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X-treme Wrestling Federation »   » Archives » Relentless Day 2 (August 23rd) PPV RP Archive
Attaching the Detached... Or Not
Author Message
Kendall Savannah Sawyer Offline
Repetition is the key to success.



XWF FanBase:
Mixed reactions

(cheered heavily at home; hated by some; dips between clean/dirty)


#1
08-19-2014, 07:16 PM


I bet, if you were able to look into my eyes right now, I'd look kind of silly right now. Laying in bed, staring straight up at the ceiling, body frozen stiff by a sudden bout of fear induced hypothermia. The only part of my body moving in the slightest being my eyes, as they scanned the different parts of the ceiling, looking for and dreading the slightest imperfection. Oh, my eyes. I wonder what they look like right now. Bulging almost out of my wide open eyelids, bloodshot on account of the minuscule amount of sleep I've gotten in the past couple of days. A real treat for anyone unlucky enough to lay eyes on me. Aside from that blemish however, I'm the picture perfect corpse right now. Stiff as a board. Cold as ice. Skin flushed of any and all color except the palest of grays. Cracked lips that would be bleeding right now if only my heart would start beating. And to top it all off, already dressed in the best thing I thought to pack; some cocktail dress Kara bought me last Christmas that would probably be considered slutty in most cultures. They could bury me right now, except for one problem.

I'm still conscious.

At least, I think so. It's hard to tell when you've passed over into whatever great beyond that may or may not exist when the only place you can look is straight up. The exposed lightbulb hanging from the ceiling isn't only on; it's shining right in my eyes any time they come within a couple miles of it, it feels like. It's weird. I remember turning the light off before going to sleep, but then again I could move freely before going to sleep so I guess I shouldn't be wondering about small potatoes now.

"Kendall," whispers a voice somewhere beyond my field of vision. It's a voice I'm familiar with, for better or worse; Samuel Klein. It's funny. It really is. Normally hearing that voice, or anything remotely close would make my blood run cold but right now? The standstill blood mucking about in my veins is already filled with icicles. He has no effect here. Everything he could do to me, has already been done and because of that, I crack my chapped lips further as I contort my facial muscles into something vaguely resembling a smile. Again, there should be a trickle of blood running down to my chin or something but no. Nothing. Not a drop. No pain either. Even as I felt the skin ripping apart at the seams, feeling each flesh ripping tug from either side of my face but not the stinging that comes along with it.

My head still won't move. I can't see Klein but I know he's here in the room with me. He has to be. I just heard his voice and although it failed to affect me, it was still there and by association, he has to be too. Maybe he's the one responsible for all of this and whatever the hell this is, is all his twisted plan to get back at me and my uncle. Oh, I hope to God it is.

"You don't believe in God."

Again, that whisper. That sweet, gentle, callous whisper that cuts through my ear drums about as smoothly and easily as a pair of pliers used for tooth removal. I feel a pair of hands press down on the right side of the bed, the force of which causes my body, powerless to resist, to come sliding over to the right. Now, I lay on my right shoulder and arm as opposed to flat on my back, allowing me to come face to face with the owner of the voice.

I was right. He had to be here too. Dressed in only his very best funeral attire, with his tie in his hand.

If I could move my jaw, I'd laugh at him.

Not because he doesn't scare me anymore, because there's still some part of my rapidly deteriorating and decaying brain that tells me to take advantage of my only defense and avert my eyes. But because he's failed. I think he thought I'd die in fear and cowering behind tear stained eyes. Not the case, as I keep the smile up as I stare right back at him. Right into where his soul would be, if only he had one.

"Harsh."

He reaches his hand; the one with the tie in it, forward and wraps it around my throat. With his other hand, he grabs onto and digs his nails into my left shoulder, before shoving my limp, lifeless body back over onto my back.

Suddenly, I regret my choice of attire.

Taking his hand off my shoulder for a second, and loosening his grip on my throat only slightly, he takes one end of the tie and puts it in his other hand, making a garrote out of the garment. He then swings one leg around my chest and sits himself down right on my chest, driving all his weight down onto my ice encrusted heart and deflated lungs. And then, his coup de grace. His final bow. The last thing he does in his attempt to end my life.

He strangles me. He shoves the tie down across my throat and holds it in place, just enough to block off my access to the imaginary air I've been breathing for the last few minutes. It works. I gag, and try desperately and subconsciously to draw in any gasp of air to compensate for that which was being deprived. My lungs start to hurt and my heart begins to pound rapidly in my chest, vibrating against his thigh like a phone on a wooden table. I flail my arms and legs around wildly, to no avail as they don't move an inch from their original positions. It's like I'm a stranger inside my own body, living just long enough to see everything within myself wither and die.

I hope he doesn't mess up the presentation of my lifeless figure. I worked so hard to shave off the excess self respect that prohibited me from wearing this dress in the past.

Klein's throttling appears to be reaching its end goal, as my eyes begin to gloss over and fall lazily off to the side, looking at the wall. It won't take too much longer for everything to fall into place.

Then, the lightbulb burns out.

And I lurch forward into the darkness of my hotel room, ready to fight off absolutely nothing. Face and body drenched in frosted sweat that leaks zigzaggedly downwards. The first thing I think to do is breathe, and breathe deep. Flood my mouth and lungs with air. Through the darkness, I can see myself; l was laying stiff as a board on my back. Neither my arms nor legs bent.

Not a valid pathway to lucid dreaming.

No, a gateway to seeing your own mortality in slow motion.

I rub my throat with my hand, expecting to feel raw, aching flesh but instead, nothing out of the ordinary. My heart rate begins to slow as I settle back into the bed, flopping over onto my stomach and shoving my face into the pillow. With hope, I won't drown in sweat or suffocate myself.

More accurately, I'm probably gonna wake up with a bloody nose and a desire to not move an inch.

I think I'll do this again tomorrow.


Awardments and Accoladations:

Last European Champion (Won April 28, 2014 -- Unified into the Universal Title May 19th, 2014)
Tag Team Champion (w/ ???) (Won August 13, 2014 -- Lost December 10, 2014)
Star of the Month (April 2014)
Wannabe Jessie Diaz (You know, if you're stupid Swagmire)
11-6

“Nothing is so painful to the human mind as a great and sudden change.” ― Mary Shelley
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[-] The following 4 users Like Kendall Savannah Sawyer's post:
(08-23-2014), Liz Hathaway (08-20-2014), Mystica (08-19-2014), Ozymandias (08-21-2014)




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