ＤＩＡＶＯＬＯ'ｓ Ｂｉｚａｒｒｅ Ａｄｖｅｎｔｕｒｅ: Ｖｅｎｔｏ Ａｕｒｅｏ

[ＤＩＡＶＯＬＯ]

♥Casualty #1 - Juanita Juarez♦


WhatsApp featuring:  Alessandra Malignaggi
                           Thursday Holmes

Who the hell is Juanita Juarez?!

Iz that the chick w/ the bananas???
U no lyk on the commercial

What commercial?

U no 4 the bananas? Lyk the woman /w the fruit on her head?? Isnt that Juanita Juarez?

I don't think so. I think Juanita Juarez is a wrestler. Just saying the name Juanita Juarez is actually both fun and annoying at the same time. It's like the name Psychopomp. Just say that one, Psychopomp. There is one Joseph just says while wandering about the house 'Deargadoo' or something!

Ya Jared sez Bwana Blude alot or somethin
Lyk when hes vacuumin or w/e

I dont get it

Voice Message ----- :05

Like that?

Uhhhh moar lyk

Voice Message: ----- :03

...It is kinda fun to say lol

Oh. What is Banana Blood? Is he Juanita's father?

IDK. Have u asked Dave

True. It's probably his second cousin. Hold on.

Outgoing call to: MEXICAN DAVE
Call ended.

It's Gravedigger's girlfriend.

that guy is a fukken stereotype
I thought he liked white women??

I haven't a clue when it comes to his sexual preferences or tastes. Apparently he has the taste of 'fresh meat about to be led directly into the slaughterhouse'. So this one isn't even a wrestler? Oh well. More fun for me!

lolololol i mean wut do we even no bout her besides her dum name?

Nothing.

Well
Uhhhh did GD even train her or is she just sum dumb slut?

The latter. She is an El Salvadoran ring rat from her biography, oh my days. Will I have to avoid cutting her so I don't contract the HIV?

arent there a lot of trannys in el salvador?

Well, that's two in this match alone. Oh, Twilight. Three. The 'all woman' match is more men than women at this rate.

Wait whose the third???

'Smartina' - some six foot twenty gentleman. Who oddly looks better in a dress than Twilight's cellulite ridden bubblegut self.

WTFFFFF
SMARTINA IS A DUDE?

Did Jared fuck this one too?
Oops. Sorry x

we talked bout it. Can u believe he actually apologized??

Do you still have the video from the camera we planted? hehe

Nah. but considering the stripper frum mi bachlorette party, i told him were even

Very trusting! I don't think the two minutes and nineteen seconds was particularly interesting viewing anyway.

lol at least mine gets it up

Yes. With Lilith.

♠The Price is right a complete spastic.♣

Jayson Price stands looking like a complete fucking dork while staring with a stupid shitfaced smile at the camera. He looks like every random no named backstage interviewer ever. There is nothing new, fresh, unique or special about him. It’s like he has been plucked off a production line of shit backstage interviewers. This no mark used to be a professional wrestling legend, now he is interviewing a woman who has never wrestled before.

Price: Hello and welcome to our new feature here at WCFWrestling.com, WCF Superstar Spotlight where today I welcome newcomer to the sport and to the company, though no stranger to the business, ladies and gentlemen, I give you Mrs Flash – Alessandra Malignaggi!

The camera opens wider and we see a smiling Alessandra next to Price, black lycra workout attired and a cream throw across her shoulders adorning the camera shot.

Alessandra: Hello Jayson.

She steps toward him and plants a soft kiss on his cheek. Price feels his pants get a bit tighter, but decides to act professional rather than a complete creeper - rather against character.

Price: Let’s get it started. Are you ready? We have asked the WCF Universe for five quickfire questions. Are you up for the challenge?

Alessandra: Challenge me Jayson, challenge away.

Price: First up comes from “JFP4PSKWAD” – Do you feel pressure stepping into a business in the shadow of someone who is regarded as almost unanimously the best wrestler to ever step through the ropes in your husband, Joey Flash?

Alessandra: I’d be lying if I didn’t say I was a bit intimidated – I’m now in a company with Joseph’s peers and yeah, it’s scary sure. I never once got scared when he stepped through the ropes, but I admit that it’s not as easy for me. These people have so much more experience than me and to be honest I don’t even know if I belong here. I guess what I want to prove is that I don’t have a roster spot just because of my surname.

Price: I get you. I’m impressed! Second from “BASEDHARAMBE” – How long have you been training wrestling, because it looks like you still suck! Now come on BASEDHARAMBE, no need to be so nasty.

Alessandra: It’s okay, I’m a big girl. Yes, I probably suck as a wrestler – I just want to live out a dream I’ve had. Is that so wong? Is that a bad thing? Based what? What was he called?

Price: BASEDHARAMBE.

Alessandra: Based Harambe, I hope that you never have anyone put you down in such a way when all you want to do is follow your dream. That is a horrible thing for someone to do. Are you happy you hurt my feelings?

