“Hiya!”

She smiles into the camera with a childlike smile, waving.

“It feels so good to be back!”

She is packing a suitcase, a plane ticket for Milwaukee and a reservation for Hertz rental car sit on a table nearby. The room is dark, providing no real detail to where she truly is, however in the faint light from the table lamp it appears as if there are bars on the windows. She puts in an identical outfit to the one she is currently wearing (a purple Pokemon shirt, though in her bent position it's tough to see which one, only the POK and AN letters. A pair of ripped paint stained jeans, converse sneakers make up the remainder of her outfit. She tosses in a box of pink hair dye. Around her neck are jet black BEATS wireless headphones).

“I gotta say I am glad to be getting back to action. After a whirlwind start to the title reign, things have been very quiet as of late. Only TWO have even sniffed the chance to steal this belt in a long time. One was a pig, the other was Hotdog!

So I have to thank the XWF’s resident weirdo Michael Graves and the future plate of bacon for being the only ones since just before Christmas! Come on people! Get with it!  Either ya’ll have gotten lazy or you’ve all realized that Jenny Myst isn’t the push over this administration tries SO hard to portray her as. Goth is the only one with any balls, hate to say. Too bad I have to cut them off and bury them in the Wisconsin snow. Goth did what he needed to do to get himself an opportunity to lose to me again, and I’ll give him credit for that. He wants this belt so badly, he wants nothing more than to carry this burden.

He wants nothing more than to be in the spotlight, for someone to actually give a shit about his existence.

Poor thing, he just wants to feel like he matters.

What he fails to realize is that this belt comes with a responsibility that he just isn’t ready for. Hell, I wasn’t, at first. I was overwhelmed by what comes with holding this title, and I lost it. Goth is big, physical, intelligent, but he just doesn’t have the testicular fortitude to be X-treme. He showed that at Bad Medicine. He was a crash test dummy who did nothing but take up space. He took a beating like a Senator’s wife when the breakfast is cold at the hands of yours truly, and here he is, coming back for more.

Admirable? Or just dumb?

He doesn’t realize that this title is a stepping stone to greatness, the last rung of the ladder before you encase your name in the halls of history. You want this belt for the same reason everyone else does, for the clout of coming out every week and telling everyone you did something. That you're the second most important champion on this roster. That what you see in the mirror every day is a reality.

Your mirror lies to you.

It may be telling you to ‘go get ‘em tiger!’ but when the lights shine brightest you’re a deer in the headlights, ready to get run the fuck over. It has taken me almost eight years to get here and I still don’t get the respect I deserve. Do you think I am going to let someone like you ruin what I am establishing? I have bigger goals, bigger aspirations, and I am not going to settle on being ‘just another champion’. I have been Main Event status here for a long, long time. All you do is tell us how good you’ve been everywhere else, how many champions you defeated, how many accolades you’ve racked up……but when it comes to HERE and NOW, you’ve done jack shit. Just being honest. You have fallen into the same trap that many before you have. What was the other guy's name in our match at Bad Medicine? Xavier Lux? Same deal. ‘I am so good because I won somewhere else’. Until you win HERE, you’re nothing.

I have to admit while I am here being all candid and such, that it feels good to put a damper on that ego of yours. The suits in the back were really high on you, Goth. Believe it or not, they saw what you did in the other feds that they handshake with, and they wanted you here. They wanted you to come bring that ‘success’ of yours to a roster that is a fraction of what it was when I was first here making my name. They pushed you hard. You looked good, they were impressed.

Then you met me.

That’s when it all came crashing down, didn’t it?

You lost a couple of matches, sure, but everyone loses every once and a while. Hell, Mark Flynn lost for 10 years before he reached the pearly gates of the wrestling world. He got his chance for redemption, and he made the most of it. You? You had the rollerskates on but forgot how the stopper worked. You went rolling full speed into that brick wall, hoping your momentum would drive you through it, but that wall stopped you dead in your tracks and left you concussed and bleeding.

That wall had my face on it.

All you will be known for now is failure. All you will be known for now is losing to Jenny Myst at every opportunity. All you will ever be referred to is “what if”. What if Goth didn’t suck so bad. What if Goth had a shred of talent in that giant body? What if Goth actually won something worthwhile? What if……

You’re ballsy, that is where it stops.

You don’t fear me.

Good.

You will, in time. You will.

You should.

