Post by The Black Widow on Jan 12, 2023 8:47:16 GMT
The Black Widow sits alone on a sidewalk, propped up against an old brick building. She has her left hand facing palm up, holding a jar containing her black widow spider.
"Exquisite, isn't it?"
She traces the side of the jar with her finger.
"Did you know young black widow spiders have a penchant for violence from birth, eating the smallest among their siblings when they hatch. The mother is able to carefully proportion her eggs though so it's never too many, ensuring the species' survival. There is beauty in that violence because there is an order to it."
"People misunderstand them, however. This myth exists that every time they breed it will be the male's last act. The truth is that is a rarity. Cannibalism during mating only happens about two percent of the time because males can sense when a female is hungry."
She gently taps at the lid on the jar, a sinister smile on her face as she peers into the camera. "I wonder, Mr. Happy, are you as smart? Has nature given you such gifts? You should hope so because I am starving. Get too close and I will make you my first real meal."
She carefully sets the jar beside her on the sidewalk.
"You see, much like my little friend here, I was born to be a predator. This thing that is in me though, it's not natural, nor beautiful. It was given to me, like a curse. I was brought into this world destined to be a third generation wrestler."
"My father, the bastard he is, was a damn good wrestler. He traveled thousands of miles, going city-to-city, town-to-town, leaving buckets of his own blood -and part of his own soul- behind in that ring every night. He wasn't especially gifted; but he was tough, and he was brutal. He was everything a promoter in the nineties ever dreamed of; and he pulled himself up out of the gutter, surrounded by barbed wire and steel cages, to become a world champion.
"My mother was a wrestler, too. Her given name was Natasha Cvetkova, but the world knew her as the Black Rose. She followed in her own father's footsteps, cold and cunning, making a name for herself in this sport. She paid her dues, and she became a multi-time women's champion."
"This sport doesn't give anyone anything, though. Everything is a trade, and every trade has a price to be paid later."
"My grandfather, to this day, gets pushed up to a table for autograph signings in his fucking wheelchair. He doesn't do it for the love of the fans. He does it because he's broke. The cruel irony being he now has to shake hands, and force fake smiles, with the spawn of some of the same people who cheered while he gave up his ability to walk inside that ring for their entertainment."
"My father, after all these years, still pops pills like they're candy, and washes them down with a bottle of booze. He hooked up with my mother one night after a show, and nine months later, there I was. The thing I remember most about my childhood though is he was never there, except when he was laid up in bed with some gruesome injury, drowning the pain in another bottle of Hennessy. That was his drink of choice, and uncoincidentally how I got the lovely name on my birth certificate."
"My mother paid the steepest price of all, though. She was really truly something special in between those ropes. She gave everything to a sport she loved, and she has the scars to prove it. Then one day, just like that, she was told she was too old in words they liked to use to dance around the lawsuits. Her reward for everything she gave was a lifetime of bitterness and regret, and the opportunity to train her replacement, you know, if she wanted."
She leans back and says with a smirk, "but when the time was right, she poured all of that bitterness… all of that training, into me. And years after I learned how to do a dropkick, my father finally took an interest in me. Maybe we never sat down and pretended to drink tea, but he taught me how to carve someone's forehead up with a fork, and I enjoyed it."
"Call it father and daughter bonding time."
"This sport doesn't give you anything though. There is always a trade, always a price to be paid. So here I sit, ready to do the only thing I've ever been good at… the very same thing that has taken so much from my family. That's the price I pay to be loved."
"I'm willing to put my ugliness on full display though because I'm not ashamed of it. I may have issues, but I'm not a fake bitch the way Tara Fenix is. I own who I am. What I am. That's why I attacked her. I'm a predator, and predators always choose the most opportune moments to strike."
"I'm not naive to the way this world works, though. I know at some point Tara is going to strike back. I'm counting on it. But if you want to play, little bird, all you need to do is show up Friday night. After I make short work of Mr. Happy, I'll have time to clip your wings, too."
