Post by Stacy Jones on Jul 13, 2014 17:36:15 GMT -5
2012 – Osaka, Japan
-------------------------------
Drip…Drip…Drip…
The blood spilled below her on the marbled floor. The beautiful and unblemished nature of the precious tile marred forever by the crimson pool spreading across the surface. The silence of the hall was only broken by the sounds of the dripping dagger and the racing heartbeat of the woman holding it.
Blood on her hands, she trembled as she dropped the weapon, sending an echo of steel through the empty hallways. Raising her hands, she looked down at the mess she had made. It’s interesting…blood. You cut yourself and you see a small wet stream of red that can be shaken off or lost in a Band-Aid. This blood…this MUCH blood was different. It felt heavy…it felt thick. The colour was deeper than she expected and it felt sticky, almost like finger paints and the smell, that’s something that she’ll never forget, the smell of iron and stagnant water, not the usual scents you link with death.
A door slams and that heartbeat stops suddenly, still as the night for an eternal moment until panic truly set in and the beat raced. She needed to escape. Grabbing the weapon, she carried it in her bloodied hands, running up the marble staircase of the mansion house to the open bay windows on the landing. Taking a final moment to look down at the murder scene, azure tears slid down her cheek, a line of salty tears that she could taste on the surface of her crimson lips.
She took it in, the scene of what she had done then she bolted. Through the open window, jumping down onto the outer ledge and slowly scaling the wall down into the courtyard, careful to not drop the weapon as she manoeuvred her way around the obstacles of the gardens, dodging the line of sight of whoever had just arrived.
She knew she had moments to get away and get away she did.
After a solid hour of running and hiding, she reached her own home here in Osaka, quickly finding the steel handle to the yard’s wooden moss-covered outbuilding, pulling the solid and unyielding oak door until it burst open sending a cloud of dust out with it, making her cough.
She held the fabric of her dress up over her mouth as she headed inside, finding a dusty antique desk at the back of the room, opening the drawer and sliding the dagger inside, quickly closing the drawer and retreating out, to head into the main house.
She didn’t stop for a moment, keen in the knowledge that what she had done could be discovered at any time. She hastily ran towards the bathroom, pulling her dress off as she stepped into the traditional wet room, tossing it to the corner by the drain and flicking on the rain-like shower. She watched a moment as the water swirled around the dress, pulling the still-wet blood from the fabric and flowing down the plughole in a watery red mess.
Standing naked now, she looked into the mirror and caught the first glimpse she had of herself since the act; the face of a desperate girl, the face of a murderer. She turned on the faucet and as the warm water cascaded into the bulbous basin, she scrubbed the blood from her hands with a bamboo brush, rubbing her skin raw as she did so, reminiscent of the infamous Lady Macbeth.
She had to run…leave this place and never come back. Never would she step foot in Osaka again….or so she thought….
---------------------------------------------
2014 - Hishima-Ka Junei, Osaka, Japan
---------------------------------------------
The world spins on its axis at the same rate each day, each month, each year. Unwaveringly changing from day to night and back again, so unfailing in its incessant need to ensure stability, whether we notice it or not.
Time is a precious thing and though each day lasts 24 hours, some fly swiftly by in our minds and some, they last for an eternity. This moment was one that would do the latter. She was stood there, back in her old hometown, in the courtyard of the luxurious Japanese home that she still owned. It had been a long two years in her mind and the fresh jasmine in the air scintillated her nose with its delicate scent, pounding her mind with memories.
The last time this scent crossed her path was the day she left this place forever. The mere thought of that day led her to look down at her pale hands, remembering the blood that clung to her delicate skin, remembering the heavy duty soap she used to clean them and how the fresh lemon scent from the bottle had made her gag as she rubbed the skin raw.
Memories are like school bullies. They haunt you for years but once you leave them behind, you find yourself forgetting them but only until you’re reminded. Be it the smell of a locker room reminding you of when you used to get bullied for being too skinny, too fat, being flat-chested or blonde. For you boys, more likely to be for having a small dick or not having pubic hair yet. These things hurt us so profoundly and yet when we’re adults we shrug it off like it was “normal”.
