NEW - NOIR EXTREME WRESTLING

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In the night underground of New York, the NEW women wrestle for pride, pain, and redemption — no rules, no mercy, no glamour. We are a sisterhood.
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NEW TITLE MATCH: Lose or Lose - Part Two

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Starring
Sara León
Mina Anderson


Sara León

Your words are certainly very suggestive. I'd stopped listening to the crowd a while ago, but the insinuation that they're on your side makes me hear that chorus shouting your nickname... And my heart, instead of crumbling, turns black. Amid the adrenaline of the match, the space usually occupied by self-pity, self-criticism, fear, and insecurity is now filled by envy, anger, rage, resentment, and hatred. However, I have little time to realize it. Your fleshy thighs crush my head from both sides as you force me to turn over, leaving me on all fours and lifting your legs with my head trapped between them... Only to bring them back down and SLAM my head into the mat... in a relentless rocking motion that makes my head strike the canvas again... And again, and again, and again... Each blow leaving me more and more dazed, my arms first clutching your legs and then falling limp, until, after what feels like an eternity of ceaseless jolts, you release my head and my body rolls seemingly lifeless onto my back, the light glaring harshly against my sweat-dampened skin, my chest rising and falling, and my gaze completely lost and blurred, my senses scrambled and an intense pain coursing through my skull. I choke on my own saliva and a little blood, coughing and spitting some of it out between gasps. My fingers twitch on my hands, my arms stretched out at my sides and my hair partially stuck to the sweaty features of my face

Mina Anderson

 The Thunka Thunka Thunka beat that shakes through the ring makes some of the tacks on the fold chair bounce and cascade down onto the mat and join with the tohers dancing in happy anticipation around the chair which has become the centre piece of the ring. I haven't forgotten about that trap you set, or the other weapons you tossed in the ring when you had me down and almost clean knocked out at ringside. They'll all play their part, probably sooner rather than later but for now I'm enjoying the moment as I slink away from your body with a feline curve in my spine that lifts my see sawing rear high enough for the lights to catch across the spandex squeezed crest of my cheeks. I prowl my way over to the ropes and use them to help get back to my felt where I stretch out, letting every bruise, bump and kink flex and bite through me. I'm still in alot of pain, some of it dull and aching like the strain in my thigh. Some still raw and bleeding but I'm standing and I'm present. You on the other hand, look like you've been caught under a stampede. I take a moment, rapa tap tapping the fingers of my good hand on my chin while I work out just wait to do with you. Then, A light bulb goes off in my head and my eyes light up when I recall how you gagged me with my very own skirt. The same skirt I'm undoing now and drapping across your face as if I wanted to clean off your blood. A snap of my fingers and someone ringside tosses me a water bottle. A snap of my hand and I've taken the mic from the ref. Then, hunched over your body I bring the mic close. "This might be where you want to call it a night Sara". Without any further clue, I start to pour the water, onto the skirt, which soaks and clings all around your face. The sensation is like drowning, even if no actual damage is being attempted..

Sara León

I spend a few seconds lying there, gasping and letting the world slowly come back to life around me, but before I can summon the will to get back up, I see your defined silhouette appear above me. You take my hands and stretch them out before kneeling on them as you place your own skirt over my face. I start squirming slightly, blowing to get the fabric off me, until suddenly I feel the cold, terrifying liquid soaking the cloth over my face. I instinctively try to breathe and only get a mouthful of water into my lungs, making me cough instinctively, which only gets worse when I try to catch my breath and swallow more water again. The soaked fabric clings to my entire face, leaving me not even a millimeter of space for air to pass through, condemning me to suffocation and drowning at the same time as the water keeps pouring and pouring over my face and my body convulses in desperate spasms. My back arches, every muscle in my body tenses, and the only reason I'm not howling in agony is because my windpipe is full of water

Mina Anderson

Now it's you gagging on my skirt in a macabre parody of single act of kindness I showed that night in your dressing room. That night the water was like nectar breaking across your skin and rolling down your body to soothe a pained body and tormented mind. Tonights is just the opposite. The time you have to endure this is mercifully short. 500 mililetres glug glug glugs out the bottle and spreads through the soaked garment in waves, masking your face. But it must feel like an eternity with that rag masking your face so tight it becomes your everything. The crowds went quiet enough that the way your body trashes echos out into the cheap seats. By the time it's over and I've pulled away the skirt the refs tugging at my shoulder. I shrugs her off and cup your face, tilting your head back to look into my rich eyes and soft smile. I lift the mic so everyone can hear. "I think... now you understand what this is. You didn't before but now you do?" Even the chatterbox comentators on the livestream are silent. "And now you know where you will need to go to get through this. But there is another way Sara." There's no mockery in my voice now, it's soft and even. "Or there is another way. No one will blame you after what just happened. It's just two little words". I lower the mic to your lips as a close up of your face appears on the big screen. I'm staring down more intently than anyone else and prompting you with the words. Two words to be free of the weight of the belt and all that comes with it. I mouth them silently to you. I quit'.

Sara León

When you finally pull the skirt off my face, a huge coughing fit sends water gushing from my throat like a freshly unclogged fountain. I start spitting water and drool from my nose and mouth while my torso continues to spasm, and slowly I manage to take my first gasps of air, but the daze is brutal, the feeling of desperation, that real sensation of being close to death, has gripped my heart like fire. I see the referee's silhouette approaching, but you insist on staying over me. Your soft hand grabs my face and forces me to look back at that beautiful, bloodied face of yours. Those blue eyes still vibrant and full of energy and emotion despite the devastation surrounding them... That smile, which could be tense, or furious, or sadistic... And yet it's sweet and gentle. And then your melodious voice echoes throughout the entire venue, as though telling me alone weren't enough. After all, I keep underestimating your intelligence, and how many steps ahead of me you are. And yes, now I'm beginning to understand your intentions. You'll let me break you in half rather than submit to my crossface chickenwing if necessary. You want the surrender to be voluntary. My mind pictures everything I'd have to do to you just to get anywhere near the point where you'd truly decide the match was over. But that look tells me everything: you stepped into this ring to be with me and me alone, personally, until one of us breaks. That obsession that drove you to torture me can now take you so far that merely thinking about how far I'll have to take you makes me dizzy. In your angelic doll-like face, I see my true nemesis, my worst nightmare, my deadliest enemy. Not because you're the strongest or the meanest, or the most flexible, and not even because you're the smartest, although you are that too. But because, in this moment, I realize that there is something very personal and very deep between you and me that I still can't quite grasp.

