Post by maki on Oct 4, 2018 3:45:15 GMT -8
We open up at a plot of land with a real estate sign that reads, ‘Five acre land for redevelopment. Call Chase Williams for information. FOR SALE’ We suddenly whizz forward, ducking under branches, heading through different trees, then a huge open area of grassland comes into view we go above it and then drop down inside it, zig zagging our way through. The grass seems to be two storeys high and then an open space, the grass is mowed, it looks like someone’s garden. We pan through, as classical music plays loudly, Chopin the composer.
Then in the middle is a woman in red, her eyes as cold as night, digging deeper and deeper. From this hole in the ground, with her bare fingers, the fingernails like talons, scratching at the mud she pops up, sees us and hisses before disintegrating into a cloud of smoke that matches the fog surrounding the area.
The music gets louder, Chopin’s Funeral March, so loud your eardrums feel like they would explode. Then out of the dense grass, in a top hat, tails and a black ankle length skirt, appears a woman, holding a wreath, with her head down.
She stops short at the hole in the ground. Out of her breast pocket comes a notebook and she looks at it, as she lifts her hat and we see Melissa Aki, her eyes wet with tears.
“Here lies, the tattes of Britney Anders. You see, she used a casket as a way of proving she can beat me and closing the lid on me so I thought I would return the favour. Britney has always been a trailblazer, she has won everything on her own and without help, she has no excuses when she suffers defeat. Ha! Who am I kidding, right? Britney Anders, you have never been above me, you have never been close to my level. You see, at the end of her career, which it will be now, all you are known for is some uptight bitch with deep issues of insecurity, and scared shittless of abject failure.”
She rips a rose from the wreath and drops it down the hole.
“I do not need to say anything in the media or even on a platform like Twitter because we all saw what happened. I was robbed of my title by Kenrick Kross and his puppet master. Yet, I am not here to make excuses. Ever since, you and your mouth piece have been spouting liquid bullshit which makes a change from the Kross jizz on your gums. Britney, you should have realised one truth by now: Whoever screams the loudest, whoever is the most vocal is just covering up their own inadequacies and the one that is silent, the one that carefully plots your downfall will always win because they know how evil they can be and they do not need to shout out basic facts.”
She tears a few more roses from the wreath and drops them to the hole in the ground.
“Walk of Fame. Britney, you cannot even call me a bitch. Come on, say it. BITCH! I am one. I know I am. I am proud to wear that name. Are you so incessantly stupid with the IQ of a rodent that you call it the B word? See, for you, defeating me is defeating your fears, defeating me will be the greatest achievement of your life, I am sure you will tell your retarded grandchildren about it as they try to spoon pudding off their arses! But alas, instead of my career being over, it will be the other way around. You really think facing you would end my career? Losing a title would force me into retirement? You are more atrociously moronic than I even thought. This is not my only place of employment, that Pride championship was not the only one I held. It meant a lot to me and I am willing to fight to the death to get it back but it is not the symbol to me that it is to you and Kendrick. Like you will dine off defeating me, if you do, when I beat you, you will be reduced to another fool that dared to step in my path. You will be reduced to the recycle bin of history where you belong."
She tossed the rest of the wreath into the hole in the ground and magically in her hand appeared a doll, with a striking resemblance to Britney Anders.
“You, Anders, you are obsessed with possessions, the materialistic nature of the world today, you are but one of a billion narcissists around the globe, obsessing over how you look, what fucking bag to get, what shoes go with what outfit that you lost track of who you are. You are a carbon copy of all the Instagram wannabes. Who are you, Britney? Who are you really? Your facade fools most of the people but I see through you. You portray this badass but you’re nothing short of the unpopular girl at school that thinks a makeover will make her the homecoming queen. Why do you want to be one of a billion clones? You should want to stand out from the crowd but all you are is a sheep and you know sheep make good sacrifices to my own demoness.”
She bring out a dagger from her jacket, and stabs at the doll as she laughs manically and all of a sudden it starts raining blood, as it slowly runs down her face.
“At Walk of Fame I do not need Daniela, I do not need her to come out and get her revenge on you. You are far too basic for that. She only comes out when there is real competition. Welcome to the grandest stage of your life, Anders. Soak in all that adulation, soak in the attention you so badly crave, feed that debased ego, keep that mask of conformity on tight. For I shall defeat you, I shall break the mould as I always have, tear back the layers of your own self doubt, bring you to your psychological knees and then as you beg for mercy I shall have your soul in the palm of my hand, I will grab a camera and tell Kross to bear witness to what I do to his pitiful master. This ends now Britney one way or the other. I am even willing to offer you something. I offer that if I lose I walk away, leave your muppet alone, take the high road in walk on out on that long and winding road but there is a caveat. When I win, I take your fucking soul, your pathetic little fucking mean girls act will be like dust in the wind and I own you FOREVER!”
