November, 1st 2002 The Delivery Room Frankfort, Kentucky

The screaming over the lifeless baby has ceased, and the silence of the delivery room sounds like quiet reflections. Fifteen year old Muddy Waters, a brawny, but ignorant and unlettered boy rinses his face with his tear soaked hands. The rapid beat of his lover's pulse through the hospital equipment pierces his eardrums. He looks her way…"You bitch" he whispers to Nadine, her tiny wrists handcuffed to the hospital bed. She’s somewhere else, eyes rolled in the back of her head and softly twitching from the delirium tremens.

Standing next to Nadine’s gaunt, and meth ravaged body is a statue-like police officer, his arms folded and eyes closed with his head leaned against the pink painted drywall. Naiden is six years older than Muddy and is mostly regarded as a bar-hopping, meth-whore around Frankfort. When the doctors discovered the neglectful state of this pregnancy, they had no choice but to involve the law. Muddy looks away from one grim scene to another, where across the wood laminate flooring his dead child lies in a clear plastic baby bed in a metal frame.

The nameless baby girl was born five months early, weighing just under two pounds. The levels of methamphetamine and alcohol in her bloodstream were enough to kill an adult. Muddy stands and drags his feet toward the carriage. He tilts his head sideways with a choking frown as he looks at his departed flesh and blood. She’s wrapped in white cloth with a pink beanie on her head. Though her face is underdeveloped, even for an infant, Muddy can’t help but see an expression of peace upon her features.

He turns from the baby and looks out through the glass window in the delivery room door. His Mother, Misty Waters, the newly elected Mayor of Frankfort points a finger into the chest of the pediatrician, Dr. Hank Dobner. Her head is shifting back and forth and her lips flutter with aggression. She catches Muddy looking at her and returns the icy glare of disapproval that he was accustomed to. Muddy had never felt more alone.

Muddy was kind, but dumb. Strong, but slow. Well intentioned, but ill-equipped. He didn’t have any friends unless it was football season, and those friends would only scream at him if he missed a tackle or dropped a pass. But the attention was nice. When he found out that he would be a father, Muddy envisioned having a best friend. One who would never abandon him, or yell at him when he made a mistake. He saw a relationship far different from the one he and his mother shared, where she only regarded Muddy as an undeniable mistake.

At the edge of the cloth blanket, Muddy could see a shade of purple. The tiny little fingers of his child, not even big enough to wrap around the end of his pinky. He reached down and held her hand. It still felt warm. He closed his eyes and took a deep, sputtering breath. As he stood there, imagining what life would’ve been like had this child not died, Muddy felt like he heard something foreign. Or felt a change in the temperature of the room. When he opened his eyes, he saw his daughter's eyes open and taking him in, she gasped for air and then began to breathe after a choke.

Muddy scooped the baby up into his arms as she wailed out with a colicky cry. Misty Waters, Dr. Dobner and a slew of nurses bolt into the room. The nurses pulling the baby away from Muddy and lay her back down to re-examine the vitals and tend to her delicacy. Misty and Muddy stand shoulder to shoulder, sharing mouth covered facial expressions and watery eyes.

Dr. Dobner turns from the now living infant and looks at the Waters’, his face is pale, his hands trembling,

“Wha- what’s going on?” Misty’s voice cracks, “What’s happening?”

“This baby was pronounced dead over five minutes ago…”

He edges closer to Misty and Muddy,

“Son, your daughter is alive… and it’s nothing short of a miracle.”

Misty pulls Dr. Dobner by the arm and into the corner of the room while Muddy approaches the bellowing baby.

“So what happens now, Hank?” Misty asks of Dr. Dobner. Sweat forming above his brow, the doctor gazed at the child, and then shifts his attention to the police officer who still appears unaware of what’s going on, “Misty…” her face contorts as she anticipates the bad news hinted by Dobner’s tone, “...the girl doesn’t weigh two pounds. She’s chemically dependent on alcohol and amphetamines. Her vital statistics alone require me to report this birth to state authorities.”

Misty takes a threatened step back from Dobner and looks him up and down,

“I think we both know that you won’t be nothing of the sort, darling. We wouldn’t want the extra funding the city just granted for your research department to go bye-bye now would we?”

Dobner considers his options, and looks over at the officer again, who now has his eyes open and staring a hole through Dobner’s head,

“I can’t-“

“Abrams!”

Misty shouts over to the cop, getting his attention. As they lock eyes, she shifts her head sideways to the door. The officer nods, “Yes, Ma’am.” and promptly exits the room. Misty turns her attention back to a dumbfounded Dobner, who didn’t realize just how quickly Misty Waters had consolidated power in her new position.

“Now, Hank… darling. You were just about to tell me how we clean up this here clusterfuck.”

He walks over to a plastic filing tray hanging on the wall that contains various documents. He pulls a document from the top and slides it under a clipboard, fidgeting an ink pen from his shirt pocket and checking his watch,

“Time of birth…”

He begins talking aloud as he scribbles onto the paper,

“Eleven-hundred hours, eleven minutes. Date of birth?”