And then your voice becomes soft and serene, and you offer me another way. Those words, after the last few seconds of agony and the realization of the true situation, slip into my ears like thread through the eye of a needle. I tighten my lips, wanting to hear the alternative, unaware that you've already offered it to me. You say no one will blame me, and that sounds so good... Knowing that no one will be pointing fingers at me or calling me a coward. Everyone would understand. It's only two words. Surrender. It's not just about avoiding the hell of trying to defeat you... This means the end of all my nightmares. The demands of the title, the envious looks, the criticism, social media, the challenges, the expectations... The wins and losses, being scrutinized under a microscope, being both the standard and the disappointment for so many people. It would all disappear with two words. You can clearly see in my eyes that I'm considering it. My heart is still in my mouth from the suffocation, and my face and hair are completely soaked as I lie in an enormous puddle of water. My stomach is still heaving and twisting. And in that second... I don't dare say them. I don't know whether it's my ego, or my sense of fair victory and defeat, the fear of being called a coward again, or simply my absolute refusal to let you win after everything you've done to me and how far you've pushed me. But when you bring the microphone to my lips, I utter two different words, surprising even myself: Fuck you'


Mina Anderson

 I curl my bottom lip into a soft bite. You look like you're right on the edge. We all are, me and everyone else watching on in tense silence as the emotional hug of war plays out across your glistening face. My fingers keep on caressing, offering that little bit of comfort that might coax you into giving up on the match and the tormultious path you've been on. I lean in as I feel my toe's curling in my boots at thought that against all expectations, you might actually surrender your title. A foolish idea but for a moment, I actually believed it. A second later and the whole place is roaring so loud that it sends chills dancing down my spine. I try to keep calm and hide the pang of frustration and even disappointment. "If this is how you want it to go..." I hiss as I take a handful of your hair and start to climb back to my feet, dragging you out of that puddle with me. A quick glance around the ring shows the danger we're both in. Some of the things you tossed in are scattered around one corner. A chain, what looks like a cattle prod and of course there's the chair in the centre of the ring, littered in tacks. That's where I'm walking you, trying to use your mane like a leash...

Sara León

 The crowd roars at my response, but my head becomes a whirlwind. I don't know if they're really cheering for me or for a simple act of defiance that could lead to more of a spectacle. My eyes remain fixed on yours, and I manage to catch that brief moment of disappointment in them, which fills me with satisfaction and guilt at the same time, as though somehow I actually care what you think of me. Although, really... I do care. A lot. And I don't know why. I feel both liberated and fulfilled by my rebellion, yet I also feel that somehow I've made the wrong decision and let myself be carried away by anger and hatred. But then the tug on my hair pulls me out of my circular thoughts and brings me back to the terrible reality of the pain. I let out a high-pitched moan as you lift me off the mat, leaving me on all fours while my wet hair clings to my face and my arms and legs show just how badly they're trembling. I'd almost forgotten the terrible state you've left me in, and that for now all I can do is let you drag me around like a bitch, still coughing and dripping with water

Mina Anderson

As you roll onto all fours more of your hair wraps around my hand and puts yet more strain across your scalp. Despite the defiance and roar of raw enthused energy it drew, I am still in control. That alone show's how far I've came in a few bouts since I first came bouncing down from the stage so full of attitude and false confidence. That realisation might be as dangerous for me as it is for you, but right now, I'm running on momentum. There's an uneven sway to my gait which has my heart shaped rear flicking to the side with each slow walked step. Your sharpshooter is still taking it toll and I'm tentative now I'm walking on thumb tacks. THe sole of my boots absorbs them but your hands? When I get in front of the chair I try to haul you up onto your feet, just so I can shove you onto that vicious, spiked seat....

Sara León

The sharp pain of the thumbtacks digging into my hands almost makes me collapse, but you have a firm grip on my hair and I’m left dangling for a few seconds, until you mercilessly yank me again and force me to keep crawling forward in jerks, my hands beginning to bleed. I get a good look at the chair with the thumbtacks on top, a landing pad I had planned for my German suplex, and which now looms as my next great source of agony if I don’t do something. Then you pull my hair again, but this time my fear of whatever you have planned outweighs the pain in my scalp, and I play dead. The sight is brutal, as if you had me completely under your control, with my arms hanging limp and you having to strain to haul me upright. But those few seconds are enough for me to plan my counterattack, and shortly before you manage to get me fully to my feet, I straighten up on my own and, before you can shove me, I slip one arm between your legs and trap your head with the other, letting out a lioness’s roar as I push my muscles to their limit, lifting you off the mat in my arms and sweeping your body through an arc in the air, trying to flip you over in one fluid motion and slam your back against the metal chair covered in thumbtacks, while my own legs force me to hurl you into it, hoping to crush you with a powerslam!

Mina Anderson

I might not have broken your spirit yet, but you seem such a spent force right now that I can take time to line you up just right for what I have planned. A glance over your shoulder at the chair and then, "wha the!?" My eyes widen as your hand slips between my thighs and nestles snug against those bright pink shorts. Before I can react you've tucked my head under your arm and everything's changed in an instant. I feel the floor desert me and bright lights swirl around me as I'm flipped over your falling back with a loud metallic *CLACK!!!* I wince from the initally slam across the seat. Then a hundred little pin pricks bites into my skin through the back of my top. It's like sharp fire rolling up like a wild fire. It's all I can think of as I arch my body and push my ample chest skyward and throw my head back. A shudder ripples through me and one leg twiches, scuffing my heel across the canvas as I let out a shrill, banshee scream. "AaaiiiIRRRRIIIEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!"

Sara León

Your scream is so gut-wrenching that it drowns out even the crowd's savage roar, sending goosebumps across my skin. Even the metallic sound of the chair slamming into your body is unsettling. A large part of my body crashes against the tack-covered mat too, and when I let go of you, the rebound carries me upright until I'm kneeling over you, watching you arch your back and thrust your chest upward, before I collapse onto my side beside you, breathing heavily and coughing out the last of the water left in my lungs in broken gasps. I look at my hands, torn in several places and covered in blood, my fingers trembling. I clench one hand into a fist and let the blood drip from it as though I were wringing out a sponge, while I plant it on the mat and begin to push myself up again, first onto all fours and then onto one knee, pressing my bloody hand against your bare stomach and smearing it completely, the blood mixing with your sweat, as I manage to get fully to my feet and start shuffling toward one of the corners, dragging my boots along as I go, where I begin removing the turnbuckle pads and tossing them out of the ring