Price: BASEDHARAMBE you are a horrible person clinging to 2016’s memes. The third question is from “YungMeltzerSwag” – What are your career goals here in WCF?

Alessandra: Have this one match, win this one match, never compete again.The odds say I’m going to lose, all the analysts say it, I’ve never stepped into a WCF ring before - but I’ll be damned if I’m not going to give it my all.

Price: I like you.

Alessandra: The #AlessandraArmy grows!

Price: Follow Alessandra on Twitter folks @mrsflash question in at number four from “TheRealJayPrice” – Can I smell your hair? I would love to fist you. What the fuck?

Price turns to his right toward his producer.

Price: Who the fuck allowed this question? I submitted this using the name Anon Y Mous and didn’t think anyone would-

Alessandra: It’s okay, I can answer.

Price: Are you sure?

Alessandra smiles at him.

Alessandra: Of course. No Jayson Price you cannot smell my hair, and your imaginary act of physical intimacy is very much appreciated. I am sure if imaginary acts of physical intimacy were real you would be a regular James Deen rather than a fat virgin.

Price: Oh.

He hangs his head dejectedly.

Price: I see.

Alessandra: Sexism and misogyny is a curse in this business even today, don’t let it even grab a foothold Jay. Shut it down. Shut it down with ferocity.

Price: Final question comes from “NIGGERKILLER1865” - How soon will it be until the suave gentleman Thomas Uriel Bates defeats the hedonistic heather that is your husband? Also, is it true that Steve Orbit is actually white? He better be white.

Alessandra: Fuck off, Bates.


♥Watch me Soar (I)♦

A lone table and a lone woman. Alessandra Malignaggi is dressed in a floral summer gown, preparing for the days charity luncheon. The beige Jimmy Choo heels echoed through the small room as she approached the table, clutch bag in hand.

"Alessandra Malignaggi is stepping through the ropes of a Wrestling Championship Federation ring for the first, and possibly last, time this Friday. I don’t step into the ring as Alessandra Malignaggi - wife of the World Champion, First Lady of the professional wrestling world. I step through the ring as ＤＩＡＶＯＬＯ- a name that you don’t know, but a name that after XIII you will never forget.

As First Lady, you stand there with a smile and take in all the pageantry and all the ceremony looking every bit the delightful wallflower; as First Lady you see the hard work, the tough decisions and the turmoil inside the oval office that spill into pillow therapy. I’m a stranger to the canvas, to the ropes...but I know the business of professional wrestling more than any woman alive.

So on Friday I make my WCF debut in the ‘Final Girl Battle Royale’ - a match so chauvinistically catered to the knuckle dragging beer drinking catcalling lairy virginal neckbeards that will be clapping their flabby hands like rabid mongoloid seals at every bit of exposed flesh as much as for a well delivered hip toss. You want to know why women in the WCF aren’t taken seriously?

Archetypical ‘superstars’ like Sarah Twilight, so dreary and devoid of creativity - yet because she shows some minuscule aptitude for the sport gets the credit of being the best female wrestler in history.

Inability to think outside of the box when developing a three dimensional female presence on professional wrestling television. It seems as though half of these women’s promotional videos are scripted by the same fat neckbeards who are salivating over the constant cliche.

Matches like this. Final Girl Battle Royale - this is sickening exploitation of female talent to the point where we are weighing down the card like the curtain jerking bathroom breaking anchor that in all fairness we are.

Why is this the case though? Why do you women not aspire for more? Glass ceilings only exist when you manifest them for yourself, but a young girl watching this? It is enough to disavow any fandom at all; you wonder why we struggle to recruit quality female talent worthy of smashing the charade of anti-female bias.

I mused on this for a moment, then it struck me. It’s not that the chances aren’t there, it’s that the women who are given the chances are ineffectual, uninspired, uninspiring talent voids devoid of charisma, charm or wit.

I am going to destroy the anchor and I am going to set the female division free of the imaginary phallic shackles that everyone seems to think is holding this division back. This is the match that will inspire a generation - yes, I might have a vagina, but I am a fucking killer."

Setting the bag down on the table Alessandra produces a photograph.

"You know me as Alessandra Malignaggi."

Alessandra holds the photograph up toward the camera and gives a rouge smile.

"Let me introduce you to ＤＩＡＶＯＬＯ."

The photograph depicts a bespectacled perfectly attired and groomed man stood next to his postpartum wife, a woman looking breath-taking even after the most gruelling ordeal of a woman’s life. Cradled in the arms of the woman in a little bundle of blankets is a little pink ball of humanity.

"I was born Alessandra Isabella Allegri to Bernardo and Francesca Allegri at 03:52 on June 10th 1988 in Centro Catanese di Medicina e Chirurgia, Catania. Weight 4.5lbs I was kept alone in an incubator for three days and three nights before being assessed as healthy enough to be taken home. I was by all accounts a healthy, pleasant baby, I gurgled and I laughed, I smiled and giggled."

