Xander followed the maid into the depths of the mansion that house his quarters, watching her struggle with the long, flowing nature of her white petticoat. Her black leather shoes, buckled with polished silver, dragged against the floorboards. Where the floor had warped, she sometimes tripped. Never learning her lesson, she muttered a quiet curse instead. Xander had noticed the dark circles hanging underneath her eyes. Her pale skin seemed ghostly, almost vampiric. Trapped in a haze, she hummed to herself, never giving much attention to the guests. Xander couldn’t help but feel this woman was out of place, in a world she did not belong. Then again, he too was in a world where never truly belonged.
Beside him, Hunter tried to creep in order to avoid garnering his attention. She too wore a dress, much fancier than the maid’s uniform. This one cut off right above her knees. Tight fitting too, squeezing her body, accentuating her every curve. She too struggled with the dress. High heels clicked, echoing in the empty halls, making her attempt to go unnoticed impossible. Xander kept glancing over his shoulder, trying to catch her facial expression, but she hung her head. Xander knew shame when he saw it. The bruises on her arms and the bandages around her neck branded her with a scarlet letter ‘F’, for failure. He had been right to worry about her chewing off more than she could chew when she had left him at that airport terminal. But he didn’t find any consolation in being right; instead, dread seized him, a certain sense of helplessness, now desperate for answers about the abuse inflected upon his ward. Desperate not to be helpless any longer. He didn’t particularly care about her bruised ego. He needed answers.
He needed to protect her.
“Your room,” the maid announced, coming to a stop before a dark oak door. She stepped aside to give them access to the room. Xander nodded his thanks, grasping the brass doorknob. The door struck to its frame. With a push and a snap, it opened. The hingers squeaked in protest. The annoyance at the struggle lasted only a second before he realized the usefulness of such a warning bell. He was deep in enemy territory after all. No one could sneak into this room this way without alarming him. He cold sleep easy. A spacious room opened up before him. Fully furnished with antique dressers, wardrobes, side tables, and even a gigantic canopy bed in the middle of all its grandeur. If this had been a resort, this would have been a luxury suite. He even had a sitting area off to one corner of the room, two couches surrounding a coffee table. So much space, so much waste.
“That’d be all,” Xander said. He went to rescind his dismissal, but she had already vanished. He doubted she even waited for his leave. He regretted not prying any information from the servant about the circumstances they had found themselves in, but his mind had been consumed with the need to interrogate Hunter. Hunter lingered in the door frame, uneasy, arms crossed defensively. Xander swung his suitcase down upon his bed with the weight of a blacksmith’s hammer. “You’re going to stay out there?”
Now beckoned by him, Hunter entered the room, migrating over to the sitting area. Her delicate hands ran along the back one of the couches. Her plain fingernails served as contrast to the fancy attire she adorned. Had Chad demanded such a dress code at court? The curtains blocked out the sun for the most part, but lights did sneak past the gaps. Xander forced the door shut with a long bang. He went straight to Hunter, placing his hands on her shoulders. Her heels made her taller than he was accustomed. Finally, she mustered the courage to meet his gaze. Her sad eyes haunted him.
“No, I won’t. I won’t tell you.”
“I haven’t even asked a question yet.”
“I already know what you’re going to ask. Don’t bother.”
“Do you now?”
“You want to know who did this to me, who hurt me. Well, I’m not going to tell you. You’ll do something stupid,” Hunter said. She wiggled her shoulders free. She retreated to far wall, now throwing open the curtains. Sunlight filled the room. Xander followed her, but she waved him off with a hand. “I’m fine. Really. It’s not like I don’t appreciate your concern, but it’s over now. I’m safe now.”
“The fuck you are!”
“Yes. I am!”
Xander yanked her back from behind, turning her around. She needed to face him. She had to understand this reluctant concern her harbored, so he lowered himself down to her eye level. Stared her right in the eyes, where she could not flee. “None of us are safe here. I know you told me Chad saved you, but whatever shit happened, it was his doing. I can tell you that much. And if he seemed to be your savior, that’s all part of the magic show. Part of his fucking illusion, another attempt to manipulate us!”
“I’m no stupid. I know exactly what he’s trying to do.”