<Fade to black>
"Exquisite, isn't it?"
She traces the side of the jar with her finger.
"Did you know young black widow spiders have a penchant for violence from birth, eating the smallest among their siblings when they hatch. The mother is able to carefully proportion her eggs though so it's never too many, ensuring the species' survival. There is beauty in that violence because there is an order to it."
"People misunderstand them, however. This myth exists that every time they breed it will be the male's last act. The truth is that is a rarity. Cannibalism during mating only happens about two percent of the time because males can sense when a female is hungry."
She gently taps at the lid on the jar, a sinister smile on her face as she peers into the camera. "I wonder, Mr. Happy, are you as smart? Has nature given you such gifts? You should hope so because I am starving. Get too close and I will make you my first real meal."
She carefully sets the jar beside her on the sidewalk.
"You see, much like my little friend here, I was born to be a predator. This thing that is in me though, it's not natural, nor beautiful. It was given to me, like a curse. I was brought into this world destined to be a third generation wrestler."
"My father, the bastard he is, was a damn good wrestler. He traveled thousands of miles, going city-to-city, town-to-town, leaving buckets of his own blood -and part of his own soul- behind in that ring every night. He wasn't especially gifted; but he was tough, and he was brutal. He was everything a promoter in the nineties ever dreamed of; and he pulled himself up out of the gutter, surrounded by barbed wire and steel cages, to become a world champion.
"My mother was a wrestler, too. Her given name was Natasha Cvetkova, but the world knew her as the Black Rose. She followed in her own father's footsteps, cold and cunning, making a name for herself in this sport. She paid her dues, and she became a multi-time women's champion."
"This sport doesn't give anyone anything, though. Everything is a trade, and every trade has a price to be paid later."
"My grandfather, to this day, gets pushed up to a table for autograph signings in his fucking wheelchair. He doesn't do it for the love of the fans. He does it because he's broke. The cruel irony being he now has to shake hands, and force fake smiles, with the spawn of some of the same people who cheered while he gave up his ability to walk inside that ring for their entertainment."
"My father, after all these years, still pops pills like they're candy, and washes them down with a bottle of booze. He hooked up with my mother one night after a show, and nine months later, there I was. The thing I remember most about my childhood though is he was never there, except when he was laid up in bed with some gruesome injury, drowning the pain in another bottle of Hennessy. That was his drink of choice, and uncoincidentally how I got the lovely name on my birth certificate."
"My mother paid the steepest price of all, though. She was really truly something special in between those ropes. She gave everything to a sport she loved, and she has the scars to prove it. Then one day, just like that, she was told she was too old in words they liked to use to dance around the lawsuits. Her reward for everything she gave was a lifetime of bitterness and regret, and the opportunity to train her replacement, you know, if she wanted."
She leans back and says with a smirk, "but when the time was right, she poured all of that bitterness… all of that training, into me. And years after I learned how to do a dropkick, my father finally took an interest in me. Maybe we never sat down and pretended to drink tea, but he taught me how to carve someone's forehead up with a fork, and I enjoyed it."
"Call it father and daughter bonding time."
"This sport doesn't give you anything though. There is always a trade, always a price to be paid. So here I sit, ready to do the only thing I've ever been good at… the very same thing that has taken so much from my family. That's the price I pay to be loved."
"I'm willing to put my ugliness on full display though because I'm not ashamed of it. I may have issues, but I'm not a fake bitch the way Tara Fenix is. I own who I am. What I am. That's why I attacked her. I'm a predator, and predators always choose the most opportune moments to strike."
"I'm not naive to the way this world works, though. I know at some point Tara is going to strike back. I'm counting on it. But if you want to play, little bird, all you need to do is show up Friday night. After I make short work of Mr. Happy, I'll have time to clip your wings, too."
<Fade to black>
Well howdy there pardner.