A second photograph, the bundle of pink has become a young girl with a thick mop of black hair bobbed and a cute pink dress accompanying a wide gappy smile. The young girl is holding a fresh baby bundle. Signed on the back in a scruffy broken scribe is ‘Alessandra (Quattro ani) and Gianpaolo (uno settimana).

"I remember first being told that I was going to be having a little brother, an affluent family with a young girl who has only ever known being Daddy’s little princess, you might think I would have been angry, or resentful or maybe even slowly filling with hatred. This picture tells a different story, it tells you of a sister so happy and proud that she had a little brother to protect and love, a fraternal bond that would last for a lifetime, a best friend and a confidante. Look, what a cute smile she has.

“Alessandra, here is your little brother, Paulo – meet your big sister” my daddy told me as he handed me the wriggling little body of my brother. I still remember you know. I still remember what I felt that day, I remember what I felt the moment that photo was taken. I knew that what I should be feeling was a concoction of green tinted love and unease. I looked at Paolo, then toward the camera my father was holding and felt my mouth turn upward in robotic repetitive mimicry. I should have been a maelstrom of young confused emotion. Want to know what that smiling proud sister felt that day?

Nothing."

A third photograph, the young smiling gappy girl had become a young woman with a sweet dimpled grin– dressed in a blue jacket emblazoned with a bright yellow logo, a knee length black skirt and tights topped off by elegant black pumps. Alessandra (dodici) primo giorno di scuola scrawled on the back.

"It was my first day at school, after years of pestering home tutors it was finally time to break free of the nest. The first time I was finally free of mothers watchful eye and fathers iron fist. This is not contempt or resentment, this is fact. They were impeccable parents, they imbued me with all the lessons you should, all the manners and all the morals, every life lesson a child needs to learn Bernardo and Francesca Allegri made sure their firstborn was ready for the world. I spoke in many an analogy to father, I was a caged bird papa, please papa let me free papa, let me fly papa. The tears fell and the cage was shattered.

My first lesson was Mathematics, my second was Biology – you are made up of seven octillion atoms. I hadn’t heard that word before. Octillion. I sat next to Arabella Montella and Grace Ravanelli for lunch. I offered Arabella half of my sandwich. She took it, she ate it – it was finest cured ham, mother spread the fresh butter right to the edges just how I like it. The bird was free papa, the birds talons were sharp papa, the talons were deep. Arabella made a friend, a friend who was kind, and a friend who gave her half of her sandwich when she saw Arabella was still wincing from hunger pangs.

The afternoon was Physical Education. I played football, I was a defender. Everyone was very clumsy that day I felt; I must have been especially clumsy. I mistimed a challenge that almost snapped Arabella’s leg, the crunch was…loud. The blood was copious; it was so strange, we all thought it. See if only Arabella could find her shin pads that went missing from the changing room before class started then the damage wouldn’t have been as bad. It was unfortunate for Arabella that she misplaced those shin pads. She must have done it just after lunch, silly Arabella. You should always look after your things.

Her friend cried as she bled on the pitch, her friend cried and held her hand. She didn’t mean to hurt Arabella, she didn’t mean to cut her leg and make her cry. She had just an hour ago given Arabella half of her sandwich, she was Arabella’s friend now, signed sealed and delivered. She didn’t mean to almost snap her leg in two. Almost. Her friend made sure Arabella was happy and smiling before leaving school. Arabella made a great friend that day, Arabella would do lots for her friend you see, she would write the friends name on the class register if the friend wasn’t at school, she would tell her friends parents that her friend was at her house at a sleepover but her friend would not be there. Arabella was a great friend.

I finished school that day and saw the routine, parents would roll up each in a car more lavish than the last and pluck their offspring from the sidewalk, Grace was picked up, so was Arabella. Alessandra Allegri wasn’t, my teacher even asked ‘Isn’t anyone coming for you darling?’ I smiled and told her ‘Nope!’ with my first true smile of the day. I told my father school finished an hour later; father was such a discerning shrewd man but he believed me.

“School finishes at four this afternoon, I told you, you remember right?”
“No papa, I won’t.”
“I love you papa”

He believed every lie I ever told him.

He was still in a meeting. I skipped home that day, I was alone, I was free – I can finally fly papa, just watch me soar…"


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♥Casualty #2 - “Smartina”♦

"You just might be the most despair inducing sight in the modern paradigm of the atrophied menagerie that is the WCF Women’s division.

You are six foot five inches tall, weigh a slender and slinky buck fifty; you have such lovely strong calves and delightfully fleshy thighs. The spindly oversized hands are a delight to behold in a time full of petite prissyness - your well defined throat is impressive enough for Gaston from Beauty and the Beast to sing a ballad about ‘no one has an Adam’s Apple like Smartina’.

The saddest thing about this whole thing isn’t that you are clearly a male. It’s that you pull off being a realistic champion of gynocentric fanhood than every other wrestler in this match. This is the torn, raped and pillaged Carthaginian wasteland we stand in; a time where Joe Smarts in drag can perform in this match and it be allowed - this match is supposed to create a modicum of legitimacy for the future generations of female superstars here? Way to go.