Mina Anderson

I cough up a spray of spittle and realise for the first time, just how much air that attack has taken from my sails. The mood in the Hammerstein has shifted as they witness the bloody carnage in the centre of the ring. You're moving, I can hear you fighting through the jagged hellscape you staged for us, pushing through the pain while I remain trapped in it. I'm just starting to sit up when your hand presses down on my bare stomach, leaving an uneven print smeared in crimson over the canvas of my time. As you push up slowly, you keep me pinned across the chair, like a sacrifical offering strewn in that suggestive arch across the makeshift alter. My eyes close tight enough that my brow furrows and I bare clenched teeth. Right now I can only endure this. Right now I can peer up and see you struggling through everything I've did to you and rise to your feet, every bit like the proud lioness as shuffle away and out of sight. I've more time than I expected, I have to use it. So I move. I try to peel myself off the chair. As you approach the corner you feel a shudder under your feet as I roll off the chair and land in the pool of glittering spikes thats turning my pancaked chest into a pair of pin cushions. Tack pop from my back as I flex my shoulders leaving poka dots of beading blood while my legs slide til I can get my knees under me and lift my hips high in the air. Now though comes the hard part. Just planting my hands like your just did so I can lift my body to all fours and look around for you.... "NnnNNnggg... da.... damn...."

Sara León

 I lean against the corner for a second, looking at the objects scattered around the ring and spotting a bottle of ethyl alcohol. Then I look at you moving, moaning and writhing, and my own body responds to the primal instinct to go after you. I bend down and grab you by that pink hair, staining it red with the blood on my hands, as I drag you across the mat and try to haul you to your feet, taking you toward the corner and trying to repay you for that first time you made me bleed in the ring, attempting to pull your head back and then brutally drive it forward with all my strength, trying to smash your face against the cold metal of the exposed turnbuckle, intending to do it again.... And again...

Mina Anderson

 The chair in the centre of the ring's still upright, but now it looks like the scene of the crime, each upturned tack crowned scarlet. I'm moving toward you, one wincing hand print at a time, one rattle as I draw knee through stray jagged tacks. Then as I start to rise, putting on knee in front of me, your boots appear me and as I look up, dragging my gaze slowly up your statuesque body. For your fans, it must be such a satisfying sight after all they've seen you endure. The Lioness standing over the kneeling Angel but you don't allow yourself time to savour it. Or for me to react and counter. "eeerrnn.. leggo... you bitch!" I hiss as you pull me by the hair, back down to all fours, forcing me to crawl toward the trap you've set up. It's slow, even just the few paces it takes to cross the ring feels heavy on tired legs and for me, painting red hand prints on the canvas behind you. Those gloved hands grab at the ropes for balance as you lift me onto my feet, so I can see the hard edge of the ring post waiting. "ughhh... nn... don't even think about it!". I hiss in protest but I can't react quickly enough.. "UGhhHH!" Sharp, red hot pain shoots through my vision and spreads across my brow my head bounces off it in a flurry of pink and crimson curls giving you the leverage you need to drive me down again. On the second heavy clunk, my eyes glaze and roll back as my head snaps back with a pained, contorted expression and already, blood starting to creep down toward my eyes and nose. On the final impact, I slump forward, staring vacantly into the crowd as my knees bend and i body lulls into the corner. It and your grips the only thing keeping me from crumpling into a heap at your feet.. "ggguuggawwwwwWWwWww!!"

Sara León

Each blow feels like a hammer strike of pleasure and satisfaction. Every scream you let out sends shivers across my skin as I savor the sweet pleasure of revenge. I'm beginning to realize that all these weeks of trash talk have been wearing me down, breaking me apart far more than I ever realized, and without me noticing, they've been feeding a sick desire to shut you up and tear you apart however I please in the ring. And fuck, it feels so good. Proving to you that I'm superior, and reveling in your suffering. And I'm so drunk on that feeling that I fail to notice the crowd's energy beginning to shift. There are still screams and cheers, yes, but I can't tell the difference between a bloodthirsty mob and a crowd proud of its champion, so now I essentially begin to believe that I'm about to defeat you, physically and mentally. I let go of your hair and step away from the corner, letting you collapse freely as I reach for the bottle of ethyl alcohol and wave it in my hand for the crowd as I make my way toward you. I grab you by one wrist and drag you across the mat until you're lying flat on your back. Then I drop down, sitting on your abdomen, and bring your arms above your head, pinning your wrists down with my other hand as I begin pulling the cap off the bottle with my teeth. The referee approaches us with the microphone in her hand, and that's how my words can be heard throughout the entire NEW arena, without me apparently caring in the slightest: "And now, Mina... I want you to know that, unlike you, I don't need you to say the magic words. So scream all you want, endure the pain all you want, but my real prize is going to be watching you writhe in agony before me. And this time, you have the chance to stop it..."

Mina Anderson

The pain across my scalp eases when you let go but that was simply background noise compared to the sharp impacts ringing through my head as I drop to my knees, arms hanging at my sides. Drool strings from my gaping mouth and puddles between my knees, along side a splattering of crimson. More's running down the bridge of my nose from the cut you've left. I'm still dazed, watching blurred shapes rather than anything clear while you drink in each slurred groan and trembling whimper. "awwwWWhhnnggaw... oooOOooohhh.... Bi... ba... bisssshhhh". The overhead lights don't help me focus after you pull me back and put pressure on all the little cuts staining my top in streaks of claret. I manage to raise a hand to shield my eyes but you capture that and drag me from the corner where you can plant yourself across my stomach. You cast a shadow over me and I can open my eyes, and take in the sillohetted shape I know so well, looming ominously over me. A deep breath brings tension into my sweat and blood soaked top, followed by a sigh of resignation. On the next breath, I try to pump my hips and throw you off but it looks more like pathetic squirming than anything deliberate of purposeful. Soon the microphones in your hand. A bottle in the other, I can't quite make out what it is. Maybe your going to get your own back in kind? Deep down, I knew I was likely to end up in position like this at some point. Now I have to stay true to my plan. I can win the argument here even if I can't win the match. So when you bring the mic to my plush, waxy pink lips, a flicker of smile dances around then. "d... do your worst bi-bitch!"