“Then tell me. What happened? Start from the top. I can’t protect you if I don’t know what we’re up against,” Xander said. Calm and collected. Reasonable even. She had to see his purpose. Hunter conceded as heavy sight, but only that. She shied away. She hated every moment of this conversation. He probed a fresh cut. But this talk had to happen. “Look, I get it. You’re prideful now. You want to take care of yourself, fend for your-fucking-self. But you’re not alone. We’re in this mess together.”
“You’ve really changed,” Hunter commented. Xander didn’t exactly understand what she meant. His eyes searched for the answer in hers. He saw his own face, shriveled with confusion, in the reflection in her pupils. Instead of elaborating, she pushed past him towards the bed. She dropped onto the mattress’s edge, kicking her feet up, throwing her arms back. “I’ll tell you, only if you promise not to overreact. Promise me that you won’t go berserk and murder everyone.”
“I can’t. If someone’s a threat, I’ll—,” Xander started.
“Promise me, or my lips remain sealed.”
“You’ve changed too,” Xander echoed. He growled. He knew himself too well. He could promise whatever what want, but the moment that rage hit, the minute that desperate protectiveness took hold, those emotions ignited all that murderous instinct in him. He had to punish them all. Whoever though to harm her, he’d punish. Make them understand in a way they would never fathom laying a single finger on her again. Restless, he tapped his foot against the bed post. He lied, “Alright. I won’t do anything stupid. Now tell me.”
“Better not go back on your word.”
“I said I won’t.”
“Good.”
“So?”
“These bruises. Katelyn. She even headbutted me,” she said. She first showed him the discoloration of where the struggle had broken her skin. Hunter then pulled back her hair, to show the ugly purple lump upon her forehead. It still looked swollen. Damn her, Xander sighed. He had broken enough promises for one lifetime. He turned away, shying with shame, knowing very well he would add another promise to the trash heap. Hunter must had read the telltale signs of his remorse, but she challenged. “I had two visitors the other night. My throat here, the second. He had a knife.”
“I’ll have a word with Katelyn later. But first, I know the second, don’t I? That’s why you are so hesitant.”
“Yes, you do.”
“You have to tell me.”
“In a minute. I have to brace myself for your reaction, hold on,” Hunter said. She reached up, touching her bandages gingerly, remembering the fright she had that night. She pushed past that fear though, nodding to herself, letting her arms fall back down to her side. She balled hands, even grab a bunch of her dress. She slid to her feet, then past his massive frame, stepping before him. She reached up to his sides, fingertips pressing onto his arms. Did she think she could hold him here if he snapped? “You once told me: the past never remains there. I never really thought about it. I always believed you were trying to be weirdly poetic again, trying to tell me that we’re the sum of all ours scars, those visible and those not. But I guess now, maybe you meant it in a more literal sense.”
“Hunter. Who? Who is it?” Xander repeated. His impatience was visible, his legs shifting in place, shoulders swaying, sizing up an invisible enemy in a boxing ring, but a brazen gilding of the deep veined anxiety that penetrated him. He steeled himself for a revelation that threatened to pull out stitches of some old war wound, one he believed had been long healed. Hunter backed away. He tilted his head downwards, glaring at her red leather shoes, with that incessant clicking. “Spit it out.”
“Abigail’s boyfriend.”
“She had a boyfriend? Who the fuck is that?”
“Skinny guy, looks like a meth head.”
“That fucker?” Xander recoiled, finally remembering that pathetic man. He felt let down, all that energy worried for naught. The only time he ever interacted with that man, his name escaped him, the punk wetted his pants. If that wasn’t enough humiliation, Xander revealed to him he was cuckold, having been fooled by that venomous bitch. But why was he here? That wasn’t a difficult answer. Xander instantly knew that it had to be Chad. Chad had supposed to have tied up that loose end neatly, but here Chad was again, yanking on a string, wanting to see what came unraveled. This man posed a threat now, proved as such by hurting Hunter. But he won’t remain a threat for long. Not if Xander could help it.
“He’s in Chad’s employ now. He even drove me over in the boat. He’s obsessed with you. I first thought he was one of those fanatics.”
“Of course, Chad. But why did he attack you? Doesn’t matter. The next time I see that asshole, I’m—,” Xander started.
Hunter interrupted, “You promised you’ll be good.”