You, Josephine are the very personification of the growing Leukemic tumor that is gnawing away at the marrow of the WCF’s female backbone. The fact that you are even able to exist spits in the face of professional wrestling - that face just so happens to be my Joseph’s. This is do not tolerate nor do I permit. This I do not leave unpunished, I dab away at the dribbling mucus and return fire with the power of a thousand burning suns. Maybe when you return to Kevin Bishop with your orbital bone fractured and your arm snapped in twain he will be able to finally talk some sense into that bowl of slurry you call grey matter - at least, he would if he wasn’t grieving the loss of his wife.

Alessandra holds a slender manicured finger toward the camera and flicks her hair back, the shining oil black tresses falling across her slender shoulders.

I don’t mean to hit a soft spot.

She gives a delightful alabaster smile and lowers the finger.

I mean to gut it.

The first sacrifice is going to be the person calling themselves ‘Cheyenne’."


♥Casualty #3 - Cheyenne♦


"What is it about Satanism that draws you in? I’m intrigued.

Is is the lawlessness? Is it the freedom? Is it the intrinsic hedonism? Sorry, I need to understand the audience I’m speaking to, pardon me. Is it the need to enjoy ‘fun stuff’? I’m waiting for your answer. I’m genuinely intrigued.

I think the answer is ‘I am a child of parental abuse seeking a safe haven so I can express my repressed and warped mind in a safe and guarded environment’ - which is usually the pass mark for membership to the Republican party. Apparently they have filled the ‘demented imbecile with terrible shabby hair and leathery skin’ quota. Shame.

You are a follower. You are a sheep. You picked the most stereotypically rebellious and anti-establishment ‘evil’ religion possible and you rode with it, what gives Cheyenne - can’t you even be topical? I heard the Quran is a scintillating read. That’s too high brow though, isn’t it?

‘Sisters of Fate’

No no. You Cheyenne, were part of a newly forming team called PMS. P..M..S. This is what was an actual original thought of yours. That a fun play on Premenstrual Syndrome would be what would draw in fans! Tell me darling, did you drop this because of a change in heart? That all you were doing was perpetuating a terrible stereotype...or did someone tell you that another wrestling company had already done that same tired old terrible shtick fifteen years ago?

You also worship Satan.

You are also a lesbian with the only other female wrestler in the company. Go you. How progressive, how forward thinking you are. I think they are handing out the Nobel prize any second darling.

You are sickening to me. You are the antithesis of everything a female in this world should be. You are everything the male viewing audience would basely salivate over, their cock thinks ‘Oh yeaaaaaah’ while their mind has already changed the channel. I will not let you be a role model, I will not let someone like you exist in the public eye any longer. You are a walking regretful cumstain on week old jeans.

I’m going to bring your fantastical wonderland of a mind back down to earth by allowing it to spend the rest of its bodies respitory days in eternal slumber. Congratulations, you’ve done all your worship, you’ve performed all the rituals in hope that you would summon the devil himself!

In this case though sweetling?

Alessandra’s mouth elongates into a voracious smile.

The Devil Wears Prada."


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♥Watch me Soar (II)♦

”What’s your name?” the man asked her, the stench of stale yeasty tongue festering sludge pervading into her nostrils. Alessandra Allegri placed her book bag softly on the bench next to him and slid herself onto the cool wooden beams.

“Arabella” she replied.

“That’s a pretty name. You go to Istituto San Giuseppe” he nodded affirmation “The uniform, my son goes there. How old are you Arabella?” he wasn’t an alcoholic, she knew this much. He didn’t have the sagging weak skin around his jaw or the glassy citrine look in his eyes. A quick scan of his shoes narrowed his occupation, worn heels and degradation on the outer edge. He walked a lot, this was a man with a long gait, but the shoes were old, the way he crossed his legs so slowly, muscles moved atrophied and stagnant. Security. He was forty, at least – she could read the age lines on his teeth as he smiled at her. Twenty five years of tobacco married blissfully to twenty strong of alcohol, it’s about time for an eternity ring.

“Fifteen” she replied, old enough to test your intentions Mister Security man. Not that it mattered. Not that it mattered at all.

“Fifteen? You might know my Leo. Leo Bonucci, short hair and-“

“Yeah I know him!” she spoke with an excited tone. She didn’t know him. The man smiled and gave a coarse laugh. He looked so happy, so fulfilled as his smile lines grew around his lips.

“Of course, he’s going to be big you know. I’ve worked so hard to give him the opportunity – what does your daddy do Arabella?” he asked with dripping pride masked with curiosity. It was then she realised, the alcohol at four twenty in the afternoon, the jittery jig his right leg was doing every few moments. He was celebrating.

“My papa works security” she smiled at him. His jittery jig was stopped like someone had ripped the needle free of the record. “What do you do mister...?” she waited for a name. He didn’t give one.

“Whatever.” The pride turned to wrath, just for a moment. “It doesn’t matter, the point is, my Leo he’s about to be called up by Italy under sixteens, he had all the talent in the world, he always has. The way he can run with the ball is so strong and powerful – Mancini told me personally that he has never seen something like that in Italian schoolboy football. He even whispered the name ‘Baggio’ can you believe that? Do you know who Roberto Baggio is?”