Stacy Jones stood frozen in awe as these hurtful memories flooded back to her all at once. She remembered her husband and their love, their marriage. She remembered also when he cheated on her with not just one woman but three AND another man… She remembered when he forced her into a life of crime and the terrible things he made her do…and she remembered…when she ended it.
------------------------------------------------
July 11th 2014, Greenville, South Carolina
------------------------------------------------
“I’m so fancy….you already know…..”
“Fancy” by Iggy Azalea was blasting through the sound system of Stacy’s brand new Camaro. The car was vibrant purple, with a convertible soft-top, which was down, Stacy’s peroxide blonde hair flowing freely in the summer breeze as she pulled up the Greenville Training Centre, a gym and leisure centre specifically aimed at athletes of all disciplines.
She got out of the car, grabbing her bags and heading inside, walking directly to the female locker room to get ready. Putting her bag down and getting undressed, Stacy looked down to her bag and grinned.
These last few weeks had been a turning point for Stacy. Things were changing and she was finally becoming the woman she knew she needed to be. It all began 2 weeks ago when she was told about the Living a Legacy card. Hearing your first grand appearance at a pay-per–view event would be in a dark match never to air on television put a really big dent in her confidence.
Stacy was to fight Crazy Boy, Eden and Sapphire. In her mind none of the trio deserved to be in the ring with her and had shown nothing to deserve her respect. As the days went on and she had calmed down, she realised that she needed to see this less as a punishment and more of an opportunity.
With the details emerging about the Underground division and what it meant, Stacy knew that she was not the kind of person to stay here for long, wanting more than just dirt feuds and points. However, the best way to get the opportunities she felt she was due was to get noticed, not ONLY by the fans or by the other talent, but also by the management. How could they deny her a chance if she made three members of the PCW roster look like amateurs?
So Living a Legacy came along and Stacy walked to that ring with a newfound confidence and did the job she intended to do. One by one she dismissed the comers and ended the match on a high by defeating Eden to become the first winner of an Underground match in PCW history.
The commentators were shocked, the fans didn’t know whether to cheer or boo but they knew they were impressed. Stacy walked back to the locker room knowing she was the REAL queen of PCW here.
Two days passed and Stacy was called by the “powers that be” at PCW to inform her that she would be one of only four talents competing on the next edition of Trauma, the Icey’s. With it being a big awards event, there would only be two matches on the card and they would be big ones, matches that the fans, the talent and the management wanted to see. Stacy was waiting for it, expecting to hear that everyone had decided she’d compete in some lingerie contest or a pudding match but then it came…
“Stacy Jones vs Eira”
She blinked. She’d be facing Eira? She was the one woman in this industry that Stacy had developed respect for. The former PCW World Champion? The woman who competed in Steel Cage matches without a single formal wrestling lesson? Her heart raced with a mixture of panic and excitement but then there was more…
“First Blood Match”
What? Stacy laughed assuming this was some kind of joke. She made them repeat it and as she hung up the phone she sat there for a good few minutes taking it all in. This was a dream match and she didn’t know if she was ready. After Japan and after this few weeks, she was going into that ring with everything she had.
Gone was the old Stacy, the peroxide blonde “diva” or the demonic daughter of the ring or the “Angel of Salvation”. Stacy Jones was going to that ring not as a wrestler, not as an athlete but she was going as a fighter and bitches always fight to WIN.
Back at the gym, she looked down into the bag and gone were the corset tops and the fishnets. She was going to train now as she would from now on, as a fighter. Pulling on the short pink trunks and the sports top, strapping her wrists with pink tape and pulling on a pair of pink MMA gloves, adorned with small metal studs, she smiled as she tied her long flowing locks in a tight ponytail.
First Blood match? Well, she knew a few things about blood and this week at Trauma, she’d be smelling that iron again, smelling the lemon fresh soap again because this Tuesday Night, she’d be rubbing blood from her hands once more, the blood of a champion, the blood of Eira.