“Yeah. I did. But sooner or later, I was going to meet that man again. And I tell you this, I’d squash that ant regardless whether he harmed you or not. But now, I have a little bit of extra-fucking-motivation,” Xander said. Now Hunter took her turn to tilt her head; she feigned disbelief, but both knew she had expected this reaction, the rolled eyes said as much. He closed the short distance remaining between them, lowering himself to inspect her neck. His raised his hands cautiously. His touch gentle. He undid the bandages around the neck. The first layers were a bright clean white, but the more he unraveled, the rustier the clothe became with dried blood. Then when all the bandages had been removed, he saw the nascent scab. The cut didn’t seem all that serious, but it had been just a wrong slip away from her artery. Xander shuddered. “And you think I’d be able to stand by and do nothing about this? He could have killed you.”
“But he didn’t.”
“But—”
“— Chad’s trying to provoke you. He had that man here to get a response from you. Throw you off kilter.”
“You think he would aspire for greater challenges in life. I’m easy game, easy to provoke me,” Xander commented. He turned away, allowing the use bandages to float to floor. Needing something to replace, he went to his suitcase. He removed a scarlet shirt, one that matched her shoes. He shredded the shirt. He took the long scrapes, tied it around her neck, tucking in the tattered edges underneath her black dress. He stepped back to admire his work. It looked like a scarf.
“For your next trick, are you going to nurse me back to health?”
“I’ll say you’re pretty fucking healthy with that wit.”
“I guess I become sharp-tongued when I’m nervous.”
“Nervous?” Xander questioned but found himself nodding. “I guess I’m nervous too.”
“Look at me. I thought I’d be ready for whatever God had in store for me. I thought I could handle Chad and his games, but—,” Hunter stopped. Her dejected eyes lowered during her admission. Xander went to place his hands on her shoulders, to comfort her, but she slipped away. She walked away. “I did let Katelyn rough me up. It was at least I could do for being party to that scheme. Willing or not. Knowing or not. But with that man, I refused to be pushed around by him. I had enough of that for one night. So I fought. And I lost.”
“He had a knife.”
“I’d like to see him pull on knife on you.”
“Could be a blade. Could be a bullet. My flesh is made the same as yours,” Xander caught himself in some attempt to console her. He froze. Was this what she really wanted to her from him? No, he was her rock, she found strength in him. While he wished he knew some way to ween her from the teat, she needed that strength right now. He thumbed his bottom lip. “No, you’re right. I’d take that knife from his tiny hands and gut him with it. Be the last fucking thing he’d do.”
A dinner bell rang out throughout the mansion’s corridors and room, summoning guests to the grand hall for that evening’s meal. Hunter led Xander. He changed out of his travel clothes, into a much more comfortable white wifebeater and pair of bright baby blue Levi jeans, a far cry from the formality of Hunter’s dress and heels. She kept his red cloth around her neck, sometimes brushing the back of her hand across to reassure her that it still hung around her neck. Xander’s stomach gnawed with hunger, boldened by the prospect brought on by the dinner bell. They made their way from their room towards the main building. He didn’t see anyone else venturing out in these hallways. Had he been kept away from the other guests? Was that on purpose? Or had they been elsewhere when the bell rang.
Once they stepped out into the foyer, with its high peaked roofs and pair of spiraling staircases to second floor, he saw Katelyn flowing across the polished hardwood floors, towards the double doors that led into the great hall. She too adorned a dress, through the cut came above the knees and fabric pulled tightly against her frame. Xander quickened his step, intending to intercept Katelyn. Hunter tried to stop him, slapping her hand onto his wrist, but he easily ripped his arm free. He came from Katelyn’s blindside, snatched her by the back of the shoulder. Katelyn immediately spun, an elbow targeting his jaw, but he caught her swinging arm before it struck. He squeezed tightly, intending to add a little pain into the mix.
“Xander, no,” Hunter pleaded. She remained behind him.
“So she’s calling the shots, huh? I thought she was your bitch, but I guess she has you on the leash, doesn’t she? Does she reward good behavior with treats, maybe her biscuit?” Katelyn taunted him. Her interpretation didn’t bother him. He didn’t exactly have an overly masculine pride. Plus, he knew very well the woman was trying to push his buttons, but unfortunately (or maybe fortunately) for her, those buttons didn’t exist.
“Come with me. We need to talk.”
“Oh, yes, we do. I have a lot to say. I assure you that none of which is nice,” Katelyn said. Xander threw aside her arm, freeing her from his grasp. He motioned to his head to the exterior doors leading into the entrance hall. For a moment, he could tell that she contemplated taking another shot at him. She must had decided against, taking the lead instead, pushing past the heavy double doors out onto the portico. Gigantic columns rose from either side to support the peaked roof over the mansion’s entranceway. They gathered behind one of the far pillars, in a shaded place. “This is good, isn’t it? There won’t be any witnesses to see me eviscerate you with my words.”