“I played football today.” She didn’t humour him. “I played central defence. ‘You’re tall Alessandra, you should be in defence!’” she had been used to being the tallest, the quickest, the most athletic, and the most developed. Her five foot five frame loomed over every girl in her year, while the rest were ironing boards, she was an hourglass already. She was a woman using a child’s mask. “I dove into a tackle with another girl and there was an almighty crunch, it made everyone wince.”

“Alessandra?” the man blurted. He was right to blurt, she wasn’t going to hide here. Not now, not now she was so close.

“That’s my name. What name did I give you?” she asked with a knowing smile.

“Arabella” he confirmed.

“That’s the name of the other girl. The one that I tackled today. I was sad Mister Bonucci because it didn’t have the ending I wanted. I hid her pads, I shook her hand before practice and I dove with my studs at the weakest point of her calf. I wanted to hear a snap, then a scream. But I heard neither. I want so badly to hear that sound.” She looked at him, her honeyed smile dissipated – her warm brown eyes frozen with focus and her nostrils flared. Time seemed to stop for both of them as she plucked her book bag from the bench and sat it on her knee. She went fishing inside; it took her what seemed like an eternal half second for her hand to clasp around the comforting stainless steel handle of her father’s two million lira chef’s knife.

WATCH ME SOAR

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For as long as she could put thought into word Alessandra Allegri knew that she was different. She wasn’t like other people. She didn’t see the warmth in smiles – she saw the conjoining muscles tensing below the surface. She didn’t see the kindness in eyes – she saw the thin veil of hazy unrelenting blindness. She didn’t hear the emotion in a voice; she heard an stuttering, staggering gaping exploit. Alessandra was different. The most frightening thing? Since she had been three and half years old, she was completely self-aware of these facts.

Substance abuse.
Psychological abuse during childhood.
Sexual abuse during childhood.
Head trauma.

All the research points to these flashpoints in a life, Alessandra Allegri had no flashpoints. She had no trauma; she had no screaming crying repressed childhood. There was no Eureka moment. This was Alessandra Allegri, at her purest.

As

            God

                        Made

                                    Her.

“What’s one less person on the face of the earth, anyway?”

“We are your daughters, we are your wives, and we are everywhere. And there will be more of your children dead tomorrow”

“Sometimes I feel like a vampire.”

“Murder is not about lust and it’s not about violence. It’s about possession.”

“You feel the last bit of breath leaving their body. You’re looking into their eyes. A person in that situation is God.”

“I don’t feel guilty for anything. I feel sorry for people who feel guilt.”

“I just like to kill…

…I want to kill.”

Alessandra Allegri was twelve years old; she remembered her first day of school. She studied maths and biology, she played football, she walked home…then, for the first time, she killed.


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♥ Casualty #4 - Karma Bishop♦

"This match is your creation Karma. You built this, you worked hard and you finally managed to breath life into it. Lightning strike. Awaken. It...is...alive. Now watch Karma, as you get mauled to death by your own bastardised Frankenstein’s monster. You orchestrated your own demise with this self indulgent match. You wanted to step back into the ring, rat - and ‘prove that women are worth something’ in the business. No, let’s understand what you wanted Karma. You wanted to prove that Karma Bishop is worth something in the business. That Karma Bishop is going to lead the federation into a new era. The second ＤＩＡＶＯＬＯ was penned on the card Karma Bishop was leading herself into a shallow unmarked grave.

Look at you, trying to position yourself as the leading lady in a play where you are barely even a walkon. It’s giggle worthy.

Alessandra obliges with a faux giggle.

Can you hear my sincerity? Can you hear my mind being blown with how incredibly unaware you are of your position in this world. You are the partner of an amoeba in my world, this is your lot in life - addict. So addict, tell me. What drew you to Kevin Bishop? Was it the Koreshian sales patter? Was it the muscular imposing physique? I can relate. Power and dominance. No. Not that; I can tell. It was for one reason: safety. You ran with all your energy into the arms of the first man who was going to offer sanctuary, the first man who was willing to care, the first man who was willing to love. What you have with Kevin? It’s convenience and sanctuary shrouded with a deceitful cloud of ‘love and cherish’.

You are a nothing wrestler, you are a nothing woman. ‘Well huh huh, Ain’t Karma a bitch!’ No. Karma ‘ain’t a bitch’ - Karma is a self serving, bottom feeding, syphilitic, abused addict with underlying daddy issues that pervade through every single aspect of her life. Karma is a woman who is going to have every ounce of self confidence removed from her by ＤＩＡＶＯＬＯ, inch by inch, piece by piece. Kiri Kiri, Karma.

What’s your favourite scary movie? My choice is going to be Corey Black presents: XIII - 01/13/17 - where Il Diavolo turns a live wrestling broadcast into a worldwide trending snuff film.

Alessandra closes her eyes and bites her lip.

Like...cutting beef."


