Post by Lissie Hope on Jan 26, 2020 16:25:27 GMT -5
I opened my eyes and I saw nothing.
The bandana stretched tight around my temple, the tears trapped in my ducts were unable to escape. I could hear the scratching of nails as a creature scurried across the cold cement. My nostrils flooded with an amalgamation of the sour stench of sweat, dried blood, animal feces, decaying wood, and sawdust floating in the air. I sat on a wobbly chair, shackled to the wooden legs with the rusted metal digging into my flesh. The air was cold and suffocating, choking my throat. I tried to scream, but nothing came out.
Why me?
The rope cinched tight around my wrists, fastening them to the armrests. I felt the muscles in my biceps and in my abdomen contract as I shifted in the seat, shaking my arms, trying to free them from the vice grip. I stopped when I heard the sound of boots thudding on the pavement, keys jangling from a belt loop. Approaching from the rear.
This is it.
The sound of a rim of a can being pried open. The grunting. Heavy breaths over my bare neck, chills coursing throughout my body. The cold steel of the sharpened end of a dagger playfully running across my skin. But then the blade created some distance between my flesh and the tickling fibers of the braided twine, and in one strong, swift motion, carved through the rope like a hot knife through butter. I could feel the momentary relief as I was released from my bondage.
Thank you.
Nothing. My left hand was free, but I was in no hurry to remove the blindfold. Instead, I listened for the footsteps to disappear in the distance. The screech of metal, sliding across concrete. And then, I heard the lock click.
H-h-hello…? Are you still there?
I couldn’t only hear the silence. I felt it, too. I felt exposed. And trapped. Vulnerable. Alone. The cool air chilled every inch of my body. I finally garnered the courage to remove the blindfold from my eyes, but I didn’t want to know where I was. I had an idea. It felt familiar, but it also felt like another world entirely. Even without my eyes covered, I still clasped them shut. I didn’t want to pour out every emotion, because then it would become real.
Eat.
His bark tore through the silence and I jumped in the chair. The steel of the fetters seemed to tighten around my ankles. I finally opened my eyes to peak at the world around me. A small triangular window at the summit of the room provided the only source of sunlight. I tugged at the rope bounding my wrist, but realized I didn’t have enough strength in my fingers to undo that knot with one hand. I looked down at my feet and saw a can of beans with a spoon sticking out of it. I needed to eat something, but what if this tastes of arsenic? I twirled the spoon in the can, the lingering echo causing his roaring voice.
EAT!
I shoveled a spoonful of cold beans in my mouth, squashing them into mush. My throat rejected it instantly and I spit it back onto the floor, landing in a disgusting puddle of blood and sweat and tears. The piercing screech of a drill caused me to drop the entire can on the floor, the liquid ricocheting off the cement and landing on my bare feet. When I reached down to wipe the repulsive fluid off my skin, I finally saw it out of the corner of my eye.
The dolls. I was back in the Warehouse.
Oh, Lissie. What a mess you’ve made.
The towering figure appeared in the entryway, his face veiled in darkness. In his hand, a dirty towel, tossing it on my lap.
Clean yourself up. We need you looking your best.
What do you mean, we?
Well, we can’t have you emaciated. We can’t have your hair unkempt and matted. Your skin bruised and torn. We can’t have your eyes missing that sparkle, Lissie. We want you to look beautiful. As beautiful as I’ve always seen you. Give me a second, I’ll grab the hose.
WHAT DO YOU MEAN, WE?
You’re going to join your friends in the altar.
My friends?? What have you done with Robbie? And with Sierra??
Not those friends, silly girl. Those friends.
He pointed to the altar.
The two statuesque replicas of me. Each of them propped on wooden crates. In between them, a larger one.
You will be my most stunning creation, Lissie.
What are you gonna do to me?
His sliced off the other rope, freeing my other hand. He then kneeled at my feet, his nose running close to my skin. I could feel him inhale my scent, this vile, sour odor of sweat and tears flooding his nostrils.
You smell amazing.
His calloused hands ran down the inside of my calves, reaching my shackled ankles. He pulled the keys from his pocket and fumbled with the lock, but I could feel the weight of the steel bouncing off the cement. He thumbed off a drop of my coagulated blood from the wound. Tasted it. A sinister smile spread from cheek to cheek.
