"Could he daily feel a stab of hunger for you and find nourishment at the very sight of you? Yes. But do you... ache for him?"━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━The large wooden door opened up revealing a massive shadow that extended its arms around me. It consumed me without a moment of hesitation… The first impression I offered my husband was weakness when I fainted. My nerves erupted from my stomach and would not stray until I had lived inside of his home for nearly a month. Yet it did not change how his eyes would absorb my every action. It was a careful consideration. Cameron Damian Kaiser accepted me; a simple act. He had chosen to train me as one of his students. After every lesson, I felt an incredible relief. The more I learned, the more alive I began to feel, and the more free my words were. Cameron had accomplished a feat that my parents had so desperately wanted to. With him, my words emptied from me easily as we engaged in normalcy. My craft was honed through my own blood loss… It was honed through the breaking of others. With him as my mentor, I took pride in every match I won. I wanted to be something for Cameron to be proud of in turn.
I had never expected that his fingers would etch themselves into my skin so properly, even as lust dragged me to the ocean floor. My love for him never fit the regular molds of butterflies like media would say. Instead it was choosing to step into his parlor where I sat comfortably at his table. We crafted a beautiful home around that parlor… It should’ve been enough to extinguish the hunger.
Yet that hunger lingered like a shadow trailing behind me. Slowly, it began to feed on my words, stealing them away one by one. There is a bizarre home sensation when I could only communicate with Cameron through glances and ASL. He did not react much but transitioned easily; just like before. Our children took the change in broken strides. They missed my voice...
That was until the 30 of August... He won PWE Championship. That evening inside of the hotel where I locked my hands on the front of Cameron’s shirt. His hand nestled beneath my chin, his thumb firmly pressed against my bottom lip as I opened my mouth. “C-congratulations.” That word dripped out like fresh born moths attempting to take flight. I could almost feel him surge through me…
Sadly, I haven’t been able to recreate the noise that came from me that day. Even once we arrived home and I was able to swaddle my sweet babies inside of my arms; nothing came out. I have been trying every single day to respond to my children with my vocal cords but it seems that I freed all the moths at once. The more I wrestle, the more bloodshed, will I be able to free more?
Do I want that?
It’s a strange split that I am facing with the desire to drag Cameron down into the basement to train more. I want to begin our rituals for the, as Dr. Brown phrases it, upcoming feast… but then I feel tiny fingers wrap themselves around my index finger. Suddenly, my legs are being ravished by the tall grass brushing against my skin. It itches terribly but I would rather not disappoint Sylas. He is leading me further back through the overgrown section of our backyard. A pack of our dogs criss-crossing in front of us like scouting parties. One of his fingers pointing outward to the distant fence. 'Where are we going', I want to ask him, but the words still linger inside of my stomach.
He releases my hand and resumes toddling off through the vegetation with Bowser’s tail in his grip. I can only track him from the very top of his head. A giddy, screaming giggle empties from Sylas, and then a babble… Nonsense, but he does it again. My knees shudder while I have to kneel down inside of the grassy forest. I don’t even flinch as Orson and Odette rush by hoisting two toy lanterns despite it being sunny out.
“To the gate! To the gate! We need to set them free!” Odette shouts like they are fighting in a rebellion.
“Yeah!” Orson does not hesitate to follow her into their pretend battle. He does stop to clumsily scoop Sylas in both arms. The baby’s babbles begin again. This simple noise stops Orson dead in his tracks, just as it did me.
He says nothing to this, but I wonder what a young child might remark at such a trivial thing. Yes, speaking is supposed to be trivial… Where we can spill out useless sentences without another thought… Orson continues cradling his baby brother like a precious gift. His lantern is forgotten somewhere in the grass. Their musical voices bubble high into the air.
Dread rips apart my stomach as I hunch forward trying to swallow a swell of emotion. Any relief from August vanishes inside of the shadow. This should create overwhelming happiness but instead I have to force bile down. What is happening?
Green blurs into swirls until a hand tightly grips my shoulder. It was stern, strong, but comforting as it belonged to my husband, Cameron. Our time spent together seemed to have installed a sixth, or maybe even seventh, sense in him. He knew when I was beginning to fall into my panic. Did he know the reasons as well? When I begin to attempt to regain my composure, I reach up and take his hand into mine. They are newly rough, consequences of him training again. Usually, this draws the urge to rest them against my skin, but not now.
“Marvelous, isn’t it?” he says, a quiet pride radiating from him. “He speaks like he’s an orator of some council.”
A rare joke, but a welcomed one. My hand clasps about his fingers to stabilize the rising storm of panic. When I stop, I consider his words carefully. He’s right. It is…marvelous for him to be so close to speaking. I feared they might be completely lost to him as well. Disgracing him so we both remain trapped behind a wall of glass away from the rest of the world. Hardly an option to simply not speak like other people... The pride welling inside of me confirms something proper, right?
