Post by Miss Mae on Dec 19, 2020 1:58:11 GMT -5
|...out came the sun and dried up all the rain…|
Her voice was soft. The cadence was delicate. The notes lifted and bent, falling just flat.
...and the itsy-bitsy spider climbed up the spout again.
Her crimson-painted fingernails tapped along the surface of the foreground, until it met with the arachnid, traversing over the granules of dust. Such a pristine creature. She extended a finger to let it crawl up her hand before placing it on her body, watching it travel down her abdomen.
Some time ago...
“Why don’t you have a seat.”
He was older. The grin forming on his lips was mischievous.
There was something sinister behind his eyes as he watched her enter the room, fixated on the enticing arches of her young body.
“So tell me a little bit about yourself.”
|I don’t know the person I see the in the mirror.|
There was a time when I didn’t want eyes on me. I wanted to sit in the back of the room, overlooked and unseen. I didn’t want to be the center of attention, with my ideas analyzed. My words deconstructed.
I wanted to face the mirror, exhale, and not see my breath.
I wanted to be a ghost.
You can’t always be what you want to be.
Your priorities shift and your focus become clear when you’re fighting for things beyond yourself. This isn’t about the Cruiserweight Championship. That’s not what intrigues me. It’s not about being the best. That’s not what drives me.
There are a few names who let this happen.
You could’ve offered love, Sierra.
You could’ve offered camaraderie, Teo.
You could’ve been a friend, Karlie.
She playfully taps the vermin on the head, rubbing her index finger along the body. Her face, still concealed.
How much louder did those cries for help have to be?
Why couldn’t you hear them, Azurine?
Why didn’t you know better, Sara?
Why didn’t you come sooner, Vivian?
You could’ve offered salvation.
She picks the spider up in her fingers.
But you’re too late.
Your thoughts and prayers don’t mean a fucking thing. Your nostalgic anecdotes are distant memories. Your adulation is disingenuous.
You don’t want to be inspired.
You haven’t earned it.
You don’t want to fight for something bigger than yourselves.
It’s a foreign concept to your selfishness.
You merely want to ride on the back of the greatest that came before you.
Blood-sucking vultures, all of you.
She pans the camera towards a wall. Stills of glory come into the frame. Unhooking the briefcase. Two times, holding the greatest honor. Arms hooked around the neck of the beast. The symbol of unity with a friend.
I don’t see the two-time Woman of the Year anymore.
I see a broken shell, when the exhaustion and the torment became too much for even the greatest to endure.
You enabled the perversion of Max Daemon.
You excused the callousness of J.C. Keeton.
You were amused by the contempt of Zombie McMorris.
You ignored the suffering perpetrated by James Nightingale.
But I won’t, Alice.
You’re collateral damage. Because of his monstrosities, I’m making an orphan out of the bastard children he’s spent years running from.
He’s robbed the soul of a champion.
And now it’s time to reclaim it.
For so long, I wanted to be a ghost.
And now, I finally am one.
You've never seen me coming.
You wanted Lissie ‘fuckin Hope?
“You’re so beautiful, you know that?”
“What are you going to do with these photos?”
“Don’t worry,” he assured her. “No one’s ever going to see them.”
|Be careful what you wish for.|
You can’t keep her trapped anymore, tangled in your web, paralyzed as the parasites consume her. She’s no longer the vulnerable. The hunted.
We’re turning the tide.
The roles are reversing.
I’m fighting for dignity.
Luckily, I spin delicately, and with precision. I sit upon silver silk strands, watching you fight until you’re in too deep.
Until I’m ready to devour.
You’re in my web now.
And I’m going to spin you so tight until it’s time to bite down.
So who am I?