Sara León

 Like a little girl smiling when her mother gives her permission to do something crazy, I smile back at you, making sure your hands are held firmly above your head, the referee pulling the microphone back a little as I bring my face very close to yours. The tips of my lips become stained with your blood as I whisper to you: "Tell me something, Angel... What's worse, the cure or the disease...?" Then, before you can answer me, I straighten back up and raise the bottle of alcohol over your head, and begin pouring the liquid over your freshly bloodied face, covered in open wounds, without caring whether it gets into your eyes, nose, or mouth as well

Mina Anderson

I flex my arms tilt my toned biceps bulge only for your shifting weight to keep me pinned down while you lean and press down, body to trapped, struggling body. To the camera's and the crowd it might look almost intimate as your lips brush across my cheek, collecting a couple of speckles of glitter as well as the flakes of blood there. So close you can see all the little scratches left by wood spliters as well as well as the deep cut, still flowing freely across my brow. You leave that question lingering in my agony ravaged mind, competing with the waves of sharp pain pulsing through me with every beat of my heart. As you peel back and lift the bottle high for every one to see, the label comes into focus for me and suddenly the question, so loaded with menace, makes sense.. "Oh nooo!". I gasp as I start to shake my head. By now it's too late. The ethonal flows as freely as my water bottle did. It catches in my throat and sours my taste buds. It stings across my eyes and it sets every cut burning white hot. "aaRRRIIIRRRGGGG!". You can hear my feet kicking on the mat behind me and feel me twist and writhe under you as some splashes across my cleavage, redding the skin a licking venomously on some the tack marks there. Even as it cleans my skin, dragging away blood and make up it draws another squeal before I start to cough and wretch while you watch on from above. Sweet revenge for all I've put you through, not just tonight but for so long. I've never felt a pain quite like this and all I can is flop under you, like a fish out of water!

Sara León

 Much of the crowd begins to fall silent as the cameras capture that extreme contrast between your agonizing suffering and my sadistic smile. Your erratic, desperate movements make my whole body jolt as well as I try to keep you pinned to the mat and in position. For the first time in months... I feel complete. Liberated, unleashed, and fulfilled. The faces of those NEW wrestlers who doubted so much that I could defeat you flash through my mind. Your taunts, provocations, and torture flash through my mind. And when the alcohol finally runs out, I toss the empty bottle aside, feeling how much of it has run over my wounded hand, which now stings and burns. I bring my hand to your cheeks and squeeze them slightly, but not enough to stop you from speaking, as the referee brings the microphone close again. "Just fucking say it already..." I tell you in a hoarse voice as the microphone moves toward your lips

Mina Anderson

You ride the waves of agony that have me trashing under you, no longer trying to throw you off, I'm twist and shudders as that sour sting burns deep. You can see the tears seeping from my bloodshot eyes while I can see only colours and shadows shifting and dancing above me. Perhaps it's a mercy that I can't see the sadistic grin lighting up your features are brightly as most have seen in so long. If I could see it, perhaps I'd realise just how far I'd pushed you already. Or see how much further you could do. But I don't... All I can focus on is the sensations washing through me. By now the waves have stilled to occasional twitch rippling underneath you. The Screams have eased into a low, animalistic growl carried on each breath. It sounds alien even to me compared to my normal, LA chirp when I hear it boomed out through the sound system. "NNnrrfFf... gGrrGGFFf... NN.... NNN... Ne... NEver... Not... E-EvvveeerrrR!"

Sara León

The joy and sadistic abandon begin to falter. Not because I'm having second thoughts or because I don't want to see you suffer anymore, but because a new fear begins to grow in my mind: that you really might never surrender. Frustration and exasperation visibly take their toll on me when you refuse to give up and force me to keep moving, my head aching, my throat raw, my nose bleeding, and my hands torn to shreds. The referee comes over to tell me something, but I shove her aside without even knowing what she wants to say. My eyes are fixed on the cattle prod, but before picking it up, I drop down to the mat and reach out to grab the ring apron, pulling a good portion of it inside. Then I start tearing it with my teeth until I manage to rip off a sizable piece of fabric. Then I pick up the cattle prod with my right hand and raise it into the air, testing it as I get to my feet and begin approaching you again, dragging the piece of fabric across the mat and pointing the cattle prod in your direction

Mina Anderson

 It's a relief when you climb off me and shove the referee away leaving laying flat out, arms and legs splayed out across the canvas, completely still but for my breathing and the occasional twitch. My wind is swirling as the heat of the stage lights bares down oppressively on my weary, wounded body. After a few seconds, I manage to roll onto my side, back to you and bury my face in my hands and wipe the alocohol off my face, using my gloves like a clothe. Slowly, in languid movements, I start to curl my legs into my body til my sweat soaked shorts tense across my rear and crease into the valley of my heart shaped rear. I'm rolled all the way up to my knees, where I beat my feet of the ground, more like a petulant bitch than the fighter that's did so much to make you feel inadequate, conflicted and miserable. At least some in the crowd understand that. In our first bout you were drown out in boos and vitriol, now though, the noise the rises around us when you lift the prod high and signal your intent is much harder to define. The Boos mix with cheers from your sympathisers and those that came for the carnage. I feel the boards under me tremble and glance back over my shoulder at you, eyes wide and framed in mess streaks of pink eye shadow. I see the weapon.. I see the thick fabric hanging onimonous from your other hand and try to get away, crawling toward the far corner of the ring.. "nnnn... Stay... Stay away!"


Sara León

 I can't actually hear the crowd. Or at least, I can't make sense of it. You've managed to get me drunk on bloodlust, and the main reason we started this match has fallen far too deep into the back of my mind. Watching you crawl away from me as though you'd seen a ghost when you look at me only makes my chest swell and my back straighten even more. But I can't wait too long; the alcohol will soon dry completely and I need to see it... So I lunge at you, trying to drive the cattle prod into your collarbone and hoping some of the alcohol ignites on your skin, with the piece of ring-apron fabric in my other hand ready to smother the flames as soon as they appear, but fully intending to terrify you

Mina Anderson
 I'm moving as quickly as I can right now, but every slam and hold is starting to bite across my back and legs. You on the other hand seem to growing taller by the second. I can hear you and feel you getting closer til it's inevitable. ALl I can do is brace for the crackle and hiss coming down from one side. Sparks dance gleefully across my collar and climb up my neck as I throw my head back and rise to teeter on my knees locked into the all familiar paralysis that comes with sizzling electric current. It spreads out as I stare up at you in wide eyed terror, jaw shaking as I spasm there. You actch a whiff of ozone in the air, mixing cooper, sweat and perfume, carried on a whisp of steam. Then it happens. It sucks the collective breath out of the Hammerstein in an angry flare of amber and rich reds as fire rolls over my features and catches of my iconic pink hair. "oh My GAAADNOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!" I clutch my face, I pat my hands chaoticly over my head as the spray goes up as well while I scream out in genuine fear and sizzling pain!"