That brings me to Isiah King. You had a nice little run, didn’t ya? Took the wrestling world by storm, and grabbed the TV title. Your title reign–albeit short– was perhaps the freshest we’ve seen since Charlie named it Goldie and gave it relevance again. Bravo, for being the world's second-best bronze medalist. I was there once, and I have to say with all honesty, I enjoyed it. The TV division is a rewarding one, and you can really build a name for yourself there. Stack up wins, defenses, and be the foundation that the rest of the real champions stand on. I get it, I do.  I have no qualms with what you did there, because unlike our opponent you’ve actually had a modicum of success HERE (maybe more like a molecule), but what I do have a problem with is the fact that now you’re on my property trying to take my belonging, and I have to defend it to the death if need be.

That being said, let's take a little look see into that “success”, shall we?

You’ve been good, no doubt. But have you been good enough? Well, that’s where The Riddler size question marks come into Stevie Wonder’s sight line. You’ve had some questionable victories, haven’t you? You’ve survived by the seat of your designer tights on numerous occasions, until you finally dropped the belt to the XWF’s most “meh” superstar. The man who is ‘Main Event’ in finger quotes, Ned Kaye. I feel bad, not for your loss, but for how boring the division that represents our television ratings is about to become.

You caused that by not being good enough.

We won our belts on the same show, the Halloween Savage. That will forever intertwine us, a little piece of history they can never take away. The difference has been what we have done since. Outside of Mark Flynn, I have been arguably the most dominant member of this roster. Your titles defenses before Ned were John Madison Junior and a Triple Threat against Mastermind and Geri Vayden. There was a non-title warm up lap against Tommy Wish sandwiched in there. You’ve been here since August, and you haven’t exactly run the gauntlet. Finn Kuhn, Angelica Vaughn, won the belt against Michael Graves and HGH, defended against Mastermind, Geri Vayden and Marf-mother-fucking-Swaysons…….need I go on? You need a new agent, bub. The Isaiah King team has had the easiest schedule in the league through the last 5 months. Hell you would have lost the title sooner if it wasn’t for your promoter/fleshlight/pay-for-play “girlfriend” providing the pivotal distraction. I get it, trust me, because I used to DO it. That’s dating a wrestler 101, and I am glad to see you two have at least maintained a passing grade. Bravo. I’d slow clap if I wasn’t using my hand to try to hold the puke back.”

Jenny zips up the suitcase, standing up. It’s a Gengar shirt.

“Do you know what it feels like to have an entire roster hoping for your demise? It goes back way before this belt. I have been public enemy numero uno for years. Years, King. From the moment I stepped foot in this company, I have had a target on my back. Maybe it was because I was a pretty blonde accompanying the best in the business at the time to the ring, maybe it was because I said what people didn’t want to hear, or maybe it was jealousy. It was all part of the game, and I took it in stride.

I can’t remember the last time I have even been nominated for one of those little awards they love to give out. Superstar of the month? Or when have I had promo of the month? Almost eight years, and I can’t remember. Maybe it's happened, maybe it hasn’t. Even during my title reigns. Even being undefeated since Halloween Savage in singles competition. I get it, I am not everyone’s flavor of the month, but I’ve barely even been NOMINATED. I sit back and watch all of these new guys get pushed like the skinny kid down the waterslide, and here is little ol’ Jenny Myst getting her party invitation suspiciously lost in the mail.

I don’t let it get to me.

You know why?

BECAUSE I'M FUCKING CONSISTENT.

I bottle it all up, and I use it as motivation. I show up, I shock the world, and I leave. Do you know what paranoia is? Do you know what it is like to be looking over your shoulder 24-7? Do you know what it’s like when the entire roster finds it HILARIOUS every time you lose? When you are the actual butt of jokes. When your out of work life is messed with. When your arch enemies personal life is messed with, and all the fingers point at YOU. When you are associated with your old role, your old flame, when you are painted as uncreative because you refuse to change who you are. When you don't get invites to some of the biggest affiliated events because you think Twitter is stupid. When your best friend goes MIA, when you get the number one pick for War Games and everyone you choose does a collective eye roll because they have to put up with you for an entire Pay Per View. Mind you, we almost won.

When you come to work every single week and wonder if its all truly worth it.

 It’s a wonder I haven’t pulled more hair out.

And you both are in such a rush to be me?