♥Watch me Soar (III)♦

It was like cutting into a joint of beef, the only difference was the muscle spasm and the involuntary pain that was wracking the body as it thrashed in a search for preservation. Alessandra pulled the blade free from the man’s abdomen as he let a silent scream into her hand that cupped his mouth, she could feel his breathing start to get shallow. So shallow, so beautifully short – what a delightful score your breath is singing Mr Bonucci, I wish Leo was here to hear. He’d be just as proud of you as you were of him. You are a beautiful symphony.

She had double checked that no one was going to disturb this dance. The park, if it could be called that was a three minute walk to her home, small and secluded. There would be no children, no parents. Not here. This wasn’t even in the plan for today. She had taken the knife the previous night just in case. Just in case…

“pu-puh-plea-“ his gargled choking cut off the rest of his begging. He was begging. This was most interesting. She had slid the knife twice into his sternum avoiding any vital organs to see what the human reaction to their end would be. She wanted it slow, school was over, but now Alessandra was really learning.

His chest began to spasm as she slid the blade into the vassal of flesh cowed beneath her. The squelch and the crack was so beautiful, she couldn’t help but let a gasp of excitement.

“You won’t see your son play football again.” she said matter of factly, no hint of amusement or malice. “That is sad.” The man had been celebrating his son’s brilliance, the man who was enjoying the proudest day of his life; the man who had worked so hard for the past twenty years just in hopes that this day would come…coughed, gurgled, spattered, and died.

Alessandra’s body wracked with adrenalin soaked endorphins as she gazed at the man; she reached the blade toward a clean dry spot on his jacket and wiped both sides of the blade. With that, Alessandra simply walked away. The There was no void, there was no ‘dark passenger’, and nothing spoke to her in sugar soaked venomous tones. There would be no trophy, no prize. This was a creature finally sating its most craved need – a creature that for the first time its short life gorged itself full.


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She opened the wallet she had taken from the man’s corpse.

‘John Bonucci’ was the man’s name. I will remember you John Bonucci. You never forget your first time, and Alessandra never did. As she walked home, with a skip in her step she felt on top of the world. Walking on air nothing would dull her splendour this day. As she neared the exit of the park a voice called out to her.

“Hey. Hey you.” It snapped.

Her splendour would not be dulled. There was not a situation in the thousand her savant mind processed in the millisecond before turning around to face the voice in which she was in trouble. She turned.

“Hmm?” she said. It was a beggar. A bedraggled man so hairy and uncouth she couldn’t even make a guess at his age, his accent was thick – he was from the mainland. He would have no friends, no family. There would be no one who would miss him. There would be no fun in that. Rest easy.

“Do you have any change spare, it’s just I really need some food for tonight, just enough for a sandwich or even a bit of bread and I would be so thankful!” the beggar said in a beige rehearsed patter. She thought for a moment, what would be the best course of action here? She didn’t need to think for long, dropping the wallet in the man’s lap.

“Buy yourself all the sandwiches you want” she smiled as she walked away.

“Bless you, bless you girl. I will remember you for as long as I live!” the beggar shouted after her.

Yes.

Yes you will.

Her smile grew wider and wider.

♥I am your God ♥

I lied to my father when I got home that night.

“Oh, did I say four? Sorry papa”
“I had fun at school today papa, I played football today!”
“I wasn’t very good, but I made a friend! She is called Arabella. She is so sweet and nice.”

Then I told him the truth.

“Thank you papa. Thank you so much for setting me free…can I walk home from school again tomorrow?”


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♥Casualty #5 - ‘Jane Doe’♦


"Sarah Twilight. This match is not about any of the other people. This match is about you. This match is about the fuzzy Krellian Id silhouette you project over women’s wrestling. The only ever woman to hold the WCF World Championship. I entered this match on a whim. I entered on the whim that you would be conceited enough to step up and enter - that you couldn’t turn down an opportunity to lord it over us where you couldn’t succeed in the modern landscape of the WCF. This is still your bread and butter, this is still your position. The best woman...ever.

Hello Sarah. I’m Alessandra Malignaggi - I thought it would be courteous for you to hear the name of the person who is going to end your professional wrestling career. Though, you’ve been doing a fine enough job of that yourself...so let’s dig deeper. Alessandra Malignaggi, DIAVOLO - the name of the woman who is going to physically mentally consciously subconsciously destroy you.

What is the best way to break you Sarah? I do not want to match wits with you, I do not want to match ‘wrestling’ skills with you, I do not want to win a contest in any way shape or form between us. I want to break you. What’s the best way hmm? What would really make that fixed faux grimacing facade of a smile truly break?

You live by your wits and sloppy toothy oral sex. You reek of semen and desperation. I see behind the smile to the thin twitch at the corners of your mouth at the end of each delusion rending falsehood you spew, I see behind your eyes as they dance in search for the next thread of deception, John Kennedy, back, and to the left. You try to hide it so well but I know Sarah. The millisecond pause between nature and self-nurture reveals everything to me.

You are a fake.