Sara León

The fire is reflected in my pupils in an instant when I genuinely consider letting you burn. The lights in the Hammerstein flicker for a few seconds, allowing the flames to become the only light illuminating the arena for the blink of an eye, but my reaction is quick and the referee doesn't have to intervene. I throw my makeshift cape over you before the fire can really catch beyond the alcohol and beat at you with the fabric in firm movements, showing that I have the situation completely under control, in a none-too-subtle metaphor. Then I spend a few seconds watching your reaction, hoping to find that terror I crave so much in your blue eyes, while I ready the cattle prod to drive it into your stomach, far from the alcohol's reach

Mina Anderson

The metaphor lands in a couple of ways. For the wide eyed crowd it does restraint and control, both of the encounter and off your own emotions. For me, it's a flash of the monster within. But it's restrained, I'm still being shown mercy from your worst impulses. I'm flailing in that, just as I failed to make my spell of ascendancy count. Of course right now, that's all too much for me to fathom. One moment I could fear the fire crawl over my skin and the next, heavy canvas is beating down to extuingish the flares bfore tehy can really take hold. My hairs shorter and uneven as it hangs around my shoulders and the sour singed smell hangs in the air around us while I stare out in the crowd in sheer shock. I promised to push you further but it's happen, I'm left kneeling at the mercy of my biggest rival. It's over as a contest, everyone can see that. You're the stronger, better fighter and right now that's so apparent. But too win this fight takes more than that. YOu have all the time you need to position yourself and drive the prod into my abbs. "uughh... awwhh sa.. Sar-NNyyyIiiEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!". My stomach muscles clench up as the charge sizzles through me. You can see it spreading out in bluebelle blossoms as my hips start to jerk and pump violently and arms drop to my sides and shake uncontrollably. As I stare up at you, face locked in the trembling grimace, froth rises up from mouth and starts to slide down my chin, splatting across the bared expanse of my chest!

Sara León

 I keep the cattle prod pressed against your skin, my teeth and lips clenched tight and my eyes fixed on your body. Electrocution has become something of a mandatory event every time we meet, but this time it feels different. The first time was a surprise attack to stop your momentum. The second time, you got your revenge on me. But this... Now I'm enjoying it... and suffering through it. I know stunning you isn't enough; it never will be. I have to demoralize you, drain you of strength, of energy, of... hell, after everything that's happened, I don't even know what it would take to break you completely, to make you surrender to me and admit a defeat that's more than obvious, instead of insisting on suffering just for the sake of suffering. All those thoughts fill me with mounting anxiety, so the moment I release the prod, I toss it aside and lunge at you before you can collapse, grabbing you by the hair and tucking your head under my armpit as I slip my arms between yours, locking them behind your back and trying to haul you upward, attempting to catapult you over and behind me with a double underhook suplex, with utterly unhinged speed and aggression

Mina Anderson

 You let the current keep searing through my body tul my bend bends back and the strength sapping from my limbs. My gurgled, trembling cries continue, the sound track to this familiar torment. The last time, it devastated me and set the tone for a mascare that's defined us both. This time you keep it going, on and on, sparks sendung the soft curves of my trapped body into jiggling trembles. "NggglllllLLLLEeeeEEEE!!". By the time you toss the metal rod I'm ready to collape into a sweet slick mess if only you would allow that small respite instead of yanking me like a ragdoll into a headlock and ensnaring my hairs. Frizzle pink hair hangs over my face as I;m lifted and set on shakey legs and clumsy feet just so you can snap me over you body again in a move that almost makes one shoulder pop. I'm already squealing as I crash into the centre of the ring again. In those tacks again, layed out in front of the chair with fresh blood spilling out from a hundred pink pricks littered down the back. One arms flops uselessly, the others raised to block the light from my eyes. Somewhere in the haze of sharp, throbbing sensations I realise this is over as a fight. Even my intention of weaponising suffering seems a terrorfying notion now. I shiver with exhileration, legs sliding and parting a little, tiny little shorts shifting a little as I try to move and manage to roll my hips up before my ass slaps back down to the canvas.. "awwhh.. rrrkkk.. AwwwwoooOOooOOohhh!"

Sara León

My back crashes onto the thumbtacks as well, making me let out an agonized moan as I sit up and feel the tacks begin cascading from my skin, sending a fresh succession of stabbing pains through me. I manage to get to my feet on trembling legs as the referee approaches and asks how I'm doing. Then I grab her by the lapel and hiss at her, pulling her toward me: "Put the microphone to her lips and ask her if she gives up." Then I let her go and head back toward the corner, leaving her to go over to you while I retrieve the last object that remained, suspecting that you'll keep refusing to say the words and not wanting to give you the satisfaction of seeing the desperation on my face. I bend down to pick up the chains and head back toward you with heavy steps

Mina Anderson

Everything is a teary, stinging haze right now. Colours pass across my field of vision in kalescopic flourishes but I can't tell if that's movement or just my own mind trying to intrepret the sensations rolling through me in waves. Every impact, all the little and no so little cuts, the reignite as I draw in a deep, wheezing gasp. If all you had to do was drape an arm over me, then this fight would soon be over cause right now, I'm not a fighter. The agony stinging through me, the disperate bolts of electricity still occasionally locking my muscle in spasming cramps and the thunderous slam that's still left me here, consumed by everything I'm suffering through. You're not moving either right now, the crowd have some much needed time to process what they've seen. A ring that looks more like a war zone, two women that have met every escalation with one of their own. You're the first to move, I can hear you beside me and try to react, lifting my hips again and twisting away from the chair til my weight pivots onto oneshoulder and a dull ache sharpens into a bitter, nerve jangling pulse that shoots down my limp, useless arm and across my upper back. I collapse again, back into the bed of bloody tacks and recall the uneven hold you hand me in when you snapped me up and over. I felt it pop.. I heard it, but then everything went spinning and... I'm hurt more badly than I realised, the ref's over me with the microphone, I can just about make out her sympathetic, almost pleading face looking down.

Maybe if it was yours I was looking up at and you were giving me the kind of soft escape I tried to tempt you with it would be different. But right now, I just don't want to be that pathetic little bitch again, pleading to be pinned while you punished every sign of weakness so brutally. I sound just like that clueless debutante, every languid groan of pain booms through the Hammerstein's sound system, every time my breath catches in my throat, and every tremble in my voice that helped to coax out that monster you have within you. "awwwWhhhnnn.... oOOOooohhh... nnnRRmmm... naw... nawwwhh.. She can... a... ask me herself!". I shove away the mic with my good hand and roll onto it's side and toward the chair. From there, I push though the bite of fresh tacks and plant my hand on the seat, using it to help me rise even as rivets of crimson run down my skin and soak through my clothes. By the time you turn around, I've somehow struggled to my feet, bent over the chair I'm still balancing against. The Hem of of my shorts is skewed at one side leaving one cheek half exposed. There's little poka dot rips in my clothes filled in with wet sticky claret. Only after everything that's happened between us could such an undignified moment be a proud one for me but it is. I throw my head back as I straighten up and turn to face you, there with that chain in hand and I see that monster again so close to being fully unleashed for everyone to see. This time I don't shy away. This time, I step forward, dragging one deadened leg behind me. Then I shamble another step as I clutch my dislocated, useless arm at my side. Another slow, teetering step and I'm close enough to swing, so I swing my still good, left hand in a wide weak arch, open palmed. If it meets your cheek it'll be more a stroke than a slap, one that smears the blood on my hand across your face...