You both have advantages from the assembly line that I never got, and never will. What if you were me? What if you had to endure what I have in almost a decade here? Could either of you hack it and still walk out of the first Pay Per View of the New Year as champion, like I am going to? What if Jenny Myst shocks the world again, going into Snow Job as the champion and the underdog, only to steal the show again? What if Jenny Myst keeps winning........what then?

What if....... 

What if every time you burped, you fainted?


What if your favorite movie was real life?



What if a dramatic voice followed you around narrating your life?

--Oh wait, Goth has that already

What if food could talk?

--Cough, Cough, "Meat Clown", look it up, losers.

What if Jenny Myst were to finally give a giant middle finger to the entire roster, continuing to win despite the odds, collected a brief case, and cashed in to become the next XWF Universal Champion?

"What if you were me?"

A beep comes from the Apple watch on her wrist. Her Uber to the airport was outside.

"Oh! I gotta go!"


What is normal for the spider is chaos for the fly. Normal is an illusion. Jenny would never be “normal”. As tortured as she was, and as ‘different’ as she’d become, this was as ‘normal’ as she’d ever felt.

The Uber driver didn’t say much on the way to the airport. She didn’t expect him to, as she had her headphones on the entire time. He did help her get her bag out of the trunk, though. Swell chap. Good parents.

The line for security was shorter than expected, and she was through it in no time flat. As she walked through the eerily quiet corridor of Henry Reid International Airport, scouting for some grub, she began to have a funny feeling come over her. It hit her like a ton of bricks. So much so that she had to sit down for a moment, light headed.

If you met a vampire, would you let it bite you for eternal life or would you shove a stake in its heart?

She had become something she never wanted to be. Herself. She had been hiding from her true feelings for years because she thought the bleached blonde bimbo with the fake tits and a sex appeal that could rouse a corpse was something people wanted.

She always wanted to feel accepted. To be acknowledged. To have someone tell her they actually cared. Here she was, sitting in an airport terminal, waiting for her flight to board on the way to defend a title that nobody ever thought she was good enough to win in the first place.

To think……she went through all that rigamarole over a title that, all this time, was really just a slap in her face. Designed to hold her down. The Bombshell Title–a “womens” belt–made for a division that didn’t even exist. It was all so Jenny would make a fool out of herself as she tried over and over again to win and defend a title that nobody even cared about in the first place. Roxy Cotton’s twisted plan to stick it to Jenny one more time. Then, to make the joke even funnier and those slapped knees even redder, they rebranded it as the Shooting Star Title, with a bigger face and some chains to make it look like a cast off from the Prada factory..

What a stupid fucking name for a belt, come to think of it.

Again, this would consume all of Jenny’s time and energy as the rest of the roster rotated on its axis,  moving up in the world and shifting landscapes while Jenny stayed rummaging through the scrap pile.

DISCOUNT TITLES, ISLE 9!

Men and women came and went. Universal Champions, X-Treme Champions, hell, even Television Champions, came and went. Jenny stayed the same. Her blood pressure reaching seismic levels as she gave everything she had for the nothing they created.

No wonder Mandii Rider threw the Bombshell Title in the garbage.

It was garbage. It IS garbage.










………………..that garbage, until the past 7 months had been her biggest, and proudest accomplishments.

She felt the breath empty out of her body. Sure, she held this shiny piece of silver and leather for 13 days back in 2018. 13 whole days. Bakers dozen.

Her stomach rumbled again as her body reminded her that she should probably grab a pre-flight snack.

13 days.

She lost this wonderful creation on July 2nd, 2018 to Madison Dyson. Her one taste of glory, the closest she had ever been to being something more than a walking centerfold, and she had lost it on July 2nd after 13 days to a sharp tongued Neo-Nazi who walked her genetically defunct client on a dog leash to the ring.

But he’s one of the best to ever do this, right?

Like, ever ever.

Where is he now?

Her stomach rumbled again, audibly this time, but she ignored it.

Remember that time they tried to pacify her by making her the “General Manager” of Savage because they “saw something in her”, only to take it away a short time later because of complaints that the show had become too “Jenny-centric.”? That she didn’t care about the hard work of others, as long as she got the spotlight. Did she even watch the other matches? Well sure, she made them, but she would introduce every show and put the focus entirely on her while discrediting everything and everyone else that went into making that program what it was.

She could have told them it was a stupid fucking idea to let her run anything. Ever. 

Shoulda.

Hindsight.

