Post by Sora Weaver on May 9, 2021 1:33:19 GMT -5
TW: Self harm, suicidal thoughts/intentions/etc
========
Sora sat in the locker room after DangerZone alone.
Jin and Aphrodite had been through already. The broken chair and dented wall in the far corner was courtesy of Jin, furious at the outcome of the Horrorcore Title match. Aph meanwhile was oddly exuberant despite not becoming a champion. A strange girl indeed.
"Come with us Sora, no point in sitting here. Jin said, trying to coax their third out of the room.
A shake of the head from Sora; Jin knew not to push it. The others left, leaving behind an uncomfortable yet necessary silence. Still on Sora's forehead was the blood Jessie Lee used to win the match. He had washed some of it away, but some remained.
Sora opened his clenched fist to reveal a single razor blade laying flat against his palm. One of the fluorescent lights in the ceiling caught the platinum just so, giving it a sinister gleam. The pain from the match had faded, but he knew what was coming.
It was only a matter of time before the dread claimed him like a buzzard on a carcass, ripping at the pieces with reckless abandon. Picking at it until there's nothing left.
An empty husk.
Sora looked up, seeing himself in a large mirror directly across the room. He looked deep into his own eyes. He saw the pain of the current moment awash in his face. That wasn't what bothered him. He was used to that.
What scared him the most was the pain of the past, following him around. Unshakable, unremovable. Like a stain on his brain, no matter how much scrubbing he did that ugliness just stuck.
No matter how many times he stared into the mirror, the view never changed.
~~~~~~~~
14 year old Sora stared into his bedroom mirror, his tear stained face most prominent. Every day was torture for him since the semester began, but this one was more than the usual abuse. It was the kids who he had thought he befriended in physics class throwing things at him, laughing because he was so locked into his test he didn't hear them around him
It was the popular cheerleader overhearing his speculation about a potential crush butting in with "Oh that's not possible, she's too pretty for you" with the precision of a sniper shot right over a teenage heart.
It was the algebra teacher repeatedly calling on him in class, knowing he struggled for the sole purpose of humiliating him in front of everyone.
It was all too much to bear.
So as Sora slumped on the floor, he gazed at the razor in his hand. His dad had taught him about shaving last year, a jolly lesson that ended with minimal blood for the baby faced Sora and his relatively stubble free father. "You'll never know, your body is changing all the time," his father said. Now that same blade sat in his hand, temporarily idle.
But with all the potential to change his body one last time.
All the hormones in his brain yelled at him through an imaginary megaphone.
DO IT NOW! THERE'S NO COMING BACK! IT'S OVER! IT'S OVER! YOU'RE NOT WORTH IT!
Tracing the blade with his index finger, Sora let the voices pound him like a war drum. It grew louder and louder and louder.
All that pain could stop, he just had to be brave and do it. Let it all flow out, find peace through the end.
BE BRAVE! BE BRAVE!
Yet no matter how loud it screamed at him, the blade didn't move. It just lay motionless in his hand.
Sora wasn't brave. He was a coward. He was too scared to live.
But too scared to die.
He returned the blade to his bathroom, but resumed his seat on the floor.
Staring. Soaking in this revelation.
Trying to understand what he had committed himself to. Hoping that if he stared long enough, hard enough, he'd see his future in the glass. An older him. Would it get better? Would he hurt less? Would all of this ever end?
For a second, he thought he saw something. A flicker, a moment. His heart rate climbed, but he realized it was just the same.
Everything would always be the same.
Nothing ever changes.
~~~~~~~~
Sora's reflection in the locker room kept staring back at him. No title, no success. Just alone like always with his own thoughts, trying to put together what went wrong.
Nothing ever changes.
Without an expression change, Sora shifted the blade to his fingers. Raising it to his forehead, he runs it across a spot he's been broken open many times in previous matches. Within seconds, the first bit of crimson appears and begins to
drip
drip
drip
drip
drip
Until there's plenty running down his face. The feeling was familiar, almost comforting. The honest blood mixed with the dishonest, disguising it. Sora lost; he deserved to feel what was supposed to happen. He got cheated out of a title, he wasn't going to be cheated out of watching his blood run. Not because he wanted that, he'd much prefer a clean face and a golden waist.