You pray to the Many Faced God and he gives you a Marge Simpson makeup shotgun’s worth of subtlety to your face. Let me announce right now Sarah, this match will be you leaving the Matrix forever as I surgically rip the plug from the back of your cranium and bring you kicking and screaming, a blind suckling whelp into the real world – a world where you realise the nightmares and the stomach churning doubts turn into suicidal certainty – you truly are nothing to anyone. No friends, no family.

You rend yourself of emotion to hide this fact from the crying lonely girl still hiding inside you. That abused, broken girl with the dead hollow eyes, the eyes that speak of no future with a heart that has never known love.

As women, we take many roles in life, we lay layer upon layer and wear face upon face – me? I have a walk in wardrobe worth of different hats I have to wear. Daughter, Lover, Friend, Sister, Cousin, Colleague, Manager.


WIFE


MOTHER

I meticulously juggle all of my roles, having to know which smile to use in which scenario – the tone of voice I choose, whether to roll my R’s, whether to add a hoarseness, whether to look someone in the eye softly and seductively or to menace and accuse with no perfunctory eyelash fluttering. I live my life playing this game, I was born into it Sarah – I’ve been a master since the day I first spilled the blood of my womanhood. You? You’re a completely different kind of player. You’re brand new, you have that new car pinewood smell, you’re the deer in the headlights of my black Range and I’m just hitting the accelerator harder. You only have one weak cheap layer like a bargain bin facial and I’m going to rip that from you.

What is the way to break you? Let me ask again.

I see down to the depths of you.

What I enjoy more than anything else in the world is the thrill of the hunt. There is a constant behaviour before I feast, the same repetitive reeling psychological imperative that every prey runs through before being consumed. They seek not salvation, but sanctuary. You are going to run to yours on Friday night. ‘The wrestling ring’, that is your safe space. That is the place where Il Diavolo doesn’t exist, the place where bad things never really happen – there is always a referee to help put a stop to everything. There is always a medical crew on hand. It’s just a sport.

What happens when it ‘just being a sport’ isn’t a thing? What happens when someone pays a visit to the family home of the referee during his daughter’s birthday party to ask if he would be kind enough to turn a blind eye during the match? When each of the medical staff are going to be rushing down to ringside with a brand new Rolex flashing from their wrist?

When he turns a blind eye as you get stabbed six times for the watch like Jon Snow?

Alessandra smiles.

It’s during those final moments that they realise, what you will realise; your sanctuary is nothing but my playground.

Don’t worry Sarah, you’re not going to become another statistic, I won’t let you be another small in memoriam in the sports pages. This isn’t my goal here. To ninety nine percent of human beings on this planet death is the ultimate punishment, the one thing that we instinctively run from again and again. To you though? It would be the ULTIMATE sanctuary and salvation. I’m going to torture you every day you have to wake up and take another breath, I’m in your head and I’m never going to leave. I’m going to leave scars deeper than daddy ever could.

You treat this as a wrestling match. I know no wrestling moves, I’ve barely trained, and I know barely any technique. I don’t know what a front chancery is; I don’t know the proper form on delivering a straight right punch. I’m treating this as a hunt. I don’t need to know anything of the sort when I already know what you’re going to do before your brain sends electric pulses into your muscles. The win of this match is certainty – it is a necessary by-product of what is to come after.

You’ve lived your entire life on the premise that you are the protagonist of a great story that every scenario you enter will end up coming full circle and benefitting your machinations. You’ve lived your entire life believing that you hold the key to every door and that every person will be controlled by your whims. This ends here, this ends tonight. Tonight I put to rest the fable that you are the best female to ever lace up the boots in this ring - tonight I put to bed the fable that you ever were anything more than a mastabatory sideshow for management in a talent sparse teenage wasteland; this is going to be galling for you, getting eviscerated by a housewife who doesn’t even do this for a hobby.

Alessandra Malignaggi vs Sarah Twilight

Devil vs ‘The Epitome of Evil’.

This is not Devil vs an evil woman.
This is Devil vs Woman.
This is Devil vs Woman with a swollen ego and overconfidence.
This is Devil vs Woman with a swollen ego and overconfidence who thinks he is the all-conquering dominating force that happens to be the best female wrestler in the history of the world.
This is Devil vs a walking obituary.

You did what you did in the safe comforts of medics, EMT’s and a Lerchian safety net of passiveness - what you did to Ana Valentine...this makes you, what? Evil?

Have you ever hurt someone Sarah? I mean, really hurt someone. I’m not talking a broken bone or two. I’m not talking ‘leaking brain matter’ - I’m talking worse. Much worse.

Have you?

Have you ever killed someone Sarah? Have you ever seen the light in someone’s eyes fade because of your actions?

Have you ever had friends of yours watch as you crucified someone to a wall and held them there bleeding out like a stuck pug while you systematically butchered their family in front of them – wife, youngest son, daughter, eldest son? Have you ever seen the tears in their eyes, the concoction of rage and sadness, it’s a beautiful look you know, while they keep swearing over and over how they are going to kill you only to silence them with a carving knife to the stomach. Watch them gurgle the blood as tears, phlegm, blood and mucus blend into a gorgeously delicious cocktail on the floor. Have you ever heard them go from anger and sadness to fear? Begging and pleading for their life, for any form of salvation…and smile as you slide the blade deep inside again.