“This is just so perfect.”
“Seeing how I’m an honest girl, I want to first warn you to sleep with one eye open because you made the wrong enemy out of me,” Katelyn threatened. Xander growled frustration immediately, rolling his eyes, not at all enjoying the start to this discussion. How was he supposed to protect her if she posed a danger to Hunter and him? He didn’t know why he cared about keeping his word to Blake. He had zero respect for the man. “What do you expect from me? A friend? You endangered my girls.”
“Enough. I’m not your enemy. Fuck, I even made a promise to protect you,” Xander revealed. He leaned on the pillar, looming over Katelyn.
Katelyn laughed. “You expect me to believe you.”
“I don’t care if you believe me or not. I have no reason to lie.”
“How do I not know this is some cheesy pick up line that Chad fed to you? Does he want you to get into my good graces so you can help him manipulate me? Well, too bad, I’m not some stupid sock puppet,” Katelyn lashed back. Her hands propped on her hips. Her chest puffed out. She looked onto Xander with sheer defiance. He could tell she itched to attack him, to hit him, to punish him. And he found himself at odds, because he remembered that some of Hunter’s bruises came from this loudmouth woman before him.
“No, Chad has nothing to do with this. I promised Mason. He begged me to make sure nothing bad happens to the mother of his child. On a side note, I also gave him word that I’d never hurt your girls,” Xander said. He hoped that was enough for her to drop her cynicism. He needed her to be on his side. How could he protect her if she was hostile? But to his dismay, she arched her thick black eyebrow. She doubted him. What could he say to persuade her?
“I’ll admit, Blake can be a simp sometimes. It does sound like something he’ll do. But again, I can’t take your word. You already threatened my girls once. I can see you being anything but the worst kind of scum.”
“Then call him. Ask him yourself. Either way I don’t care, but I do intend to keep my word.”
“Of course, you’ll say that, damn knowing there is no service out here. Kind of convenient, don’t you think?”
“Do we really not get reception out here?” Xander turned towards Hunter. She shrugged. He didn’t know why he thought she would know; she didn’t have a cellphone. He stabbed his hand into his pocket, brandished his phone, checking for service. Katelyn told the truth. They were cut off from the modern world. “I didn’t know.”
“Chad probably chose this place for that reason. No one can call for help when things get messy,” Hunter commented. Katelyn and Xander both hummed agreement to her assessment. Either way, Xander found himself at an impasse with Katelyn. His mind ached with futility. He sought some path to win her over to his side. It’d make keeping promises much easier. Hunter injected herself into the following silence. “I promise you. He might not seem like it, but Xander has a soft spot for children.”
“The fuck I do,” Xander responded immediately. What was she talking about?
“See, straight from the horse’s mouth,” Katelyn said. Xander silently cursed his big mouth. He didn’t know why he was so allergic to the notion Hunter had presented. He wasn’t good with children; he knew that much. He also didn’t see much reason in hurting them, punishing them for the mistakes made by adults. If that what she meant with him having a ‘soft spot’, then she was only right in the most loose of terms. Hunter glared at Xander. He shrugged his shoulders. She tried to help him, and he dropped the ball.
“What I’m saying, Xander will not hurt your daughters, no matter the circumstances. He doesn’t hurt children,” Hunter said. Xander would correct her. He had hurt a child once. He might not remember doing so, but he knew he had hurt Connor in one of his blind rages. He had the Norse blood of berserkers flowing through his veins, which was probably a condition that would equate to bipolar disorder nowadays. He used not to have control. Age dulled the spikes, his current medications did the rest to subdue his anger, at least bridled the beast within. Enough to stay in control, most of the time.
“All I’m saying, I made a promise. Don’t fight me on this. I’m going to make certain that you get through this in one piece. And I refuse to allow your daughters get anymore involved than they’re already,” Xander repeated.
“Nothing you can say or do will convince me that you’re one of the good guys.”
“Then at least promise me you won’t do anything stupid. Or attack Hunter again. Play it nice and fucking easy,” Xander requested. His eyes drifted over to the bruises that Hunter carried. Katelyn contributed to those injuries. He wanted to forget. He couldn’t. He choked down his need to punish her. “And stay the hell out of our way.”