But he doesn't. All he has is a losing record and his depression swarming what's left of his good sense.
Tonight the losers bleed, so he bleeds.
Just because the code is flawed, doesn't mean it's not worth having.
But he doesn't. All he has is a losing record and his depression swarming what's left of his good sense.
Tonight the losers bleed, so he bleeds.
Just because the code is flawed, doesn't mean it's not worth having.
========
It takes a real loser to lose a match without actually losing.
Nobody cut me open last week in a Last Blood match, yet I did not win. Trickery kept a threatened champion on the throne. Part of me, though one of many I don't particularly care for, respects what she did. She did what it took to win, regardless of anything else. The only rule is it has to work, and it did.
That doesn't mean I'll ever forget it though. My mind is full of horrible memories, things you wouldn't want to experience. Jessie Lee costing me my debut now sits among them. It will stay there forever. Even after I avenge that loss someday.
And I will.
Right now though, I'm the ultimate loser in Rev1. Definitely feels familiar.
And the road didn't get any easier.
Nobody is going to give me a chance against Anya Coyle, nobody. I bet if you got my stablemates in a room alone, they'd probably even say I'm in danger. That I'm walking into a fiery lair, with a heartless demon wanting nothing more than to shred me. I'm not an opponent in Anya's mind, I'm a speed bump.
The little emo kid that couldn't.
And they're right.
Anya and I wrestle 100 times, she's beating me 99 of them. Whether it's just her, her little goon squad of pyromaniacs, however it happens she wins. She'd get the job done, just like Jessie Lee did at DangerZone.
It's all about that one though.
I only need to beat you once Anya, and I can do that. Not only can I do that, I want to. Not just because it advances me in the tournament, a chance at Glory which isn't something I'm used to, or any of the other valid reasons that I should want to win.
The biggest reason is I don't like you.
I watched what you did at DangerZone.
The Left Hand did their best to try and kill Damien Carter, and for why? Because Carter won fair and square? Because he doesn't want to play dress up with the rest of you merry pyromaniacs?
I think it's because you know what everyone else knows: he was better than your new lackey, and you couldn't bear it.
So you tried to change the narrative. It's all misdirection, with a lot of lighter fluid. Plenty of people bit on it, and today they're talking about dangerous all of you are. How scared they are of the Left Hand and what they're capable of.
I'm not scared of you. I've seen you my entire life.
You're every group of puberty laden cliques walking through hallways, shoving people into lockers to get that rush of feel good. Telling that white lie about a girl that unfairly turns her into a slut in everyone's mind. Doing whatever it takes to make sure that you stay on top, but not because you deserve it. Not because there's anything REAL behind it.
It's all just lies, it's all fake.
You are fake, the Left Hand is fake, and this is my chance to expose all of your deception.
I declare war on the Left Hand.
I will walk into Sin on Tuesday night with one goal: beginning your end. It comes with getting that one win, that win that Jessie Lee feared me getting so much she cheated to avoid it. Where did she learn that "Anything to win" attitude though?
You.
She is the symptom, you are the disease. Her and people like her will only continue to succeed unless people like me stand up to you.
So that's what I'm going to do, no matter how many people think it's a bad idea.
After all, what have I got to lose Anya? I'm already 0-1, I'm already down bad.
Now though? I get to take you down with me.
When I do, knocking you out of the tournament will be great but it won't be enough. Even if you send the rest of that group after me, you can't strip my win away from me. Nobody can.
I can take something else from you though.
Once I beat you on Tuesday, I will take that International Title next.
Whether I have to win the entire Glory tournament and use my title shot on you, or management gives it to me on merit, I will take it. I will be the thing you and the Left Hand so DESPERATELY want to be.
Unstoppable.
You're not getting anything off me this week Anya, there is no win for you. Either you roll over someone you should beat, or you lose the first battle in a war that I will fight every week until I win. No matter the outcome though, this isn't a one time affair. You can beat me blind, knock me stupid, and I will still get up.
Put me on the ground as many times as you think necessary.
It'll still be one too few.
Bring your army, bring whatever you have. I'm asking you, I'm pleading with you. If you make me, I'll even get down on my knees and beg you. I want you to come into Sin with everything at your disposal against me.
Only to watch none of it be enough.