Sara León

I'm crouched down, gripping the chain, and I close my eyes the moment I hear you suggest that I should be the one to ask you myself. I wrap the end of the chain tightly around my fist, squeezing hard enough to hurt my battered palm and soaking the metal in blood, as I slowly rise to my feet and turn toward you, dragging the chain across the canvas and making it strike the thumbtacks, producing a chilling sound. However, I stop when I see you almost on your feet. I stare at you, my chest rising and falling and my lips pressed tightly together, trying to understand what could possibly be going through your head, or just how important I must be to you for you to insist on making this already-lost battle so personal. You limp toward me, and I remain still, wanting to know what your intentions are, letting your harmless but demeaning slap land across my cheek. I instinctively close my eyes and my face turns slightly to the side, and the wet splatter tells me that half my face has been smeared with your blood. I stay there for a moment, motionless and unresponsive, while a deep murmur rolls through the crowd. I stick out my tongue and run it across my lips, gathering some of your blood and drawing it into my mouth, staring straight at you with grayish eyes filled with sheer exhaustion and derangement. The pink of your hair and your gear blends with the red of the blood covering your face and your entire body, making you look pitiful, but seeing you like this and knowing that I still haven't defeated you, and not knowing how to do it, makes me continue to see you more as an unbeatable enemy than as a victim whose destruction I can enjoy. Finally, my spirit breaks loose, and I grab the back of your head, clutching your hair to keep you firmly in place, while at the same time I try to start savagely striking you in the face with the hand wrapped in the chain


Mina Anderson

My limp hand slides across your face and falls away, useless as an attack but as an insult it seems to push you over an edge. The whole atmostphere shifts as you stand tall and strong while I look up and sway before you, watching your tongue run across your lips like a cat looking down at a mouse. You've already went further than last time and now your going to even further. I can sense it, making my heart flutter and my stinging skin tingle. "ughhh!" I grunt as you grab my hair and pull my face into position so I can see your grey eyes, and the steel wrapped around your fist. I raise my hand but you drive through that meagre defence as if it were tissue paper and SMASH that chain linked fist into my face, just above my eye. Sweat and blood spray into the air, chased by vibrant pink claws while my arm drops to my side uselessly.. "nnNNggg... awwwhhh". You watch as my eyes roll around while you drive another blow into my cheek where those chains collect some glitter and sparkle under the lights. Lights which are blinding to me right now. I can hear a crack echoing in one ear and feel it shuddering through my face. MY legs shake then give as you pummel me again with a sickening rattle and I drop to my knees, the hold on my hair forcing me to look up as you rain another blow. It shudders through me with a collective OOHH from the crowd. THen another and another. Each rocks my head one way or another and sends my body twisting and shaking at your feet!

Sara León

My chain-wrapped fist comes down on you like divine punishment, brutal, cold and relentless. My face completely transformed into a mask of fury, sadism and frustration. I hit you harder and harder each time, no longer controlling how much damage I might be doing to you, and completely blinded by my own senses, only knowing how to respond to my emotions with as much violence as possible, believing that this will resolve the confusion you've managed to plunge me into. When I finally stop, you only remain on your knees because my bloodied hand is still gripping your hair. Your entire body trembles at my feet, and for a second I forget that I want you to submit and don't even ask you. Your slap, although useless, has unconsciously made me believe that I still need to drain you much more, that I have to push you even further to the limit, whatever that might mean. I crouch down and slip my arms beneath your armpits, lifting you off the mat with a grunt of effort and crossing the ring with you in my arms until I slam you against the ropes. My sweaty, bloodied and exhausted body presses against yours for two seconds of panting that feel strangely intimate, in which I can feel your breath against my neck and time seems to stand still as I look at your beautiful bloodied face from so close. But I quickly snap out of my daze and begin placing your arms over the top rope, then pushing that rope downward and lifting the middle rope, trying to intertwine them to leave you trapped against them. Then I run my hands over your face, smearing it with your own blood and mixing it with the blood on my own hands, brushing the hair stuck to your face aside so you can see me clearly, while I limp slightly as I walk backwards and take in your figure, beginning to shake the chain still wrapped around my hand and making it jingle threateningly, breathing heavily but feeling a whirlwind of emotion welling up inside me

Mina Anderson

Each awful impact lands unopposed across my chin, my cheek and my brow, each blow sending my body twisting and jerking grotesquely. But you keep me where you want me, kneeling and staring up through glazed roll back eyes, primed for the next blood spilling blow. My head heels like it might explode long before you relent, under a mess of hair and streaks of blood the colours drained from my clammy face yet I can feel throbbing pain sweeping across my features incessantly. Neither of us have noticed but something in the Hammerstein has shifted as the crowd witness the fight turn into a massacre, the mood's darkened much like my own crimson tinged hazy vision. You don't notice, too enamoured with the clink and shrill squeak's accompanying every viscous blow. "eeekk.. eeerkk hhccckkkK!" I'd be crumpled on the canvas where it not for your arms slipping under mine to haul me up onto jelly legs and slow waltz us across the ring.. "ghhhh.. saaaa.... raaaa...." I groan across your shoulder as you pin my shoulders across the top rope, arched forward like a sacrificial lamb for a ravenous lioness... The roles reverse for a brief two seconds that seems to stretch on and on.

The crowd fade into the background and there's just you, resting into my body for support. My good hands found it's way to your hip where it rests, indeed it looks and feels intimate. How it could it not after everything we've put each other through since long before tonight. Hip to languidly shifting hip, chest to chest so tight I can feel how your breath pendulums with mine, your chest lifting as mine retreats. When yours sinks back, mine lifts and swells in a mesh of sweat and blood soaked fabric that squeezes my cleavage up to catch the drip drip of claret falling from my chin. My mind is still a swirling haze, lost in a patchwork of agonies and indignities you littered across my bruised and increasingly broken body but among the dread, this little reprieve allows me a comforting realisation. I have did what I set out to do. I took you to a cross roads and you've chosen a path. One that surely now leads to my devastation. I think I knew you'd make that choice... Maybe... I wanted you to? "aaauuuhhh.... mmmMnnnn". I groan, breathing wisping over your neck as our scents mix, sweat and cooper and a feint, sour tinge of linger alcohol. You're draping my arms over the top rope, ensnaring my shoulders with the middle one and putting pressure on the dislocated shoulder that makes me tremble and shake against you. I'm trapped, helpless.