She throws the doll in the pit and as she is surrounded by dark demons who hurriedly cover the grave up with their talons. She walks away into the tall grass as Chopin’s Funeral March gets louder and louder as she disappears.
Then in the middle is a woman in red, her eyes as cold as night, digging deeper and deeper. From this hole in the ground, with her bare fingers, the fingernails like talons, scratching at the mud she pops up, sees us and hisses before disintegrating into a cloud of smoke that matches the fog surrounding the area.
The music gets louder, Chopin’s Funeral March, so loud your eardrums feel like they would explode. Then out of the dense grass, in a top hat, tails and a black ankle length skirt, appears a woman, holding a wreath, with her head down.
She stops short at the hole in the ground. Out of her breast pocket comes a notebook and she looks at it, as she lifts her hat and we see Melissa Aki, her eyes wet with tears.
“Here lies, the tattes of Britney Anders. You see, she used a casket as a way of proving she can beat me and closing the lid on me so I thought I would return the favour. Britney has always been a trailblazer, she has won everything on her own and without help, she has no excuses when she suffers defeat. Ha! Who am I kidding, right? Britney Anders, you have never been above me, you have never been close to my level. You see, at the end of her career, which it will be now, all you are known for is some uptight bitch with deep issues of insecurity, and scared shittless of abject failure.”
She rips a rose from the wreath and drops it down the hole.
“I do not need to say anything in the media or even on a platform like Twitter because we all saw what happened. I was robbed of my title by Kenrick Kross and his puppet master. Yet, I am not here to make excuses. Ever since, you and your mouth piece have been spouting liquid bullshit which makes a change from the Kross jizz on your gums. Britney, you should have realised one truth by now: Whoever screams the loudest, whoever is the most vocal is just covering up their own inadequacies and the one that is silent, the one that carefully plots your downfall will always win because they know how evil they can be and they do not need to shout out basic facts.”
She tears a few more roses from the wreath and drops them to the hole in the ground.
“Walk of Fame. Britney, you cannot even call me a bitch. Come on, say it. BITCH! I am one. I know I am. I am proud to wear that name. Are you so incessantly stupid with the IQ of a rodent that you call it the B word? See, for you, defeating me is defeating your fears, defeating me will be the greatest achievement of your life, I am sure you will tell your retarded grandchildren about it as they try to spoon pudding off their arses! But alas, instead of my career being over, it will be the other way around. You really think facing you would end my career? Losing a title would force me into retirement? You are more atrociously moronic than I even thought. This is not my only place of employment, that Pride championship was not the only one I held. It meant a lot to me and I am willing to fight to the death to get it back but it is not the symbol to me that it is to you and Kendrick. Like you will dine off defeating me, if you do, when I beat you, you will be reduced to another fool that dared to step in my path. You will be reduced to the recycle bin of history where you belong."
She tossed the rest of the wreath into the hole in the ground and magically in her hand appeared a doll, with a striking resemblance to Britney Anders.
“You, Anders, you are obsessed with possessions, the materialistic nature of the world today, you are but one of a billion narcissists around the globe, obsessing over how you look, what fucking bag to get, what shoes go with what outfit that you lost track of who you are. You are a carbon copy of all the Instagram wannabes. Who are you, Britney? Who are you really? Your facade fools most of the people but I see through you. You portray this badass but you’re nothing short of the unpopular girl at school that thinks a makeover will make her the homecoming queen. Why do you want to be one of a billion clones? You should want to stand out from the crowd but all you are is a sheep and you know sheep make good sacrifices to my own demoness.”
She bring out a dagger from her jacket, and stabs at the doll as she laughs manically and all of a sudden it starts raining blood, as it slowly runs down her face.
“At Walk of Fame I do not need Daniela, I do not need her to come out and get her revenge on you. You are far too basic for that. She only comes out when there is real competition. Welcome to the grandest stage of your life, Anders. Soak in all that adulation, soak in the attention you so badly crave, feed that debased ego, keep that mask of conformity on tight. For I shall defeat you, I shall break the mould as I always have, tear back the layers of your own self doubt, bring you to your psychological knees and then as you beg for mercy I shall have your soul in the palm of my hand, I will grab a camera and tell Kross to bear witness to what I do to his pitiful master. This ends now Britney one way or the other. I am even willing to offer you something. I offer that if I lose I walk away, leave your muppet alone, take the high road in walk on out on that long and winding road but there is a caveat. When I win, I take your fucking soul, your pathetic little fucking mean girls act will be like dust in the wind and I own you FOREVER!”
She throws the doll in the pit and as she is surrounded by dark demons who hurriedly cover the grave up with their talons. She walks away into the tall grass as Chopin’s Funeral March gets louder and louder as she disappears.