I can outlast you because my entire life has been outlasting those meant to do me harm. I can survive because existence for me is just one big war games of keeping my life something resembling together. I am built for the struggle, I am built for a war because I don't know what peace is.
Starting Tuesday, neither will you.
Nobody cut me open last week in a Last Blood match, yet I did not win. Trickery kept a threatened champion on the throne. Part of me, though one of many I don't particularly care for, respects what she did. She did what it took to win, regardless of anything else. The only rule is it has to work, and it did.
That doesn't mean I'll ever forget it though. My mind is full of horrible memories, things you wouldn't want to experience. Jessie Lee costing me my debut now sits among them. It will stay there forever. Even after I avenge that loss someday.
And I will.
Right now though, I'm the ultimate loser in Rev1. Definitely feels familiar.
And the road didn't get any easier.
Nobody is going to give me a chance against Anya Coyle, nobody. I bet if you got my stablemates in a room alone, they'd probably even say I'm in danger. That I'm walking into a fiery lair, with a heartless demon wanting nothing more than to shred me. I'm not an opponent in Anya's mind, I'm a speed bump.
The little emo kid that couldn't.
And they're right.
Anya and I wrestle 100 times, she's beating me 99 of them. Whether it's just her, her little goon squad of pyromaniacs, however it happens she wins. She'd get the job done, just like Jessie Lee did at DangerZone.
It's all about that one though.
I only need to beat you once Anya, and I can do that. Not only can I do that, I want to. Not just because it advances me in the tournament, a chance at Glory which isn't something I'm used to, or any of the other valid reasons that I should want to win.
The biggest reason is I don't like you.
I watched what you did at DangerZone.
The Left Hand did their best to try and kill Damien Carter, and for why? Because Carter won fair and square? Because he doesn't want to play dress up with the rest of you merry pyromaniacs?
I think it's because you know what everyone else knows: he was better than your new lackey, and you couldn't bear it.
So you tried to change the narrative. It's all misdirection, with a lot of lighter fluid. Plenty of people bit on it, and today they're talking about dangerous all of you are. How scared they are of the Left Hand and what they're capable of.
I'm not scared of you. I've seen you my entire life.
You're every group of puberty laden cliques walking through hallways, shoving people into lockers to get that rush of feel good. Telling that white lie about a girl that unfairly turns her into a slut in everyone's mind. Doing whatever it takes to make sure that you stay on top, but not because you deserve it. Not because there's anything REAL behind it.
It's all just lies, it's all fake.
You are fake, the Left Hand is fake, and this is my chance to expose all of your deception.
I declare war on the Left Hand.
I will walk into Sin on Tuesday night with one goal: beginning your end. It comes with getting that one win, that win that Jessie Lee feared me getting so much she cheated to avoid it. Where did she learn that "Anything to win" attitude though?
You.
She is the symptom, you are the disease. Her and people like her will only continue to succeed unless people like me stand up to you.
So that's what I'm going to do, no matter how many people think it's a bad idea.
After all, what have I got to lose Anya? I'm already 0-1, I'm already down bad.
Now though? I get to take you down with me.
When I do, knocking you out of the tournament will be great but it won't be enough. Even if you send the rest of that group after me, you can't strip my win away from me. Nobody can.
I can take something else from you though.
Once I beat you on Tuesday, I will take that International Title next.
Whether I have to win the entire Glory tournament and use my title shot on you, or management gives it to me on merit, I will take it. I will be the thing you and the Left Hand so DESPERATELY want to be.
Unstoppable.
You're not getting anything off me this week Anya, there is no win for you. Either you roll over someone you should beat, or you lose the first battle in a war that I will fight every week until I win. No matter the outcome though, this isn't a one time affair. You can beat me blind, knock me stupid, and I will still get up.
Put me on the ground as many times as you think necessary.
It'll still be one too few.
Bring your army, bring whatever you have. I'm asking you, I'm pleading with you. If you make me, I'll even get down on my knees and beg you. I want you to come into Sin with everything at your disposal against me.
Only to watch none of it be enough.
I can outlast you because my entire life has been outlasting those meant to do me harm. I can survive because existence for me is just one big war games of keeping my life something resembling together. I am built for the struggle, I am built for a war because I don't know what peace is.
Starting Tuesday, neither will you.