-------------------------------
Drip…Drip…Drip…
The blood spilled below her on the marbled floor. The beautiful and unblemished nature of the precious tile marred forever by the crimson pool spreading across the surface. The silence of the hall was only broken by the sounds of the dripping dagger and the racing heartbeat of the woman holding it.
Blood on her hands, she trembled as she dropped the weapon, sending an echo of steel through the empty hallways. Raising her hands, she looked down at the mess she had made. It’s interesting…blood. You cut yourself and you see a small wet stream of red that can be shaken off or lost in a Band-Aid. This blood…this MUCH blood was different. It felt heavy…it felt thick. The colour was deeper than she expected and it felt sticky, almost like finger paints and the smell, that’s something that she’ll never forget, the smell of iron and stagnant water, not the usual scents you link with death.
A door slams and that heartbeat stops suddenly, still as the night for an eternal moment until panic truly set in and the beat raced. She needed to escape. Grabbing the weapon, she carried it in her bloodied hands, running up the marble staircase of the mansion house to the open bay windows on the landing. Taking a final moment to look down at the murder scene, azure tears slid down her cheek, a line of salty tears that she could taste on the surface of her crimson lips.
She took it in, the scene of what she had done then she bolted. Through the open window, jumping down onto the outer ledge and slowly scaling the wall down into the courtyard, careful to not drop the weapon as she manoeuvred her way around the obstacles of the gardens, dodging the line of sight of whoever had just arrived.
She knew she had moments to get away and get away she did.
After a solid hour of running and hiding, she reached her own home here in Osaka, quickly finding the steel handle to the yard’s wooden moss-covered outbuilding, pulling the solid and unyielding oak door until it burst open sending a cloud of dust out with it, making her cough.
She held the fabric of her dress up over her mouth as she headed inside, finding a dusty antique desk at the back of the room, opening the drawer and sliding the dagger inside, quickly closing the drawer and retreating out, to head into the main house.
She didn’t stop for a moment, keen in the knowledge that what she had done could be discovered at any time. She hastily ran towards the bathroom, pulling her dress off as she stepped into the traditional wet room, tossing it to the corner by the drain and flicking on the rain-like shower. She watched a moment as the water swirled around the dress, pulling the still-wet blood from the fabric and flowing down the plughole in a watery red mess.
Standing naked now, she looked into the mirror and caught the first glimpse she had of herself since the act; the face of a desperate girl, the face of a murderer. She turned on the faucet and as the warm water cascaded into the bulbous basin, she scrubbed the blood from her hands with a bamboo brush, rubbing her skin raw as she did so, reminiscent of the infamous Lady Macbeth.
She had to run…leave this place and never come back. Never would she step foot in Osaka again….or so she thought….
---------------------------------------------
2014 - Hishima-Ka Junei, Osaka, Japan
---------------------------------------------
The world spins on its axis at the same rate each day, each month, each year. Unwaveringly changing from day to night and back again, so unfailing in its incessant need to ensure stability, whether we notice it or not.
Time is a precious thing and though each day lasts 24 hours, some fly swiftly by in our minds and some, they last for an eternity. This moment was one that would do the latter. She was stood there, back in her old hometown, in the courtyard of the luxurious Japanese home that she still owned. It had been a long two years in her mind and the fresh jasmine in the air scintillated her nose with its delicate scent, pounding her mind with memories.
The last time this scent crossed her path was the day she left this place forever. The mere thought of that day led her to look down at her pale hands, remembering the blood that clung to her delicate skin, remembering the heavy duty soap she used to clean them and how the fresh lemon scent from the bottle had made her gag as she rubbed the skin raw.
Memories are like school bullies. They haunt you for years but once you leave them behind, you find yourself forgetting them but only until you’re reminded. Be it the smell of a locker room reminding you of when you used to get bullied for being too skinny, too fat, being flat-chested or blonde. For you boys, more likely to be for having a small dick or not having pubic hair yet. These things hurt us so profoundly and yet when we’re adults we shrug it off like it was “normal”.