A sly smile creeps over Misty’s face as Dobner pauses to look at her before he starts writing again,

“November, 1st … two-thousand-three.”

A full year from the current date. The twelve month difference would give Dobner the time required to get the child up to a normal birth weight and length, as well as tending the chemical toxins from her body. There would be nothing miraculous about this child. Just a routine day in the delivery room.

“Her name?”

“Hers like a little baby doll…” says Muddy through some jovial sobs, getting both Dobner's and Misty’s attention,

“Her name is…”

July, 13th 2021 The Health Department Collier County, Florida

“Dolly?”

Muddy whispers over to his daughter having just sat next to her in a spine bending plastic chair in the health department waiting room. While pulling up inconspicuously from his seat and studying his surroundings, Muddy affirms his grip on the makeshift dog leash attached to the mutt he brought to Dolly at Coreytopia. “...hum?” she replies while flipping through a car magazine,

”I ain’t so sure they take animals here, baby. If I ain’t knowed any better, I’d say this one them places where they freeze the warts off yer’ pecker.”

Dolly begins lowering the magazine from her face with a look of disbelief and disgust as Muddy speaks,

Having overheard his poor attempts at being quiet, another patient stops in her tracks while walking by Dolly, Muddy and The Mut, and gives Muddy an offended facial reaction. Muddy notices her and pulls a knuckle to his teeth before flinging his hand open into a wave. ”Sorry ma’am. I’m sure yer’ cooter is top notch.” The woman grunts and stomps away.

Well, you do know better, Muddy. This is a health department. I’m not sure what would have given it away…

Muddy’s eyes are squarely set on the caboose of the woman he just offended,

...the sign outside that says ‘Collier County Health Department’?

Having been listening, Muddy leans back, still whispering loudly,

Thought we’s doin’ somethin’ bout this dog-

Pointing to the well behaved mut sitting on the floor smiling almost with its tongue dangling from the side of its mouth,

-not my dong.

No…

Pulling the magazine up to her face and flipping some more pages,

...I already had an appointment scheduled here today. We’ll take the dog to the humane society afterwards.

It takes Muddy a moment to catch up to the sentence,

Baby girl?

He asks, putting his hand on her shoulder that she nonchalantly scoots away from,

... she looks at him, making annoyed question marks with her face,

Some drip-dick put somethin’ nasty up in there?

Dolly’s face turns red,

I don’t…

It was at Corey boy, wuddunt it?

No. Corey is my-

Cain’t say I don’t sees it, o’ boy looks like he gets plenty tang-

No. Muddy, Corey is ga-

A damned o’ house like he’s got, all them damn servants out workin’ the yard, it ain’t a wonder he done swooned an o’ Waters girl-

Muddy continues rambling in his unique way about how Corey Smith is the quintessential panty dropper. Ginuwine’s ‘Pony’ in human form. The irreverence of his monologue is mystifying. Dolly however spaces out and thinks about her body, and who all, and what all might have been inside of it during the several weeks when she was switched with Michael Graves. She had been steadily checking herself for anything out of place and though everything appeared to be in working order, a nocebo effect of sorts had convinced her that she had contracted something.

Dolly slips back out of her own head and catches Muddy midway through his eighth sentence,

Have you even been watching XWF lately?

No.

Okay cool. Well I switched bodies with Michael Graves. That’s why I’m here

Muddy looks like he’s reading words for the first time ever,

Weird. I know. But hell, even Corey was taken over by The Engineer. None of us are perfect-

THE ENGINEQUEER?!

Muddy bursts from his seat and yells, causing the dog to start barking. Dolly’s face is drenched with embarrassment and terror. Muddy. Sit down. she begs.

That o sumbitch! Ain’t a GOT’DAMN wonder! If o’Dexter would’ve just let Muddy take Madison off his hands, this would’ve been my trip to the Clap-paddle…

Dolly buries her face in her hands as the woman from earlier storms out of the waiting room in disgust. In absolute braindead sincerity, Muddy drops to a knee and puts his hands on Dolly’s shoulders,

Did he stick it in yer’ bunghole?

The look on Dolly’s face reads like a lit powder keg,

Do want me to kill him?

There’s a echoing slide of metal, and then a pop from the heavy door that leads to the other side of the health department. A middle aged, heavyset practitioner with curly red hair steps out,

“Dolly Wa-“ she stops herself as Dolly is already standing and walking towards her, “-uh sir, sir! You can’t-“ she starts yelling towards Muddy,

I’m Dolly Waters she says reaching out for the papers the practitioner is holding, but she’s ignored.

“Hey, HEY!”