On the table.
His order was punctuated by grabbing me by the back of my neck, leading me like a slave towards the table in the corner. Hanging off the end was a compartment filled with surgical tools. Scalpels and bone-saws. Clamps and retractors and probes. He pushed me onto the table, face-first, tearing the shirt off my back. His warm paws pressed down on the curve of my spine.
What’re you doi--
I’m removing your spine, and gutting out all your insides. I’m going to stuff you like the deer on your father’s mantle. But I don’t want to carve you from the front… wouldn’t want to leave a scar.
Just kill me. Please.
No. You’re going to feel everything.
The candelight illuminated me as he pressed my cheek into the hard surface. I could see the wax pooling down at the bottom of the jar.
Be still, Lissie. This will be over soon.
Will anyone find me in here? Is anyone even looking? Who’s going to save me?
He reached under the table and pulled out an electric saw. I saw that he noticed the cord had tangled, and he released my hair from his grip.
Now, Lissie. Or never.
I quickly flipped to my back and grabbed one of those candles, throwing the hot wax into his eyes. He snarled in agony, banging his fist on the table. I grabbed a scalpel and pierced his chest, kicking his massive frame, sending him tumbling into his own creations. I grabbed a different candle, illuminating a trail out of that room, trying not to trip over the sheet metal and the planks and the barbed wire.
GET BACK HERE! LISSIE!
I pulled open the garage door, tossed the candle inside, and watched it ignite. The thick black smoke immediately billowed out, and I felt the grass under my feet again. And I ran. As fast as I could.
I was free.
I didn’t need anyone to save me.
I didn’t need a hero in my story.
I am the hero.
I didn’t need anyone to save me.
I didn’t need a hero in my story.
I am the hero.
But then, I didn’t feel the frigid air on my exposed back anymore. I felt warm fingers. And I heard a voice.
LISSIE!
Lissie.
Lissie.
Lissie.
Lissie? You okay babe? You’re sweating.
Sierra Silver woke when she felt Lissie trapped under the covers, desperately fighting to free herself. The sweat forced the sheet to stick to her body, the tears slowly careening down her cheeks. No words, just whimpers. She was paralyzed. Sierra felt like trying to force Lissie to wake would be a shock to her system, so she tried tenderly caressing her back, lovingly nuzzling her neck, cooling her off with breaths of air. Little did she know, those sensations caused Lissie’s nightmare to feel even more intense.
Regardless, when Lissie finally opened her eyes, and when she saw Sierra gazing at her, she knew she was back in reality.
Thank you for being here.
I wouldn’t wanna be anywhere else.
WHAT REALLY HAPPENED
Lissie Hope and Teo Blaze didn’t have a moment to appreciate their teamwork and chemistry. Didn’t have an opportunity to relish in their victory over their arch-rivals, or listen to the fans cheering their names. Instead, Kevin Bishop took a cheapshot on Blaze, and Hope walked right into the monstrous hands of Corey Bull, planted in the center of the ring with a bone-crushing chokeslam.
But it didn’t stop there.
Bull dragged Hope out of the ring and carried her up the ramp, disappearing behind the curtain, ignoring all of the scared voices pleading with him to let her go. He walked down the dim corridor, making way towards the boiler room, when he arrived at a blockade of referees and production members.
OUT OF MY WAY!
COREY! STOP! DON’T DO THIS!
LET HER GO!
WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO PROVE?
The bravery from those members of staff would not go unnoticed or unappreciated. Perhaps they were on direct orders from Torture to protect one of their assets, a former World Champion and one of the faces of the franchise. Perhaps Gravedigger had reneged on his claim that Lissie Hope was a fucking jobber. Whatever it was, their booming voices, their confidence and their resiliency, it woke Lissie Hope from her unconsciousness.
LET GO OF ME YOU FUCKING ANIMAL!
Lissie Hope clawed and slapped her way out of his hands, trying to free herself. Finally, Bull dropped her to the cement and stormed off.
I’ll see you at Revolution, sweetheart. Won’t be no one to save you there.
