Post by Silver Eagle on Jun 14, 2017 1:04:33 GMT
“Oh my feathers! I'm late, I'm late, I'm late!”
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“I’m sick of this,” she whimpered softly. A thin trickle of midnight black rolled down from her emerald jewel of an eye, a murky river of sorrow that flowed down to the dimple of her chin, before leaping off like a lemming and plummeting to the vast below. The little rocking chair she sat upon, decorated with chains of daisies and razor wire rocked back and forth, the bottomless pit that it hovered upon emitting a deep growl, as if some strange monstrous creature hid somewhere in the cracks that crept down. She looked up at the tea party before her, ornate cups and saucers magically pouring out overflowing portions of the milkiest tea imaginable, except a thick black smog seemed to rise from it instead of steam. The thin clouds were shades of blood red, the sun snapped in half like a cracker, the sky was green and the grass was blue. Across the table, clothed like a chessboard, marched little clockwork birds, imitating the pieces, but pecking and clawing at each other as they took their turns to move, white vs black. Across from her sat a figure, stunningly feminine and elegant but with a swan’s head instead of her own, feathers as black as death. Serpent like arms coiled around her neck, the snakes face hissing as it appeared around the corner, half it’s face golden, the other half as dead and rotting as a corpse.
“I thought it would be a fresh start here in Phoenix,” she mutters, a ghostly wind blowing the ethereal image of two twins, burning at the stake as apples fell on their heads. “Everyone knows about the troubles I’ve had over in England. The constant influx of rulebreakers, all the cheating, the scheming, the backstabbing. I’ve seen so many waltz in and bully their way into positions, leapfrogging others. I’ve seen the most ridiculous rules and stipulations, and companies more interested in creating a scandal and headlines over a real sporting competition.” She sighed, sipping on the overflowing tea, the steaming fluid dripping down the pit and feeding the monster within. “I thought this would be a change, but it isn’t.”
“There is a champion who lied and cheated his way to glory, who was crowned on mere opinion as opposed from clearly defeating his opponent. He crowned the Queen of the company, yet she isn’t even on the roster or even bothered.” She stared at the twisted images of her parents, the Swan and the Snake, pipes playing a twisted tune as their song of cat and mouse continued on. “Title challengers have been personally selected, even though others have beaten them before. Throwing out opportunities to those who haven’t earned them, whilst cutting off those that should have that right. And time limits… time limits can rob you of everything you have ever earned and wanted and deserved and you didn’t even lose.” She peered at the ashes of the defeated clockwork birds upon the table, slowly creating a giant mound of pitch black dust. “You didn’t lose.” She looked upon the table, an army of imps, green faced and eternally grinning, each of them bearing the face of someone she knew, partners, friends, former associates. They all swept up and created a mountain with the ashes of the fallen.
“This business is becoming too corrupt and the casual fan is being brainwashed and it isn’t right. I want to change it, but everything keeps getting stacked up and everyone is just allowed to make a mockery of everything and…” She paused, crimson tears flowing as one of the imps with bright red locks waved at her, another with a chainsaw carving up the fallen and tossing the limp parts onto the mountain.
“There will be no redemption because the men who run this place do not want redemption. They want to be as near to hell as they can.” The father snake hissed, corrosive saliva spitting from his maw. “And you should take them there.” The mountain exploded into a volcano, burning hot lava spewing forth as she heard a shriek in the altered night. The lava poured towards her, the stream of molten magma flowing down into the pit, impossibly filling it.
“Where, but in the lowest point of the comedown is redemption: my darling, where but in the deepest grief of failure, loss, error do we discern the savage afflictions that turn us around. Sweetheart, where but in this moment are you able to spread your wings and fly through?” Mother Swan said, her long, slender neck bowing forward.
“When you're the only sane person,” came the voice of a river otter, sipping on tea with such politeness, “you look like the only insane person.” The otter, sat in the middle of a crossroads on the table, a crown upon her head looked up to Anastasia. “You are unique. Use everything you are feeling, and never make it feel like a burden.” The Queen Otter returned to her tea, playing with the leaves in her saucer, turning them into the image of a bird mid flight.
“I am with you all the way,” the Red Panda said, crawling from her chair and onto her shoulder, platinum blonde streaks in her hair, deepest crimson in her eyes and paint upon her fingers. “Nothing will ever bring you down.” Panda Wife kissed her upon the cheek, bringing tears to Anastasia’s eyes, as she stroked her hair with the most tender of affection.