Just like that time, but I wont beg tonight. Only the odd hiss parts my lip as you start to stroke my hair and clean up the blood, revealing the extent of the damage you've did. A deep cut above an eye that's almost swollen shut. Tears roll down my cheek from the other where one fake lash has came unstuck and fallen over a bruised cheek. As you run your fingers over it, you can feel the cracked bone underneath that puffy skin. You unveil more damage, a badly split bottom lip under smudged lipstick and yet somehow, the famed beauty isn't quite lost. It's still there when I part my lips to speak and pause with a wince.. You're pulling away now, only to find my leg hooked around yours, calf nestled to calf in a way that's allowed you sink deeper into the warm press of my vulnerable body. So tight there's a static-lite whenever my lycra shorts shift against yours. Before you step away, finally I manage to speak. A soft, sharp whisper the cuts a deep as any of your blows and stings as hot as the alcohol did.. "saaar... raa... i.. i've.... already... w... won"

Sara León

The moment I try to pull away, I discover that your leg is tangled with mine, and the surprise and loss of balance make me react in the opposite direction, pressing myself against you. My hands unintentionally clutch the exposed skin of your sides, and my chest collides with yours once more, where I can feel your frantic heartbeat. For an instant, you can see that confusion on my face that leaves me breathless at the sensation of that electricity, that question in my gaze, that unspoken thought... What do you want from me now...? Your words, spoken in a whisper-thin voice born from the last breath of someone defeated, pierce my soul like a poisoned arrow. And you can see it clearly. I go pale, and my eyes widen as I stare into yours, that broken, shattered smile still carrying the faintest trace of victory. My mind constantly rejects your words, yet they keep returning, accompanied by that intimate moment in the locker room when you gave me two choices: free myself from the title, or discover who I truly am. “No... Nononononono... NO!!” My head becomes an explosion of thoughts, fears, guilt, pleasure, desire, pride, frustration, and chaos. Somehow, I cannot grasp the true weight of your words. I refuse to accept your victory, like a little girl incapable of accepting defeat. I become obsessed with the idea of making you give up, convinced that if I can do that, my overwhelming confusion will somehow disappear and everything will be fixed. I shove myself away from you, stumbling over your leg as my eyes fill with tears, looking at you as if you had betrayed me in the worst possible way. I grab the chain tightly and, without thinking twice, completely unhinged and blinded by fear, I lash the chain at you like a whip, letting out a heart-rending roar that makes the entire Hammerstein tremble. My exhausted body moves automatically, driven by inertia, ready to keep striking you with the chain until my arms finally give out

Mina Anderson

That had an effect, I feel you sway back into me and hesitate. Even through the haze and throbbing pain I feel some comfort in knowing that I can wound with a whisper almost as deep as you do with spikes and chains. But what now? I'm still bound, held up only my the makeshift restraints biting into my shoulders and biceps. My body's at the mercy of your every petulant whim! It hurts to be right sometimes. And sometimes it hurts alot. I can only watch the chains rattle and slink through the air like some vengeful serpent before biting across the plush bounty for my chest with weight and force I've surely never felt before. "nnnyyyAAHHHH!!". As the impact ripples across my chest, distorting the 'Angel' motif blazed across my top, I scream into the heavens and become lost in that blinding light. Somewhere in it all, there's a sense of deja vu in this but I can't hold on to it. Another rattle snake bite coils around my thigh and snaps into my backside, pumping my hips forward. "ggggyyyRRRAAWWWWWW!!" The bruise is already rising up red and angry as you drag the chain back and snap out again, and then again, and then again. My body snaps this way and that, til my ass is poking out the side of the ring and heavy bruises blaze across my arms and legs and stomach. The last lands around my lower ribs and snaps into my breast again. That throbbing pain erupts as everyone watches on in fascinated horror. For me, it's the soft snap of my floating rib that truely captures my attention. ANd the sharp pain that follows as I gasp and squeal, every bit like a wounded pig.. "aaiieeeesshhHHH!!"

Sara León

 The scene is so terrifying that the referee herself starts screaming at me to stop, and when she sees my complete lack of reaction, she lunges at me to restrain me. That’s when I finally come back to myself and drop the chain, stumbling backward and staring at the referee in shock. But my eyes drift to the microphone in her hand, and, without hearing any of her shouting, I snatch it from her and shove her violently aside, though without much real force, feeling myself starting to get dizzy. I lunge at you with the microphone in my hand and grab you by the hair to lift your head so I can press it to your lips, bringing my face close to yours and starting to say through gritted teeth, in an exhausted, utterly desperate voice, with an enormous amount of pent-up tension: "And now you're going to say the two words and we're going to end this match, do you hear me...?" I stare at you, and the mere fact that you don’t say anything immediately drives me over the edge and makes me grab your cheek with my free hand, pressing the microphone even harder against your lips and shaking you: "JUST FUCKING SAY IT ALREADY, GODDAMMIT, MINA!! SAY IT!! SAY IT!!" Tears spring from my completely bloodshot eyes, my heart in my mouth as I scream at you desperately

Mina Anders
on I've stop thrashing, now I'm hanging off the ropes with my head bowed and my hair covering my face. I can hear you and the ref scuffle and then your steps toward me. Instinctively I tense up, sharpening every all consuming ache ravaging my body. It's more intense than anything I've ever experienced. Not just the physical pain, but the fear.. the shame of being reduced to this in front of so many people. If I could see the big screen showing my bloody and beaten form I'd be horrified. And all to a prove a point? If any one else put themselves through this I'd call them a stupid bitch. And yet when you shadow drapes over me and blocks out some of that incessant light I feel goosebumps ripple across my skin and the bite as you pull on my hair. THere you are, flustered and screaming into my face. If you didn't make it so obvious how much this is getting to you it'd be easy to just give in. The crowd is already turning on you... "awwwhh... is..." I start only to wince and cough... The arena stills in a low murmour. "Is... that... all you got?". THere's a roar. One of the commentator's calling me defiant and valiant. The other dismisses me as petulant and perverse. For you, it doesn't really matter which is true.