Stacy Jones stood frozen in awe as these hurtful memories flooded back to her all at once. She remembered her husband and their love, their marriage. She remembered also when he cheated on her with not just one woman but three AND another man… She remembered when he forced her into a life of crime and the terrible things he made her do…and she remembered…when she ended it.
------------------------------------------------
July 11th 2014, Greenville, South Carolina
------------------------------------------------
“I’m so fancy….you already know…..”
“Fancy” by Iggy Azalea was blasting through the sound system of Stacy’s brand new Camaro. The car was vibrant purple, with a convertible soft-top, which was down, Stacy’s peroxide blonde hair flowing freely in the summer breeze as she pulled up the Greenville Training Centre, a gym and leisure centre specifically aimed at athletes of all disciplines.
She got out of the car, grabbing her bags and heading inside, walking directly to the female locker room to get ready. Putting her bag down and getting undressed, Stacy looked down to her bag and grinned.
These last few weeks had been a turning point for Stacy. Things were changing and she was finally becoming the woman she knew she needed to be. It all began 2 weeks ago when she was told about the Living a Legacy card. Hearing your first grand appearance at a pay-per–view event would be in a dark match never to air on television put a really big dent in her confidence.
Stacy was to fight Crazy Boy, Eden and Sapphire. In her mind none of the trio deserved to be in the ring with her and had shown nothing to deserve her respect. As the days went on and she had calmed down, she realised that she needed to see this less as a punishment and more of an opportunity.
With the details emerging about the Underground division and what it meant, Stacy knew that she was not the kind of person to stay here for long, wanting more than just dirt feuds and points. However, the best way to get the opportunities she felt she was due was to get noticed, not ONLY by the fans or by the other talent, but also by the management. How could they deny her a chance if she made three members of the PCW roster look like amateurs?
So Living a Legacy came along and Stacy walked to that ring with a newfound confidence and did the job she intended to do. One by one she dismissed the comers and ended the match on a high by defeating Eden to become the first winner of an Underground match in PCW history.
The commentators were shocked, the fans didn’t know whether to cheer or boo but they knew they were impressed. Stacy walked back to the locker room knowing she was the REAL queen of PCW here.
Two days passed and Stacy was called by the “powers that be” at PCW to inform her that she would be one of only four talents competing on the next edition of Trauma, the Icey’s. With it being a big awards event, there would only be two matches on the card and they would be big ones, matches that the fans, the talent and the management wanted to see. Stacy was waiting for it, expecting to hear that everyone had decided she’d compete in some lingerie contest or a pudding match but then it came…
“Stacy Jones vs Eira”
She blinked. She’d be facing Eira? She was the one woman in this industry that Stacy had developed respect for. The former PCW World Champion? The woman who competed in Steel Cage matches without a single formal wrestling lesson? Her heart raced with a mixture of panic and excitement but then there was more…
“First Blood Match”
What? Stacy laughed assuming this was some kind of joke. She made them repeat it and as she hung up the phone she sat there for a good few minutes taking it all in. This was a dream match and she didn’t know if she was ready. After Japan and after this few weeks, she was going into that ring with everything she had.
Gone was the old Stacy, the peroxide blonde “diva” or the demonic daughter of the ring or the “Angel of Salvation”. Stacy Jones was going to that ring not as a wrestler, not as an athlete but she was going as a fighter and bitches always fight to WIN.
Back at the gym, she looked down into the bag and gone were the corset tops and the fishnets. She was going to train now as she would from now on, as a fighter. Pulling on the short pink trunks and the sports top, strapping her wrists with pink tape and pulling on a pair of pink MMA gloves, adorned with small metal studs, she smiled as she tied her long flowing locks in a tight ponytail.
First Blood match? Well, she knew a few things about blood and this week at Trauma, she’d be smelling that iron again, smelling the lemon fresh soap again because this Tuesday Night, she’d be rubbing blood from her hands once more, the blood of a champion, the blood of Eira.