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by David Schembri

The step out of the curtains was an emotional one. The stretch of the aisle loomed before her; the pathway to her battle ground. The thunder of the crowd was still able to give her goose-flesh . . . even then. Beneath the screams of the fans who voiced their desertion, she could still hear a trickle of those still loyal. Her face was frozen as she made her march down the aisle, her shiny, tight fitting pink costume glistened in the lightening of camera fire. Her long, dark brown hair, slicked back into a tail that was adorned with silver glitter. She was Vixen, the former female WCW Champion. A flying ember that was once so feared, but now was paid more to be cold and ash ridden.
Once she entered the ring, she faced her readied opponent; the rising star. Storm was the new fashion. She reminded Vixen of herself in her younger years. Fresh and vigorous. Her styles of dark tights, glistening boots, insolent smile and wild hair, appealed to the growing fan base. Although Vixen was only a few years senior - based on style alone - she was old in comparison. Very old.

The piercing bell rang and the rehearsed, pirouette of aerial combat and body buckling began . . .


"You humiliated me!" Vixen screamed, her voice breaking with fury.

"Get over it!" Storm spat as she unlocked her black Hummer.

Vixen approached. They were alone in the blackness of the private parking lot beneath the stadium.
Talk . . . I'm just here to talk . . .

"That slap wasn't in the script, rookie! You were supposed to pin me down, and that's all!" she growled.

"The crowd loved it! You were out cold anyway; I didn't think you'd even notice!" Storm smirked, boastfully flicking her yellow hair.

Vixen's eye twitched - Out? Your reverse power slam didn't hit me that hard!

"You only slapped me cause you knew I couldn't do anything about it. Right, bitch?"

"So I improvised. So what?" Storm shrugged. She faced her whilst chewing her gum. Stepping forward, she spat the gum into Vixen's face. It bounced off her sweaty forehead.

Vixen lifted a skillful foot up into Storm's chin, sending her back into her vehicle. Storm collapsed to the ground. Vixen stepped over her and nudged Storm's leg with her foot.

Out cold.

"Improvise? Two can play at that game, sweetheart."


David is a Horror Writer and member of the Australian Horror Writers' Association. His work has appeared in the
BlackBox Anthology, FlashSpec Volume 2, The Writing Show, Ripples Magazine, Flashshot, Penpricks, Backhand Stories, AndipodeanSF, and The Specusphere. David lives in Victoria with his lovely wife and children. Contact David.