 Sara León 

  I can hear the beginning of the roar, but it quickly turns into a uniform, deafening ringing that overwhelms all my senses. My mind goes blank, as though something in my brain has short-circuited. The microphone falls from my hand, the sound echoing throughout the arena, while my gaze goes vacant and my movements become mechanical. I release you from the ropes, sliding my hand over your shoulder blades as soon as I manage it and shoving you down against the ring to finish knocking you over, while I drop down and roll beneath the bottom rope. Alongside the ringing, another sound emerges: my heartbeat, seemingly setting the rhythm of my movements. I’m struggling to breathe, my chest hurts, and I’m barely even aware of what’s happening around me. I lift the ring apron and pull out a stick wrapped in barbed wire. I stare at it intently and turn it over twice before closing my wounded, bloodied hand around the wire and beginning to pull it free, wrapping it around my left arm as I do. I don’t even know how the crowd is reacting. I’m not even aware that there is a crowd. With my left arm beginning to bleed, I pull out another stick and repeat the savage procedure with my right arm, until both my bare arms are completely bloodied and turned into deadly weapons. The pain no longer feels real, just an illusion that doesn’t even bring pleasure. Then I look up and see you lying on the mat. And I begin climbing back into the ring...

Mina Anderson

The fans are used to seeing intense matches here, it is after all Noir Extreme wrestling, but there's an uneasiness descending around the ring. Perhaps that's the suffocating sensation you feel even as the jeers and boos are tuned out. By then you've already grabbed my injured shoulder and shoved me back to the canvas. I hiss and twist instinctively from the nerve jangling pain zipping down my arm. The same arm I land on, resting limp behind me as I lay there, slowly moving, turning til my chest's pressed to the floor. I manage to plant my knees and lift those brazen pink shorts high in the air but even that takes an age. ALl the while your wrapping your arms in jagged wire...

Sara León

I climb into the ring completely out of my mind, my movements sluggish and mechanical, my arms wrapped in wire. I approach you and drop to my knees beside you, lowering my hands to your shoulders and pulling you upright until you’re sitting against my back, at which point I begin to replicate a move that’s very familiar to me. I slide my left arm beneath your left arm, pinning it behind your back and pressing my chest against it to immobilize you, while at the same time my barbed-wire-wrapped right arm crosses your throat and begins to squeeze it. Then I try to clasp my hands together near your left shoulder, attempting to wrench you into my crossface chickenwing with one brutal pull as the barbs tear into both our skin

Mina Anderson

The boards are creaking underneath me, telegraphing your approach despite the wall of noise closing in around us from all sides. I can sense you settling beside me, but I can't do anything to stop you. I'm little more than a ragdoll in your jagged bloody hands as you sit me up and take all the time your need to position yourself. Submission wrestling has never been my forte, I probably wouldn't recodnise the set up at the best of times but right now I'm not thinking, just existing in this bitter limbo between the andrenaline rush of each new torment. I don't have long to linger in that ambigious place. You pull on my arm. I don't sense any danger at first. Then your other hand clasps around my neck and barbs are cutting through my choker and the flesh underneath, drawing rivets of blood rolling toward the valley of my rising cleavage. I try to cry but you catch my voice in my throat as you fully lock in the hold. Soon that stings starting to fade. Soon my world is darkening. Some in the crowd are sure they see me mouthing "give up". But no words pass my bloodied lips and soon my eyes are glassy and fluttering closed....

Sara León

As soon as I lock in the crossface chickenwing, I brutally tighten my arms, wrenching your shoulder and neck in my deadliest and most familiar submission hold. I let out a scream of pure rage and pain as I feel the barbs digging even deeper into my arms, and I cling to your unconscious body without realizing that I can no longer force the "I quit" I so desperately crave out of you. I drop down onto the canvas, letting the thumbtacks dig into my back once again, as I wrap my legs around your hips and fully lock in the submission, convinced that this time there is no way you'll be able to withstand the agonizing pain. The pain and madness you've driven me to cloud my mind and senses as I keep you clutched tightly against me in a sadistic, twisted embrace of pain...

Erin The Egyptian Warrior

I have been out there .. somewhere in the shadows watching the events of the fight unfold .. I have actually watched Sara for sometime now .. long before I even stepped foot in the ring with her for the first time .. and all those times including my match with her, the overarching feeling I had is admiration for her willingness to fight .. fighting her opponents in the ring but even more fighting her own demons .. but this time I feel something totally different .. disappointment .. as I see you descend into utter madness and crossing every line .. then when I see you lock in the crossface chicken wing with a barbwire on your arms digging into the soft neck of your beautiful young opponent, I decided I have seen enough.. The lights in the arena flicker for a moment without fully going out then my oriental music starts to play as I suddenly appear on the ramp holding a mic... "You have truly lost your way, Sara" I say walking towards the ring.

Sara León

As soon as the arena lights flicker, I narrow my eyes and it takes me a few seconds to recognize your music. But then I immediately feel goosebumps rising all over my skin. No... Not you... My match against you flashes through my mind in rapid fragments. That exotic, irresistible presence, that dominance, that strength, that agility... That voice, that way of reading me, exposing me, manipulating me, defeating me... "NO!!" I scream as soon as I see your sexy figure appear on the ramp. Then you tell me I've lost my way, but I'm not listening to you, or I don't want to. I keep clinging to Mina as if my life depended on it, trying to tighten the crossface even more as I scream at you without a microphone. "DON'T TAKE ANOTHER FUCKING STEP, ERIN!!!" My voice is ragged and desperate, loaded with menace. "DON'T YOU FUCKING DARE GET IN THIS RING!! SHE HAS TO SAY IT!!"

Mina Anderson

I'm drifting, sometimes here in this small stiffling world of noise and pain, a snarling beast in my ear the whole time, as if about to sink teeth alongside the claws. Then I'm elsewhere, watching some fetishised horror show play out until... I'm really here again, when a barb snags deeper and a slither to the side would pierce my windpipe. My eyes flicker open and I find everything has moved and changed. I'm staring up but the lights are dancing and flickering above me.. Everything is different. There's music which is alien and familiar and I wonder if I'm dreaming.. I soon will be again but I can feel the wet crimson claws stretching across my collar bone and fanning greedily across my chest. Dispite the logo on my soaked and blood stained top I feel and must look distantly mortal right now. Everythings closing in around, legs on my sides, or are they serpents sent to squeeze the last cinders of life from my body like the flicker of their tongues, smiling and looming over with glowing eyes... I'm dreaming again?.. I'm elsewhere? And I'm not sure I'm coming back here this time...

Published: 8 days ago, viewed 59 times.

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