“It’s time,” she said, closing her eyes and slipping into the pit, fearless and free. The magma engulfed her, the scorching heat igniting her every being. But the heat was not hot, it was cool, it was fresh, it was enlightening and new. Arms twisted, her face stretched, her fingers became blazing talons and she burst forth, born anew as the fiery phoenix, wings spreading wide and high as she cawed into this twisted world once more.
This was her true form.
This was her redemption.
This was her time to regain everything she lost and more.
This was her redemption.
This was her time to regain everything she lost and more.
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Ten minutes. Ten whole minutes passed and it was over. It wasn’t with a bang, it wasn’t with a roar, it wasn’t with fireworks or an explosion. It wasn’t with a scream or a shout, or the marching of soldiers and the sounds of trumpets. It was with a whimper and a sigh, three little dings of a bell then eternal silence. I sat in my spot, a spot that was meant for someone else and they were in mine, with my title, and my glory and my everything and I was not done. I was not defeated. I did not lose.
She can’t beat me.
I did not feel like a loser. I didn’t feel as if I had lost. I wasn’t pinned, I didn’t submit. I hadn’t cheated and been caught out, but that is not my style anyway. I wasn’t outside of the ring, unable to get to my feet. There was no climbing of ladders, there was no first blood, there wasn’t even the biased opinion of the collective jury. The result was the same for us both, and yet she was where I should be.
She can’t beat me.
I know the rules of the Rising Phoenix title, I may not agree with them but I know them. So did Elena, and it was obvious what she was playing for. It wasn’t to beat me, it wasn’t to make me submit or be better than me at all. It was merely to survive. And that’s what she did. And whilst her friends and hangers on poured on praise for simply lasting, only lasting, she had to sit there with MY title in her hands knowing one thing above all others.
She can’t beat me.
While she gloated about using the only thing she had against me, and boy did she gloat, she then turned to mockery. Her and her friends. I had an outburst, poured my emotions and frustrations onto the pages of social media. And I was mocked. Mocked for caring about this business, mocked for caring about my fans, about my livelihood, about my injury and my anger and my love for everything that I have ever accomplished. I am passionate about this business and everything that happens in it and I was mocked for it. Sometimes I wish I could just brush it off and forget all the bad that has happened to me, but I can’t. I’m not like that. I need to take all the good, all the bad, and all the ugly and use it. Use it to better myself and push myself for more and more until I can’t push myself no more. My mental game and love for wrestling sets me aside from those that try and cover up their mistakes. My passion is what drives me. She knows that. She knows something else as well.
She can’t beat me.
In the midst of her gloating and mockery, she made a mistake. I had my rant, it was well deserved given how the match went, and everything that led to my injury prior to our bout. I called so many things stupid, so many things. But not her. Sure, I damned her for taking the route that she did. I used that word. But stupid? No. No I didn’t. And yet, she went on and on, bantering with her allies about how I did, yet I didn’t. I could retweet everything I said and tag her in it, and still she wouldn’t see. It’s obvious now to me that she doesn’t pay attention. If she did, she wouldn’t have made that mistake. And if she did, she would now realize that the one tactical advantage that she had against me last time around is now against her. The time limit is not on her side anymore, it’s on mine. How ironic it would be if I reclaim MY title by exploiting the very same rule? After all...
She can’t beat me.
That is my title she is holding. One I earned, one I love, one I will hold again. Your so called victory has not held me back, because I am not just the first holder of that belt, I am the epitome of that championship. I hope she has paid attention, unlike what she did on social media. Since we fought, I have been rising through the WCS World Cup, I faced off against a man who had only lost three times in TEN years, one of the biggest stars in this industry and beat him fair and square in the centre of the ring. Something she could not do to me. Because...
She can’t beat me.
I rose from the ashes and a new flame was born, blazing and glorious and hotter than ever before. And whilst she plays pretender, walking with a little candle believing she is lighting the way, I’m bringing the inferno, I’m bringing napalm death itself and her own ashes will be forced down her throat for her mockery, for her gloating, for parading around like the golden calf. One that I am going to melt down with the flames of my redemption. I have fought too hard and for too long to let this slip through my fingers because of a damn clock. Time is all we have. Time is all we are. And whilst time may have been on her side last go around, the hands of the clock will be turned back upon her, and my time is now. And then, when the cogs turn and all this explodes in her face, THEN I will call her stupid.
Because… she can’t beat me.
She won’t beat me.
And I will be Rising Phoenix Champion once more.
And that is the word of the bird.