“That’s hilarious.”
“Huh?”
“You are over here braking orders, thinking people would actually listen to you. I’m going to do what I need to in order to make sure my daughters are peachy. I also plan on getting out of this shitshow in one piece. I don’t care who I have to go through. I don’t care what extremes I must. So why don’t you stay the hell out of MY way, big guy,” Katelyn fired back. A dangerous image flashed across Xander’s consciousness. His arms reached up. His hands wrapped around her throat. He choked her. Her eyes bulged and tears fell. But he dismissed that dark fantasy to the far corner of his mind. He couldn’t. Instead, he grumbled a curse or two underneath his breathe while watching Katelyn walk away, waving her hand farewell. Not only did he loathe her, he hated himself even more for making such a useless promise.
“I bet that didn’t go as well as you hoped.”
“You think?” Xander spat. He shook his head, watching the door swing shut.
“You really thought you’d be able to convince her that you’re not an asshole?” a voice called out from behind another pillar. Shawn Winters emerged, looking dashing in a white dress shirt, unbuttoned to show off a manly bush of chest hair. A gold medallion hung from his neck. Tight black dress pants buckled by matching brass. Reminded Xander of a pirate. He belonged on the covers of a trashy romance novel that middle-aged women read. He stepped right out of their wistful fantasies.
“You make a habit eavesdropping?” Xander didn’t conceal his annoyance. Nor did Hunter. Like a guard dog, Hunter stiffened at the stranger’s approach, her hair probably sticking straight up. Xander batted her back with his hand. Shawn definitely did not look like a trustworthy gentleman.
“I happened to be down by the beach before I heard the dinner bell. Beautiful scenery. Isolated. A perfect place for a star to go splish splash in the big blue ocean without any pesky fans or paparazzi,” Shawn said. He crossed his arms, leaned against the pillar. “She does not trust you one bit. I don’t blame her. You did bother her daughter on Chad’s behalf.”
“I don’t see how this concerns you any,” Hunter said.
“If you want, Xander, I can have a word with her. Convince her that we’re all on the same side. She knows me.” Shawn laughed heartily. “I’ll convince her that Chad is the big bad evil mastermind, the villain that we must assemble together and defeat. That we have to come together, one big happy family.”
“Glad to see that you’re having fun with all of this,” Xander replied.
“Is that a ‘no’?”
“We’re not on the same side. I’m on no one’s side other than my own. My priority isn’t to embarrass Chad, but to stay alive and keep the women safe,” Xander said. Shawn tapped his nose, before wagging his finger. “You’re on your own, Shawn.”
“But don’t you see? The only way everyone makes it out of this mess, unscathed, if Chad is taken care of. And the only way I see to do that without murdering the bastard is to humiliate him. Make it so that everything he thinks of any one of us, he shudders due to utter embarrassment,” Shawn responded. He pointed towards his head, to convey that he thought his plan to be genius. “And if everyone’s on the same page, I bet you a million dollars, it’d be a lot easier.”
“We better get going. Everyone’s probably waiting on us,” Xander turned to Hunter, dismissing Shawn. Hunter nodded. She led the way. She continued to glance over her shoulder. Not to assure Xander continued to follow her, but out of concern towards Shawn. Shawn lingered behind them, a few paces, arms up over his head. Despite Xander’s rejection, Shawn didn’t show any signs of disappointment. Was this too a game for him? Maybe Shawn and Chad had a lot more in common that Xander knew.
When Hunter went to push open the double doors into the great hall, Shawn pulled Xander back by the shoulder. He leaned away from the door, asked Xander, “We’re still in agreement that we’re not going to mention that I volunteered to be here, right?”
“I’ll throw you a bone,” Xander said softly. Regardless of Shawn’s plans or not, he did make a good point. If Chad thought Xander extorted Shawn, he probably be a little more pleasant. Easier to handle. It wasn’t that Xander feared Chad’s punishment, but he understood in such power dynamics, disappointment was viewed just as badly as treason. He didn’t need Chad to try to make Xander step back in line. He had to pretend to Chad’s faithful servant. He didn’t have any other outs. Maybe they were right, maybe he was Chad’s dog, but keeping Chad happy wasn’t as high of priority as making sure the women made it out of this getaway, safe and sound. That was the hill he had chosen to die on. He knew he’d risked everything.