Have you ever prayed for salvation?
I think about the ones who need it most.
The addicted, living in isolation, tearing themselves from their friends. Families.
And the afflicted, decaying and debilitated, stricken by illness. Their fate determined.
I think of the harbingers of suffering; the rapists and the abusers. The adulterers and the thieves. Those that once lived by a moral code, but found themselves spiraling into destruction, emboldening hate, creating distrust. Ruining lives, embracing enemies, breaking hearts, wills, and spirits.
You may think these may be beyond reproach. They may not deserve redemption. At some point in their life, they felt the guilt, they express remorse, and they want to rebuild all of the relationships they had a hand in destroying.
I don’t.
I believe everyone deserves a chance to change.
To make amends.
To earn salvation.
I was one of those once. I let myself be consumed by hatred and controlled by depravity. I have vices, just like anyone else. When I was in my deepest darkness, I found solace and comfort in self-sabotage. I figured if anyone had a hand in my torture, it should be me. But lately, I’ve found a different escape.
I see the good in people now.
I see the good in myself.
I believe everyone has a heart, buried beneath the wickedness.
Even you, Corey.
You are a brutalized soul, tormented by your own demons, so you chose me as a target. You chose someone you felt would be incapable of giving you a challenge, because you desperately want to prove to the world that laughs at you, that mocks you and ridicules you, that you are an enemy to be feared.
But you’re empty, Corey.
This is an act.
I don’t fear you anymore.
I have battled the best Action Wrestling has had to offer. I gave everything to outlast Dandy DiVito, even when he had a hired assassin to keep that boot on my neck. The current World Champion, Odin Balfore, thought I deserved a powerbomb on the steel steps minutes after I won the title you crave.
And I’ve had you, Corey…
I’ve had to keep a watchful eye on you.
I’ve had to endure weeks of your brutality, of your torment, of your thievery. I’ve got wounds that you won’t allow to heal, hurt that you won’t allow me to alleviate. A will that you don’t want me to repair.
But I have.
Because you’ve made me stronger.
You’ve made me realize that I don’t need a savior.
The only one that needs salvation…
...is you!
You’ve let me in, Corey.
You’ve let me ignite the burning demons in your gut.
You’ve let me infect your conscience like a cancerous tumor you’re incapable of extracting. You’ve let it grow, and fester, and pollute any redeeming quality you may have once possessed. That day when I found you untrustworthy and broke your will to be good, I changed you. Mutated into this monster, this creature who wants to break every bone in my body. I don’t want this responsibility, Corey. I don’t want to be the reason for your descent into madness.
But I am.
You might not want to admit that since the beginning, since that night in the boiler room, I’ve been pulling every string. I’ve influenced every bridge you cross. And I’ve made myself your target.
But I’ll also make myself your cure.
You can hold my briefcase hostage.
You can grip my throat and slam me into the canvas.
You can try to take my dignity.
But I forgive you, Corey.
Buried deep beneath the wickedness, I know you have a heart in there. I know it, otherwise I wouldn’t have broken it so easily. This heart pumps blood to all of your organs. We share the same red deluge every time you open a cut upon my skin. You may think you are, but you are not a monster. We are not enemies in likeness. We both have a story to tell, we both crave redemption.
But I’m at peace with it.
I’m not at war with Corey Bull, the beast.
I’m at war with Corey Bull, the broken.
I crippled you, Corey, so it’s now my responsibility to restore you. I emasculated you, embarrassed you, castrated you and held you up for the world to see. And now that we’ve made it to our final reckoning, the onus is on you to prove that this isn’t all a charade. A work of fiction.
The best works of fiction have the hero saving the day.
Has anyone ever wanted to see the hero saving the savage?
That’s what you’re in for, Corey.
That’s what’s on the line.
You can win this match, own a victory over the woman who scorned you.
But you’ll have to accept that this is the same woman who changed you.
I poured the gasoline on your heart and watched it ignite.
So let me smother it before it consumes you.
Trust in me.
Let me be your salvation.
1 Corinthians 3:15
"If any man's work shall be burned, he shall suffer loss:
but he himself shall be saved;
yet so as by fire."
but he himself shall be saved;
yet so as by fire."