She was too self-centered back then. Too focused on her image. Too hyper focused on trying to impress them by being the face of the company when nobody even wanted her in it, that she lost sight of who she truly was.

THIS is who she truly was. The Queen of X-Treme, The Goddess of Gore, The Belle of the Brawl, The Diva of the Damned. If it wasn’t for her complete brain-melt and months of rehab in a room with more pads than a Kotex box, she wouldn’t be here today. Sitting in this airport, ready to defend this title, ready to shock the world again. She’d still be the butt of their jokes, the marionette to their puppet show, constantly barking up a tree she had no hopes of ever climbing……..

What if…..

“DELTA FLIGHT 1029 to Milwaukee, now boarding at gate D4.”

She was herself, for once in her life. The worst moment of her adult life ended up being the best thing that ever happened to her.

If Fraudney King and Baphomet’s autistic cousin thinks they are taking this title from her they are sadly mistaken.

She reached into her small Lilo-and-Stitch travel backpack that thankfully (and surprisingly) she remembered to take out of her checked luggage before she gave it to the heavy set smiley lady with the DELTA shirt in the lobby, and pulled out a small notepad, picking off the pen and clicking the tip into existence. She flipped through several pages  of illegible chicken scratch before her eyes fell on something that made her eyes light up like Rockafeller Center in December.


She ripped the page out and stuffed it in the small zipper pocket in the front.

“DELTA FLIGHT 1029 to Milwaukee, boarding at gate D4. Final reminder.”

She looked at the now blank page in front of her. She unclicked the pen and put it back through the spirals. Her story hasn’t been written yet.

Somehow, for some reason, she liked it that way.

She skipped to the boarding gate humming her favorite Disney tune.

What if you could live from the perspective of one other person for one year?

Would you think that Jenny Myst isn't so bad after all?


STORY CONTINUED FROM QUEEN RISING: PARENTAL ADVISORY
https://xwf99.com/showthread.php?tid=45135

*Ahem*

“What if they don’t like me?!” Josie whined, her eyes wide and her lip quivering. 

“They will”, her mother told her with a stoic resolve.

“But what if they don’t?”

“They will”.

“Okay but what. if. they. don’t?”

Her mother sighed, deciding how to approach this interaction. Say what’s on her mind or sugarcoat it to make her feel better?

Her mother got up and left the room. Josie sniffled a few times as her mother rustled around in the other room, digging for something. After a few minutes, she came back out with a blonde haired doll. The small doll had a silver belt around her waist, and its hair was matted and dirty.

“Your Uncle Mark and Aunt Patricia gave this to me to give to you. Honestly, I had forgotten about it. They had so much stuff to move out of the house when—”,she sighed again. “Look, dear, I am trying to help. Take this little doll with you for some luck. Your Aunt Patricia said that this thing has the unique ability to make people feel—special.”

“Special?”

“That’s how she described it before………well, yeah.”

Josie sniffled again. She looked at the doll again, which was sitting there staring at her. Taunting her.

“I don’t have time for a doll mom! I am not a little kid anymore! Ugh! You just don’t understand!” She stomped off to her room, slamming the door.

This talent show meant a lot to her. Everyone told her from a young age how good of a singer she was, but she hid it. Nobody would take her seriously, nobody ever did! She wasn’t a hot cheerleader, an athlete at the school, or one of the party sluts who got tipsy at parties and played Thomas the Tank Engine comes to Exeter Academy. She was on the Dean’s list, enjoyed painting and going to art shows, wore alternative clothing and thought thongs were for strippers. She wore crocs to school three days a week, for god sakes.

My god, they were all going to laugh her off the stage! The kids and their rich parents snickering in the crowd, talking amongst themselves about the dorky white girl who was trying to be Taylor Swift.

(--For the record, she looooooovvvvvvveeeedddd Taylor Swift).

Josie sat at her vanity, putting makeup on with a shaky hand. She already knew what song she wanted to sing for the crowd. She already knew what song they were going to laugh at.

She had her outfit picked out as well. A nice pair of jeans and a black sweater, with the pendant her grandmother gave her around her neck. Her hair would be tied back in a ponytail.

She stood up, shaking the nerves off. Her teacher, Ms. Evans, had heard her singing to herself during an after school study session, had INSISTED she join the talent show. She told her it would be a refreshing change from all of the horrible acts that the school board forced them to acknowledge as “good. For real, her school’s talent shows everyone was a winner just for participating. Ms. Evans thought that she should've participated this year. Josie knew she wouldn't have been the best, but she DID know that she wouldn't be the worst.