This time would be different.
It ceases to amaze.
The double standards.
The mental gymnastics.
What’s it called again? That’s right, the cognitive fucking dissonance.
It’s an infection that spread to every facet of our human society, tiny roots that crept in between the cracks, crumble the sidewalk. It’s there, in modern politics, cultures, religions, and hell, even professional wrestling. God didn’t spare us from this ugliness. It’s a like bug, crawling up into the minds of all, infiltrating every rank of this hierarchy, from the stupid fans that pay tickets, to the ignorant peers that live in their own fantasy worlds, all the way to the very top, to the rusted brass reclining in their comfy leather chairs, neatly arranged around that boardroom table. Yeah, hypocrisy is a catch-all, a term thrown about so lightly in our rhetoric. We hear about it all the time. Finger pointing every which way. But really, have we all become numb to it? Have we become so blind to this blight? No, hypocrisy is the one value that we all seem to share, a common thread that connects us all in this dysfunctional reality.
Isn’t it something, though? Look as they hold up certain individuals as the pillars of our society, the same heroes are paraded, applauded as last remaining bastions of good, the paragons of virtue. They are the bright flash of the lighthouse on dark stormy seas, the beacons of hope for the weary. Frozen Hell, aren’t they everything that’s supposed to bright about this sport? They’re everything people want in today’s professional athletes. Role model to the millions of children that sit on their parents’ lap, indoctrinated by this sport.
Oh yes, everyone respects the Selenas, the Regans. With their truest hearts, they are our true champions. The people’s champions.
But what about Xander Valentine? What about me? No, they point to me. I’m cast off as a pariah. I’m the scapegoat for all the problems plaguing this sport. I’m the cause for the violence in our culture. I’m god damn boogeyman. The bad influence. I’m the cancerous fumes you inhale when you watch wrestling. Call me a silent killer. They blame it all on me. I preach misogyny. I represent tyranny. I’m the bully. Everyone else is either my victims or their saviors.
There’s no respect for me. I’m trash. I’m an untouchable. I’m the necessary evil so the narrative can stay alive.
But what exactly separates us, Regan? Selena? Other than I don’t move goal posts to placate my hungry hungry ego. Other than that I am the only person in that locker room who seems to have a consistent moral code, a certain honor or dishonor, however you want to paint it. I’m the only wrestler today that is truly honest, with himself and about himself. I don’t waste my time, coming up with hyperboles and superlatives in order to paint myself into a better picture. I don’t need to market myself. My mere existence is the commodity that keeps money flowing from their pockets to the Drachewych’s bank accounts. I don’t drone on and on, talk myself up every chance, pretend there are no causes behind these scars. I don’t hide them. All the setbacks, all the misery, all the disappointment, they are a part of me. There are testament to my endurance, my mental fortitude. Then again, I don’t need to remind people who I am. What I am. What I’m capable of. No, there’s no wrapping paper around me, no bow on my head. What you see is what you get. There’s no hidden fees or small print, caveats and disclaimers. There’s no hiding. I don’t hide. I’m always there, standing in the spotlight, right there in the center of the ring, for better or for worse, waiting for the next challenger to approach.
And when that bell rings, I’m a force to be reckoned with. I don’t pull back on my punches. I don’t waste a second to get to my business. I’m a blood-soaked tempest, leaving behind human wreckage like a category five hurricane. I’m a fighter, a punisher, and that’s about it. I’m the best at what I do, but for some reason, everyone hates me for it. But without me, it wouldn’t be the same. Without me, something would be a missing from this blood sport.
It’s everyone’s doing. It’s everyone that props me up like a monster, their King Kong they get to knock off the Empire State Building. They’re the ones that always claim that they’ll end my rampage, my rampant scorching the earth. They need to. Look at the destruction, broken bodies and shattered souls that I leave behind in my wake. Somebody, oh please, somebody stop me! Think of the children. Think of the innocence. The victims, everyone’s a victim. Again, and again, they come, stepping up to the plate, swing… swing… swing and a miss! No one stops me. No one ends me. Win or lose, I’m still breathing. I’m still fighting.
I’m still here.
