left calf. Two feet, and both sets of claws dug into her back. One foot, and her rabid opponent sat her full weight upon Alicia's shoulders. Half an inch left, and a pair of gnarled, ivory hands shot past the grasping rookie's outstretched arms and closed around the worn, wooden hockey stick a split-second before its owner's. In one violent motion, Black Violet hauled back on the hockey stick and dug it underneath the challenger's throat.
Alicia's hands instinctively reached for the stick to pry enough room to steal one more breath. Thick, callused fingers dug at the lumber for a moment before her wits returned. Once again, Alicia reminded herself to stick to the gameplan, and once again she drew upon her fast-depleting reserves to push herself and her passenger up off the mat. Alicia took a moment to steady herself before reaching forward with her right arm to drag herself toward her offensively green nylon gym bag. Darkness encroached upon her vision as she starved for oxygen behind the inflexible wooden hockey stick.
She made the decision early to come out with her gym bag unzipped for just such an occasion. A right hand sunk into the sports duffel and wrapped around the hard plastic of a white hockey helmet streaked with yellow lighting bolts on either side. Alicia remained upright by dropping to her left forearm to support the weight as she whipped the helmet back hard, once again cracking it into what she assumed had to be at least a bloody nose. The ghost of the Plunj Arena cried out hurt and loud, and permitted Alicia enough room to slip out of the choke. The powerhouse took three rapid, greedy gulps of the good stuff before rising to her feet, reaching down, and pulling Black Violet to her feet with a waistlock.
The goon folded up her opponent's right calf back against her thigh and hoisted her high in the air before bringing her thrashing opponent down knee-first onto the mat. Black Violet's hands flew protectively to her right knee as expected. The Hard Times graduate snapped up Black Violet's right ankle in her hands and spun into position, locking in a tight Figure Four on her thrashing, injured opponent. The rookie couldn't afford to let the fight drag out any longer - this was the opportunity. Unfortunately, Alicia had not consulted Black Violet before revising the timetable.
As much respect as Alicia had given her opponent's upper body strength, it hadn't been enough. Black Violet sunk those razor sharp, splintered nails into the canvas and dragged herself under the ropes, appearing intent on reaching the edge of the ring. Alicia clamped on a tight, two-handed grip on the second shoe and gave it a hard pull. Nothing doing. Two pale arms reached through torn-open straitjacket sleeves for the bottom rope. She used that grip to pull the two both precariously over the edge of the ring. With a deafening shout and an equal surge of strength, Alicia yanked the second shoe free, and lunch rose up in her stomach in protest. The putrid appendage assaulted her nostrils by its presence, wafting a rancid, overpoweringly sour stench like onion compost that Alicia could taste. The foulness would cling to her memory for life.
Another step on the checklist crossed off. Alicia threw her long arms behind her and snagged the end of the hockey stick with the tips of her fingers a split-second before gravity vanished. The weight of Black Violet falling over the edge of the ring dragged Alicia down with her onto the woefully thin padding below. The impact at the bottom jolted Alicia's submission hold loose, but she took advantage of the wide-open target and jabbed the heel of her stick again at Black Violet's gushing nose. The attack stunned the Mother of Nightmares, but the blow hadn't been flush - she was only discouraged for a moment. Just as Alicia rose to her feet, so did her stalker. She needed to slow the champion down.
Too late. The champion slowed Alicia down first by grabbing a handful of braid and dragging her towards the fishhook cocoon. Several reluctant, stumbling steps later, and there it was, open wide right below her and hungry for flesh. With both hands clasped tight around the shaft of the hockey stick, she slammed the heel down onto Black Violet's right foot, mashing her pale, mildew-encrusted toes. The crowd noise paled at the screech of anguish. Alicia raised the stick and once again slammed it back down onto the left foot, then swatted it again for good measure, followed by a fourth brutal slam of the wood down onto Black Violet's unprotected digits. The howling, wounded combatant shoved Alicia hard to the floor and staggered away to find some respite.
Those pointed fishhook teeth raced closer as Alicia careened face-first toward the body bag. At the last possible moment, she dropped the stick and caught herself with her palms. Her mouth instinctively went wide as razor-sharp metal sank hungrily into meat. She gasped, and gasped, and gasped out a silent scream. A quick look back revealed her shrieking, straitjacketed opponent writhing on the floor in pain. Alicia rose to her knees and then to her feet, involuntarily carrying the body bag up with her. Three- no, four hooks in her left hand and two in her right, plus one in the tip of her right index finger screaming for the most attention. She lowered her hands, allowing the body bag to touch the floor. Alicia grit her teeth as she stepped on either side of the bag, pinning it to the ground, before yanking her hands upwards, ripping her pincushioned palms free of all but two of the hooks. Those traveled with her.
One was mostly out–the one in the heel of her hand. Alicia brought the barbed passenger up to her mouth and secured a tight grip around the metal with her right lateral incisor and cuspid (Dr. Pupe would be proud). The sour taste of the rusty metal offered little distraction from the newfound, throbbing pain in her palm as she yanked the intruder out with her teeth and spat it on the ground. The final hook nested deep in the side of her left hand. It had penetrated the flesh but hadn't decided yet where it wanted to emerge. One more thing for the ER to sort out.