Odette is now at the back gate banging a stick against it. The pups circle around the kids trying to understand the game. Orson is commanding freedom from whatever invisible villain is behind that fence. Sylas is still babbling. He must want to join his siblings in their games...
As I stare over to my children and focus on Sylas, I can't help but let one thought prevail over the others.
Why do I feel so much dread?
"But you are wearing a very well tailored person suit....Less of a person suit and more of a human veil."
━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━
Feminine eyes open with a distinct intensity. Slowly the image expands to reveal Tara Ayla sitting within a throne. Behind her, Damian stands with a single hand rested on the back. On the right side of the throne sits a table with two audio diaries. Tara reaches over to press the PLAY button on the first. The camera zooms on the audio device watching the type whirl around.
[Robotic voice begins]
First Victory was the opening gate in order for me to glimpse at the sacrificial grounds of PWE. Pure white expanding spaces awaiting the bloodbath of which my feet shall giddily travel. The burning excitement began at my fingertips when I eliminated William and Chelsea. It grew when I faced Betsy. Now I hunger for a worthy battle again... I desire silence; followed only by action. This will be ignored for a time but I do hope soon people will remove the self importance blinders. If not with their own hands then with my claws. The ladder method will leave more scars. Even aloft towering pedestals, everyone will fall eventually to the level of my choosing. Please prattle against this but there will be… dire Consequences.
What a fitting title for this next show. The humor was not lost on me, nor the irony. Our opponents chosen fall directly into the blind grouping. Their own hubris leading them to slaughter like swine. Not a clue or care to where they are headed. The low hanging fruit would be to state the obvious conclusion of this match. Everyone must see it as clearly as we do. Superiority snuffing out inadequacy... However, everyone seems to enjoy the babble; much like infants toddling forward aimlessly with greedy hands outstretched. So I will indulge in the vexing activity because, despite the lying from most of the roster, action is so absent…
Isn't that right, Ross? Constant chatter instead of providing positive results. You spout nonsensical insults in effort to unsuccessfully affect the eventual outcome of this match. You lack the proper tools and focus to accomplish the feat. With your pointless droning on Twitter, on the show, that hinders every attack. Did the outcome of First Victory not make that obvious? Apparently the lesson had not settled in for you because the routine continues. With evidence of your match I have drawn the conclusion that you, Ross, are a liar. You claim to be a “classic” wrestler but you are too focused on your relationship, or ridiculous insults. Not even paying enough attention to know what I am to Damian. You even lack the ability to absorb basic information about us! Instead using family as some sort of common thread to garner sympathy from crowds like it might help... Then you boast about achieving some grand win over Damian and I. Without proof this is just more wasted words leaking from your disgusting mouth. So concerned with trivial things while contradicting everything you say. My advice? A fool can appear wise if he keeps his mouth shut.
'The weak will be forgotten.’ I should have been aware how wasteful this statement was. With matches being out of my control, some will be acknowledging those below. Now Chelsea must lose by my hand again. The only shield from us desperately crafted from clinging to quotidian trauma for relation. This pain did not make you stronger; it created a vortex by which you are swallowed. The nickname reminds me of high school as does every single thing about you, Chelsea. Locked forever in an endless cycle of congratulating circumstances for being mediocre. You treat repetition like a mantra but it is not important.. Your family is disgusted with you… You failed at joining the Olympics, your nickname’s origins. Will you repeat these facts when you speak to us? Do you think it will offer any aid? I never lingered on my inexperience as a crutch to my failures, but you will say anything to excuse your blatant weakness. Do not take pride in this, Chelsea. It is pathetic. Even as a rookie I was a force to be feared. You are laughable at best. Please trust me that reliving old stories will not help you here. It will not save you and neither will Ross. Allow me to show you where you belong for the final time.
This couple lacks focus. Battle royals are not a direct line to the array of individual skills. However, it is a test of your awareness. Those two were blind. Whine of bad luck, or outside distractions, but battle royals dwindle down to the intelligence of each combatant. Too busy prattling with the rest of the roster to mentally prepare for the matches. Too busy with each other to lock eyes with what you claimed mattered: victory. Too busy with abrupt upper hands during the matches to actually achieve the ultimate goal. Which can only mean you both lied about the reasons you two are here. All you want to do is mingle and lie. A disgrace to the sport you two pretend to be so devoted to. That is why you lost, and that is why the pattern of failure will continue. Do not bother flailing at the bottom where everyone will step and you both drown as insignificants. Instead, I suggest a better place for you two: a Netflix couple shows. Where fans can fawn all over what you two truly concern with: your relationship. Hopefully after this match you will learn your place - entertaining the fans like a intermission show between matches by pretending to be on a reality TV show.