She had heard horror stories from the other kids at school. Apparently, you could get ‘creative’ with it, and all grades were allowed to participate. Remember when the Little Einsteins remix was popular? Like 2015?

Some girl (she thought she was a fourth grader) did a dance to it, or so she was told. It wasn't even choreographed. Josie watched the practice run of all of the talent show acts and the two dances were completely different. If you can even call it dancing. It was more awkward body movement. The year before she did The Sound of Music which was, interesting to say the least. Completely A Capella. Smart kid. Annoying as all get out, but smart.

Last year, some kid just whistled on stage.

Seriously that's just what he did.

5 minutes of whistling.

Ms. Evans told her that most of the acts that weren't completely off the wall were long haired druggies attempting bad riffs on guitars, jocks explaining why sports rule, and kids who wanted an excuse to bring their dog to school so they entered them into the talent show to show the school their special skill--apparently sitting, giving the paw and rolling over are mind-blowing traits that not every dog can do.

Ms. Evans was a kind enough soul, and she taught her favorite Art-History class, so she figured she would give it a whirl. Now she was regretting it. She actually did have talent, which made this entire farce worse. They were going to cheer for ones who had no business being up there, and make fun of her for pursuing a passion and being brave enough to do it.

“Josie, hunny, we have to go or you’re gonna be late!”

“You promise?” she said under her breath, sighing but still able to muster a sarcastic smile. She left her room and shut the door, walking downstairs.

The doll was gone. It wasn’t sitting on the table where she had left it.

“Mom? Did you touch that stupid doll?”

“No dear, I left it where you left it. Come on, car’s running.”

Josie swallowed hard and looked around the kitchen with a confused look before chalking it up to nervous forgetfulness and heading out to the car.

2 Hours Later:

After sitting through some of the most cringe worthy and talentless episodes of humanity, it was finally her turn.

“And here to put her vocal skills on full display, Josie Miller!”

Here she goes. This was going to be the worst 4 minutes of her high school career! She put a smile on, and walked out of the curtain. The eyes in that room could shatter glass. It was late, the show was terrible, and people just wanted to go home. It was frowned upon to leave before all the “acts” were over, so they sat there with their obligatory cross arms.

“Hi.”

Silence. So quiet you could hear the crickets from outside the auditorium. There was a small hum coming from somewhere in the ceiling.

“My name is Josie Miller, and I am going to sing for you today.”

She could hear the eye rolls.

“....my favorite song—--”

Her throat closed around her vocal chords, and there was a cold sweat in her neck. Her eyes opened as wide as the moon. Sitting there in front row, her gaze fixed on Josie’s, was the doll her mother tried to give her.

“I—uh.”

“I am missing a three dollar shot night for this?” one mom whispered to a man in the crowd.

“She better be good,” whispered a student, “or she’s never gonna live this down.”

“It’s my favorite song by my favorite artist…….”

The doll’s eyes were still fixed on hers, as if it were challenging her.

“Taylor Swift.” She winced as she heard the crack in her voice. Looking over to the off-stage production crew, she nodded with a sheepish grin. The beat came on and she began to tap her foot.


Something took over Josie.

This wasn’t the song she was going to sing. She had planned on singing “Wildest Dreams”, her favorite song, but what left her mouth was “I Knew You Were Trouble”.


Josie’s eyes were locked on the dolls. She tried to look around the audience, but she could not leave the eyesight of the small doll only 20 feet from her. She felt herself hit the notes with impeccable precision, the inflection in her voice encapsulating the message the song was designed to send.


As the first chorus came, she saw the faces in the audience lighten up.



Some people stood up. She couldn’t see exactly as she couldn’t break sight with the doll, but she could tell they moved. Were they cheering or…….

Screaming?!

Josie wasn’t in control of herself anymore, because if she was she would have choked up on the words instead of continuing to dazzle like a veteran singer.

The doll blinked.


She of course could not see for certain, but around here it was a horror show. People were falling out of their seats, gripping their abdomens. Some of them threw up, others were shitting their pants. Some ran to the exits, but the doors were closed and locked.

A smoke-like substance began to billow in from the cracks in the ceiling.