Alicia seized the moment and ran to the opposite barricade, followed by a hard right turn around the ringpost. Her wrestling boots pounded the barely protected concrete at ringside. There was the timekeeper's table and the title belt, but the rookie had one more stop to make first. About ten feet short of the timekeeper's table, Alicia tossed aside her weapon, carefully reached under the ring skirt, and gingerly inched out a wooden folding table.
The furniture lay upside-down as the challenger flipped open the legs on one side. She popped out her head to find Black Violet loping around the ring in lukewarm pursuit. The rookie abandoned the effort to pull out the table any further, leaving all but that one set of table legs obscured behind the ring skirt. In a flash of bloody jersey and blue jeans, Alicia shot to her feet and tore full-tilt towards the timekeeper's table. The challenger reached for the belt, wrapped her shaky, bloody fingers around the heavy strap and lifted it off the, table. An audible gasp rippled through the stands as the timekeeper pushed away from the table and raised his hands to indicate his lack of involvement.
Black Violet froze at the transgression. Alicia took a step forward and raised the belt high above her head, her bloody palms tarnishing the luster of the faceplate. "Uh oh!" Alicia shouted with another heavy step forward. One more step and one of the protruding table legs was now in arm's reach. "Sorry, is this yours?" Champion and challenger stared daggers at each other. Eyes of pure hate, a gashed-open nose pouring blood, and a gaping, screeching mouthful of thorns broke off at a run towards the rookie. Alicia bent slightly at the knees and threw the TV Championship belt as high into the air as her remaining strength allowed, and Black Violet's eyes followed. For the moment, the void stopped staring back. The challenger wrapped both hands tight around the table leg as Black Violet rushed ahead, eyes trained on the object of her desire rather than contempt, until the latter eclipsed the former. The belt clattered to the ground behind Alicia, and once again, the abyss bore into Alicia's soul.
The abyss should've been watching its step.
With a roar, the powerhouse tightened her hands around the table leg and yanked the upside-down table out from beneath the ring, presenting a wooden welcome mat with thirty-six loaded mousetraps superglued into place with eager, open jaws.
SNAPSNAP.
Black Violet's eyes flew wide with horror as she went rigid and then sank to the ground, her mutilated feet no longer supporting her. She tried to break her fall with her hands. It was a bad idea.
SNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNAP.
The crowd fell silent as they beheld the gruesome aftermath, while Alicia permanently lost her appetite for chili dogs. She turned from the flesh and wire calamity, stomach revolting at the sight of Black Violet's futile thrashing among the web of destruction below. The image of crushed fingers and disfigured toes seared forever in Alicia's memory. Black Violet's primal, anguished screams still hadn't yet fully accounted for it all. Alicia shouted at the frozen body in the ring wearing black and white stripes, "Count! What are you doing?! COUNT!!" It took a second, but the thirtysomething referee with the ponytail nodded, and started a count one could argue might've been a tad fast, "One! Two! Three!" Alicia threw the ring skirt aside and dug beneath the ring for some insurance. A folding chair would do. And so it did, as the challenger wrapped her hands around the black steel legs. The referee's count was completely lost among the raving, insane screams. What did you make me do?! "Four! Five! Six! Seven!" Alicia hefted the steel as she towered over her pitiful, ruined opponent, ready to swing. "Eight! Nine!" Completely unnecessary. "Ten!"
Paramedics had already gathered around Alicia, who remained trapped in the void of Black Violet's eyes. "Let them help you!" shouted Alicia over the screams of agony and medical jargon around them. Black Violet thrashed violently on the table in her cruel improvised restraints as Alicia tried to reach her. "They don't want to hurt you! Let them help! Please! Black Violet, they don't want to hurt you!" Hot tears streamed down Alicia's cheeks. "I'm sorry! You made me do this. You made me do it. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. You made me. You made me."
That porcelain face had long ago turned beet red. Hysterical shrieking turned to frantic gasps and back again. The void stopped staring back - now it was staring past her. A handful of wilted, shivering fingers stabbed at the air, pointing over Alicia's shoulder at the white bag Black Violet left in her corner. The hate in her eyes melted away and laid bare a canvas of pain, fear, and panic. The screams rose another octave as Alicia stood up with a little nod and obeyed her victim, retrieving and lowering the bag before her.
Two purpled sets of sagging, bloated digits peeled at the air, gesturing for Alicia to open it. She did. Flat, twisted, hairy, smashed legs. The crust of pinkish-orangish-mostly brown spread across the inside like dried jellies. She recognized the remains: they belonged to the massive, hairy spectator she fell alongside and eventually onto in Black Violet's boiler room. A pale, misshapen hand lifted and received the bag's strap around her less mangled wrist. Black Violet's eyes welled with genuine tears. "Oh my gosh," Alicia whispered. Her mouth dropped open as she raised both trembling hands to her face at a realization. "I killed your pet." Silence. Guilt piled onto guilt, and more silence.