Sorry, pardon me. Just making up stories again, I’m one heck of a daydreamer.

‘Diavolo’ is a name that was given to me when I was fifteen years old. You created your fable in your mind, my actions created mine in the world. You are not evil, not even the slightest amount. You are child in an adult’s body playing at being a ‘bad guy’. Play time is over; I’m going to sever your umbilical cord. I could go in any direction I wanted here; how is Rachel by the way? I could do a lot of things Sarah. I am showing restraint. This is how little of a threat I feel you pose toward me. Trust me, things could be worse. Things could be much, much worse.

Speaking of fables, let’s get to another one right now. Let’s take personal things off the table and be professional for a moment, at least as much as one can in this business of ours. Let’s talk about wrestling. You come in with all the accolades and accomplishments in the world – so you say, this is your billing, this is the reason you’re here, this is the reason you have the ego you have in the WCF.

WCF World Champion x1
WCF Tag Team Champion x2
WCF Television Champion x1

You have won the biggest prize in the sport one time; in a time where Eric Price and Jeff Purse also held the top belts. I don’t even know who these men are, they could well be the same person for all I know given how little of an impact they have made in crossover pop culture since. Your record, your resume is bordering on pathetic, if my business career was defined through a middling success rate, being unable to draw or make money and turning away fans from around the globe then I would paint my own walls with my ‘brain matter’.

I’m not a wrestler, I barely know what a front headlock is. Yet am I scared of wrestling you? Not...one...bit.

No, I don’t have history – though if it was as sparse and pitiful in half a decade as yours is I wouldn’t want it.
No, I don’t have experience – though if it was as being a perpetual disappointment and failure I wouldn’t it either.
No I don’t have championships – ‘championships’. Your belts are the equivalent to playing kindergartners in basketball and being the nation’s best Center.

I don’t have your skill. I admit it. You’re probably a better wrestler than me. You know all the names of the moves, you know all the counters, you can handle most everything. You can’t handle ＤＩＡＶＯＬＯ.

That thing that you can’t teach, that mind-set, that killer instinct? That? Is absolute bullshit. I’m going to defeat you not because I’m better than you, but because I KNOW you.

You don’t know me, Sarah, you couldn’t even hope to. However I know absolutely everything about you. You can trawl through as many record books as you want, look through every wrestling biography and you will see is nothing. I am a living radio silence. Everything you will ever hear about me is whispered in hushed voices drenched in fear. You will assume, you will select your mode of attack – and it will be wrong. You have my entire wrestling career at your fingertips and I have absolutely nothing on you. I’ve never seen you wrestle; I’ve never watched a single promotional video of yours. Is that a handicap to me? Quite the opposite.

You can do all your research, all your hunting and searching. Dig up everything you’ve got. Just one warning though, one that I think you would be wise to take heed of, step back a second and apply to yourself. If you find any skeletons in my closet Sarah?

That should tell you how long it’s had bodies in it."



♠ＩＬ ＤＩＡＶＯＬＯ♣

Alessandra Allegri lost her virginity six months after her first kill. The boy was three years older than her; he was the captain of the school’s football team. He was so fit, so powerful but so tender. He was all fingers and thumbs, but he was diligent. The school captain was going to be joining up with Italy’s Under Sixteens. He was being scouted by AC Milan and Internazionale as well as drumming up international interest from Barcelona and Real Madrid when the tragedy happened. Leonardo Bonucci’s father was found murdered with multiple stab wounds to the abdomen. The only lead the police had was that John Bonucci’s wallet had been taken following the attack; it turned the cold blooded murder into hot blooded robbery.

It only took a day for someone to be arrested for the crime. Mino Raiola, a man the police described as ‘destitute and living on the streets’ was charged with the murder of John Bonucci. His defence was laughed out of court and routinely mocked in the media.

‘A strange girl just gave me the wallet’

He was jailed for twenty years. He was found hanged in his cell after six months. Alessandra Allegri had been the first person to console Leonardo in school. He was distraught, he was broken and yet throughout it all was this girl who would never go an hour without making sure he smiled. She didn’t look her age; she looked nothing like any of the other girls here. She acted completely different too; Leonardo had never met anyone like her before. It was a complete change from the people he was used to, hangers on and suck ups. Now, in his most delicate and troubling moment the only person here for him was a strange girl with a beautiful smile and wouldn’t you know it. Doesn’t she just have the softest hands…and the softest lips.

As he slid inside of her he was finally in the comforting warmth of kindness. Each thrust was a step to salvation. Alessandra lay there in his bed, her legs wrapped around his body as he continued his quest for spasmodic genital pleasure and her toes began to curl as her nails began to dig she could think of only one thing.

It made her gasp.

It made her moan.

It made her scream.

‘Leo, oh Leo…

…I killed your father.’