Rather amusing to consider: we were not even on your minds as factors during the matches. Even now ignorance conquers Ross and Chelsea. Any wrestler with interest in winning would acknowledge the threat inside the ring. Though that would include looking past conceited tendencies from either side of that couple. Do you truly believe that if you repeat: “We will win.” that it will be true? Do you think it is wise to underestimate the *first Excellence Champion*? Do you think it wise to underestimate me? If only speaking translated to skill then this pair would be unstoppable. Do not fret too much because you will be a sacrifice to Our God. In that it might even properly shape you to be greater. Think of this as a bloody cocoon for you two imbeciles to rest inside of. From the shattering of bone and spirit you two can truly flourish into authentic combatants. No more failing those whom you either tried to prove wrong, or honor. Now is that not something to anticipate?
Be grateful that I have even offered this to these two entertainers. You see, my attention span is only open to the competent and right now that is four individuals: the Excellence champion, Betsy Granger and Xaria Linette. Competitors who have fought into the spotlight with considerable threat levels. Their words backed by action… We shall see if that changes soon. The rest merely linger on the outskirts like background props; bodies lining the squared circle. Including our opponents for the evening. Hold my attention while I worship. Even the unworthy can be used. Violence knows no prejudice...
The robotic voice ends and the room is silent for a moment. Tara’s slender hand appears back into view pressing down the next PLAY button. A familiar voice fills the silence.
[Dr. Brown speaks.]
“Hello, Tara.”
“There are some congratulations in order for what you two accomplished the very first show. You took victory in your least favorite match setting without one single flinch. My first assumption was that you might flee from the crowd, accepting the loss with grace. A snake that vanishes back into the high grass to await a better prey to feast upon. I nearly hoped for a glimpse of the young woman I once acted as a therapist to. Yet you took to the offensive instantly. I do not know if that frightens me, or stirs up some strange pride. It does display a devotion that most will never understand, or truly witness. You know what you accomplished. Like the splitting of a massive wall that will set you even more free. A hunting ground expanding in front of you… like a cemetery of the doomed.
I’m sure, To some it may seem incredibly lucky Damian won. He knew what action to take without straining. It was as natural to him as taking a breath. I was forced to remove the rose frame once placed around your husband and see what was truly standing before me… I must admit that I was very unprepared for it despite the fear of it... There is a reason you fell in love and wound each other up so tightly. A cohesive partnership that might never separate you two. A gory womb... Even on the other side of the door, I see it as an opportunity that was seized without hesitation. That is a sector of wrestling; not only physical skill but the intelligence to strike. Both skills are mastered by the two of you flawlessly. It is a shame that none of them took heed… Now they will only draw the proper conclusion through what I feared: through your feast.
How does it feel to feed again? Has even the miniscule amount of that hunger been sated? I highly doubt hesitation lingers and you’re already opening your armored maw once again. Chomping through bone and muscle with sickening ease. I noticed the gleam within your eyes returned. I wonder even in your loss, did you feel that rapturous relief? Was the match against Betsy Granger simply stretching to reignite instinct that runs deep within your veins? How long will you edge into the flames before they completely consume you? I doubt you'd even feel the burn. And I doubt that Damian will pull you back.
What is worse, that they have given you two thrones… An evil king and his loyal dog. Against my hopes, and the only hand to their own survival… They haven’t begun to peer beneath those veils. Not even dared peek between the cracks of the masks worn in order to pretend normalcy. It is normal to stray as far away as possible away from what scares us. An instinctual reaction in order for us to formulate an escape route back to safety. If you are not the monsters under the bed, then there is no reason to not step inside of the wrestling ring. Those masks might even break off, but then neither of you will be able to hide again. Instead, I’m positive you will combat unshakable ego while you continue forward through PWE.
Congratulations to Damian Ayla, Excellence’s inaugural champion, and Tara Ayla, the God slayer…
Please send my condolences to your next… opponents.
[Click.]
The tape stops. Pulling away from the Audio Diaries that appear to be smudged with a red substance. The camera centers onto Tara who is holding another audio diary. Damian is now standing at her side with his hand resting, lovingly, on her shoulder. She smiles as abrupt light sparks through the room, and presses the button.
[Robot voice begins once again.]
I do hope that it has sunk in through gaping mouths. PWE is our garden now… Where I may pick as many by the neck as I so please. It has already proven to be satisfying. While I do not desire drabble from myself it is necessary for you all. I do hope you have all accepted that I truly live by ‘Action over words.’ Victory I was not for the win but for the glorious shedding of blood. This time, however, is different. Pride of a champion is in play; as is pride for my mentor, my husband. To lose is to fail. It is akin to turning away from our gossip. I would rather he break me before that occurs. Do not worry: I have never lost with our pride on the line. This match is on a thin wire where two stepping stones will be forgotten beneath our feet… I nearly salivate at the very thought.
Allow us to show you how to properly Worship our God.
The room goes dark.