She continues shouting at Muddy who is earnestly throwing roundhouse kicks and tiger strikes at an invisible Dexter Bright,

“HELLLLO?! HEY, !” The nickname that Muddy is sadly familiar with grabs his attention, “You need to get that damn dog out of here!” Hey, bitch! Dolly snaps, Don't talk to him that way!

“Excuse me?” the practitioner turns her scowl to Dolly,

You heard me! Dolly swells up and, not breaking a fiery glare, snatches the papers from the practitioner. You shouldn’t treat people that way.

“You’re right. But he’s not a person. He’s inbred trash, just like you.”

Dolly’s heart is racing, her eyes welling up with frustration. She wanted to lay into the practitioner, and channel every grievance of her life into a how-dare-you diatribe pointed towards the insensitive, ogre faced bitch.

“Now run a long and tell your brother that you two are going to be proud parents.”

The heart stops racing and sinks to her toes. Dolly just turns away, staring at the envelope in her hand. She hasn’t even noticed that Muddy and The Mut already left the building. She works the edges of the envelope open as she gets to the doors. Her hand shakes as she pulls out a document.

Dolly reads it aloud.

Treating a urinary tract infection? she turns back to the practitioner, Fuck you, lady!

-to be continued-



Right, Felix?

So fuck it.

Ain’t that what you said?

I guess it summarizes everything about you, huh?

Mr. Devil May Care himself, Felix Jones. Gambling away his life everyday because nothing matters to him, staring right into the barrel of a loaded gun and only offering a shrug.

It doesn’t matter to him that he should show some sort of semblance of preparation for our match. It doesn’t matter to him that the bookers might have laid a death trap for us both on Warfare. It doesn’t matter that working hard enough to score a win over Dolly Waters would flush his career out of the swirling toilet bowl and make it so he’d never have to worry about money or some petty gangs again.

No…

Felix doesn’t care about anything, he’s a nihilist.



But really, it’s not even as well thought out as some lazy pedo-enabling philosophy.

Mr. Jones couldn’t care enough to put any effort into not caring. After all, the guy proved to have some opinions on Disney. Way to kill yer’ own shtick, dumbass.

See, it's not that Felix doesn’t care, folks. He doesn't have the ability to care, and caring is an emotion the human race would’ve never survived long enough to bring him into this day and age. Where his state of unjustified complacency is survivable. He’s thoughtless, lazy, and unable to convey emotion because the dirty work was done for him long ago. Ask him about his XTreme Championship run… I call it a run, it was more like a faceplant. But does he even remember it? Doubtful. The guy has done nothing but sleepwalk his entire career and yet has the gall to question anything that I’ve ever done.

Get fucked, Felix.

The bums will always lose.

Felix hasn’t been paying attention for a long time. He doesn’t care, and he’s proven that time and again even outside of the unstudied heap of garbage he displayed against me the other day in his promo. I never joined BOB, and you know what? I don’t care enough to explain it to you either, Felix. Again, why would you give a fuck about a young girl like me getting her hustle on - in your mind isn’t that what life is about? Just doing things and not caring about the consequences? Living for the moment and not the means? Looking like a mindless douchebag every time you step into the ring?

See, Felix ain’t a nihilist.

Felix is “The Dude Abides”.

Grabbing the low hanging fruit so he doesn’t have to do any real work, or display any real knowledge of this -the XWF- which he periodically pretends is his home. Even with him constantly going awol, pretending it’s a part of some enigmatic identity, and not his nature to be a waffling bitch, he knows exactly who I am.

Mhmm

He gave it enough thought to look and regurgitate the obvious. He knows what I’m capable of, and knew he was fucked the moment he saw my name next to his on the Warfare card. Stupid gimmick match or not, I’m going to dismantle you piece by piece like an old carnival ride modeled after an era of time he pretends to live in.

If there’s one person in this match who shouldn't care, it’s me, it’s Dolly Waters. The person who is going to throttle yer’ fucking skull with my knee. After that piss poor promo you cut, why should I even try? You’ve already laid down in yer’ own grave.

Well…

It’s because that’s the difference between me and Felix. I’m working hard to accomplish something, and while smacking Felix around will be anything but a difficult task, I’m going full effort on any and everyone who will be unlucky enough to be standing in front of me in an XWF ring. Yer’ going to learn firsthand the errors of yer’ ways Felix.

Nihilism, even the pretend version that you’re a caricature of is flawed. We only get one shot at this deal. There is no sequel to life. It’s those who make the most of these opportunities that thrive.

Now listen to MMMBop and go fuck yer’self.



Or don’t.

I don’t care.

That’s called an incongruity, and I'm sure The Felix Abides.

Eat more shit, Felix.

3x XTreme Champion
2x Tag Team Champion (w/ Vita Valenteen, w/ Charlie Nickles)
2x Hart Champion
2x Television Champion

3x Star Of The Month
August ‘21, May ‘17, October ‘16

3x RP Of The Month
What light through sonder... my perception breaks.
Tranquility: For Old Times Sake
Manifest Victory

my loves:
[spoiler]