The mother who was more worried about not being drunk than watching her son’s classmates was panicking, trying to break the door down, shit running down her leg and a black goo oozing from her mouth. The boy she secretly liked but had shamed her to all of his friends and spread a rumor around the school that she doesn’t shave downstairs was passed out in his seat.


A water pipe burst, and water began to rush into the auditorium.


Again the doll blinked, a crooked grin across its face.

Someone had managed to call the police and fire department, reporting an emergency at the school. EMT’s were in route and the volunteer firefighters from the town were working to pry the doors open.


Some of the students who had attended the event alone were on the phone, crying to their loved ones, telling them they loved them.



The doll blinked as Josie hit each word.


There was a screech in the mic feed, as the water had reached the power chord it was plugged into. She snapped back into reality, and gasped, clasping a hand over her mouth as her eyes broke with the dolls and were able to witness the horror unfolding in front of her.

Just as the song cut, the doors flew open and the occupants poured out into the waiting arms of the first responders. Josie stood frozen in horror on the stage, unable to move. The doll was nowhere in sight.

The auditorium was cleared out before they came for her. Large hands and soft voices, telling her it would be okay and that she was just in shock.

She had just given the best performance of her life, despite her nerves. She had just done something she never felt would ever be possible. She knocked it out of the park…..and nobody noticed.

After a two day stint in the hospital she was feeling good enough to go home.

Her mother picked her up, and they didn’t exchange any words on the car ride. Both just sat in stunned silence. Her mother was in the crowd that day, too, but, like Josie, was nothing more than a helpless witness. Helpless to do anything about her daughter's macabre symphony.

When they got home, they made their way to the kitchen. Her mother made Josie her favorite dish, Hamburger helper, and turned on the television.

“Sheer terror at Phillip Exeter Academy this week as multiple people got horrifically sick–authorities close to the situation are blaming bad food from the school's cafeteria that was catering the talent-show event..

Burst pipes and a gas leak lead to many of those in attendance being admitted to the hospital for lengthy stays.

A fatal pileup on the exit ramp leaves 6 dead as panicked event goers rushed to flee the school……

Phillip Exeter remains closed until the situation is investigated further.”

They both looked at each other. Josie had stopped chewing, and dropped the fork. It clanged on the plate.

“IT WAS THE DOLL, MOM! THE DOLL YOU GAVE ME! IT WAS IN THE AUDIENCE! IT MADE ME DO IT! IT MADE ME SING THAT! OH GOD, ALL OF THOSE POOR PEOPLE…..”

Her mother rushed to her side, grabbing her arm.

“Josie, hunny. No. Not even—no. Come on, let’s get you to bed, you are clearly still feeling under the weather…….”

“I KNOW WHAT I SAW, MOM…..WHAT I DID!

Her mother would hear none of it. She ushered her daughter up to her room. In the morning, she would call a therapist.



Jenny stood in the boarding line. She looked at all of the people that were leaving the paradise known as Las Vegas and flying to the frozen cesspool known as Milwaukee Wisconsin. She wondered about those people, what they did, who they were. How they tasted.

People always fascinated her.

Unzipping her small backpack, she pulled out a doll. It was a little blonde doll whose face was worn from obvious years of love. Its hair was matted and gross, but was still visibly blonde. Around its waist was a shiny silver belt, much like her own.

“Heh….looks a lot like me,” she giggled to herself.

Her eyes wandered around to the people around her.

WHAT IF the guy in the dress shirt and expensive slacks with boat shoes was really a serial killer?

WHAT IF the lady in the Kansas City Chiefs jersey and loose fitting sweatpants was actually an escort, who hadn’t seen her kids in weeks because she’s always “working.”

WHAT IF the old man in the wheelchair was only faking so he could get on the plane first, banking on the fact that older and handicapped people often get sympathy.

WHAT IF the two brothers in line, who were shoving each other playfully, were really victims of trafficking and were told by their captor to look like nothing was wrong.

WHAT IF all the oceans dried up?

WHAT IF you could change one awful event in world history, but it might mean you would never have been born?

WHAT IF you woke up and discovered you were the only person on earth?

WHAT IF Jenny Myst really was as good as she says. Wouldn't that be neat?

Yeah, she liked that one.

Jenny scanned her boarding pass and walked down the jetway towards victory.

The doll smiled a wicked grin as she entered flight 1029, destined for greatness.

Go on, fellas, tell them something they don't know about me.