But the challengers go home, pretend they accomplished something, pretend that they weren’t hurt. When the final bell rings, it seems like they leave behind all their lofty promises, all they’re supposed heartfelt pledges. No, they can’t wait to get away from me. As a far as they can. It’s almost like their stated purpose never existed, that drive was nothing but a fabrication. All they care is if they keep up the appearances, save face. If they sound good, if they look good, who cares about actually being good? What’s so wrong with that? People say perception is more important than a reality. Maybe that’s why I’m an outcast, a reject, because I am the only person who cares about the truth, no matter how ugly or sad it might be. And when a person is at their breaking point, you start to learn all sorts of truth about them.
But I’m recycled, ready to be used again, lined up for the next hero to test themselves, to prove themselves, to prop themselves up, to make a name for themselves, to earn favor with the faces in the crowd and in the back.
Chip, chip, chip away at me. Eventually a man is expected to snap. Eventually, any man in my position, is expected to go rogue, shoot up a mall, a school, or concert. Go postal. Go berserk. Burn up in flames. But I’m not any man. I’m stronger than that. I don’t break, so keep your pity. I thrive off this persecution. I strive when I’m a man on the run, with a target on my back. I enjoy listening, week in, week out, how I’m the monster and they’re the slayer. That I’m big game and they’re the hunter. But the joke’s on them. I’m the Executioner and they’re the condemned. I’ll make heroes out of all ‘em, all of ‘em tragic. Martyrs to their egos. And there’s nothing more of a tragedy waiting to happen than my beloved Frozen Hell.
Look at them. They’re future Hall of Famers, accomplished so-so much, championship aficionados, both Supreme Champions. They’re winners! They’re the cream of the crop! They’re brightest, they’re the best. Hero worship them, fetishize their ways. Role models to the children at home and the young stars starting out in this sport. They created the soulless blueprint, so just follow. They’re everything. My resume looks no where as neat as theirs. I don’t have all the boxes checked like they do. But isn’t it strange that regardless of all the glory heaped on, all the accolades collected, all the title reigns authored, I’m an existential threat to them?
It’s because I’m everything they’re not. It’s because I’m substance. I’m not hollowed like they are. I’m not manufactured. I’m not designed. I’m a force of nature. When I throw punches, everything’s right in the world. When I submit my opponents, everything’s in balance. There’s nirvana in my ravaging. A dichotomy, all too real. All too human. I don’t need to be glorified; everyone knows what I am capable of. I don’t need the honors. I don’t need the opportunities. I don’t need the preferential treatment. All I need are my fists. And that intrigues speculators. Its why I sell tickets. It’s why I sell pay-per-views. It’s why everyone tunes into my matches. They understand the greatest I wield. With it, I craft my destiny with my two hands, and only my two hands. Eventually, I’ll always end up on top, and the only person I ever have to thank is myself. Sooner or later, I am the conqueror.
And that’s something that neither one of you Disney princesses can say.
And we’re not really much different with our tactics and our antics. You both can stand up, pretend you’re a better person than me. But from where I stand, that’s a bunch of bullshit. You’re not. You’re just as petty. You’re just as angry. And while everyone can look away, pretend you’re sparkling clean, not a whiff of shit, we all know the truth. You wouldn’t have gotten to where you were without getting your hands dirty, spitting out your virtues and shitting out your morals when convenient. The only difference, unlike you, I don’t deny my base nature, my brutish existence. I don’t carry remorse either. I’m shameless. But that seems to be the only thing that distinguishes the great evil from our heroines. And if that’s true, it’s a quite sad reality we live in.
But this grand hypocrisy, the prevalent cognitive dissonance of our times, doesn’t bother me. It’s amusing. Because regardless of unfairness things might happen, in that ring, when the bell rings, all is fair. And there’s a certainty, an undeniable truth we all can agree on: winning is everything. The victors write the history. But unlike you, where you have to worry about posturing, about keeping up appearances, burdened by insecurities, I’m free and I’m unchained. There’s nothing holding me back.
Come as one, come as two, come united, come divided, either way, I’m going to end Frozen Hell. For one night, and one night only, I’m going to shred up the script, end this masquerade, expose my beloved Selena and Regan. The glory has run out. There aren’t any more accolades. No more praise. The happy, sunny days of your youth have long passed. All that awaits is your fall from grace. Everyone, I mean everyone, will have to finally accept the raw truth, the one truth: you’re no better than me. You both might even be my lesser.
Reflect on that when your bodies hit the floor, you’re both looking up at me, standing over you. You’ll see a smile on my face, because then, the balance is restored. All is right in the world.
Executioner's Plight 