Alicia staggered toward and up the ramp, past the referee and the belt. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry," she repeated. She was walking on air, but there was turbulence. From behind the curtain emerged Sabrina and Party Girl, smiles beaming, lost in the moment, and reveling secondhand in a glory Alicia hadn't felt. It was over. There was Sabrina, in her dark, backstage-friendly attire. It suited her. And there stood Party Girl, clad all in pink street clothes–a tank top and jean shorts cut high up on the thigh–with her tiny backpack hanging from her tanned, bare shoulders. The celebrity wrestler awaited the new champion with her arms spread wide, no doubt anticipating a close-up shot for the cameras. The new TV Champion dropped the folding chair and embraced the ones who were with her through it all.
"Ho-ly shit it worked! We did it!" squealed Party Girl, jumping up and down with an arm around Alicia, seemingly oblivious to her tag partner's frayed nerves. The living gossip magazine cover pressed her cheek against her partner's. "Mwa! I knew it would work!" There was comfort in their arms, but the screams still rang loud in Alicia's ears. Party Girl turned and sprinted down the ramp to retrieve the belt, leaving Alicia side-by-side with her mentor.
Sabrina couldn't help but throw one more snug arm around Alicia's shoulders as the new champ tried not to let the fishhook stuck in her hand snag on anything. "You're insane, you know that? Fuckin' mental. Hell of a way to win a belt."
"I'm done with this," muttered Alicia. "No more hardcore stuff. I'm done."
"Never say never in pro wrestling," said Sabrina with a smile. She turned and looked her former student over, finally seeming to clock Alicia's shattered mental state. "But why for God's sake did you pick Black Violet? Because she bit you? You touched her belt, right? That's what she does. It wasn't personal."
"When was anyone going to tell me about this?!" Alicia lashed out in frustration, "And yes, it was personal. She bit me. She stalked me," she continued, half-whimpering, voice and hands trembling from the adrenaline dump. "She came to my house. She killed Party Girl's cat."
Sabrina's face screwed up in pure befuddlement, "She left the arena?"
"Did you hear what I said? She stalked me!"
Alicia's stern reply met a pair of raised eyebrows. Sabrina again tried to clarify, "You saw her?"
The rookie shook her throbbing, blood-streaked head in frustration. "No. Party Girl said-" Sabrina's eyebrows went higher, and shock washed over her expression a split-second before a pink sneaker cracked her in the jaw. The veteran sprawled to the floor while Alicia turned around just in time to get a close-up look at the ten pounds of silver, steel, and gold barreling toward her. With a sickening smack, the belt crashed into Alicia's forehead, sending the new champion to the ground. The wind left Alicia's lungs with a groan as Party Girl sat on her ex-partner's chest, cocked back her fist, and swung a loaded right hook with those hot pink brass knuckles into Alicia's temple. Her vision flashed white and then black before blurring back into focus through a haze of stars.
Alicia watched from her back, a captive of her own battered, unresponsive body. Sabrina slowly rose to her hands and knees beside her. Party Girl knelt down and picked up the steel chair before bringing it down across Sabrina's back, flattening her. "Bring back any memories?" asked Party Girl in a sing-song voice as she kicked Sabrina hard in the side. She leaned down beside the coughing, sputtering former trainer. "Hm. Here, let me remind you!" cried the traitor as she once again lifted those brass knuckles and brought them down hard across the back of Sabrina's head. Party Girl rolled her prey onto her back and sat down on her chest, hammering down metal-reinforced right fists onto the veteran's scarred forehead, opening a number of bloody, weeping gashes. Rivulets of crimson poured down Sabrina's face and pooled on the stage below as the veteran fell motionless. "No?" pouted the fashion icon. "Oh! I know," Party Girl said with an impish smile as she wrapped the chair around Sabrina's cast. Alicia struggled to sit up, to pull her mentor away, to do anything except watch helplessly as Party Girl stomped her right foot down onto the steel, compressing the bone and hyperextending the captive elbow. The horrific finale elicited no response from the victim--Sabrina was totally out.
Party Girl peeled the chair from the limp appendage before raising it high in the air once again. "Hey bestie!" cooed Party Girl as she turned her attention back to Alicia. "Don't worry, I didn't forget about you!" She stepped meaningfully towards her former tag partner and slammed the chair down hard onto Alicia's right knee. The new champion's eyes screwed shut as she laid writhing on the cold, steel ramp in pain. Party Girl lifted the chair and brought it down again, and another bolt of pain shot through the kneecap and up Alicia's leg. One more slam across the side of the knee, followed by another hard blow. Searing, throbbing pain radiated from her kneecap and connective tissue. Alicia screamed, groping for her knee with barely responsive limbs.
Party Girl tossed her blonde hair and pink dreadlocks, reached back into her backpack, and withdrew a scroll which she clutched tight in her hand. Even through hazy vision, Alicia could see the title belt slung over Party Girl's shoulders and read the Look on her adversary's face. "So," chirped Party Girl sweetly. "Let's talk about that title shot."
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