Post by Alexandra Calaway on Oct 30, 2024 16:31:06 GMT -5
Dead and Buried
Undisclosed Location
The camera opens on Alexandra Calaway, standing alone in a dimly lit graveyard at midnight. Fog drifts over three cracked tombstones, and a set of shovels rests against the edge of each one. Alexandra stands at the edge of it, looking down, her face partially shadowed, but a wicked, knowing smile spreads across her lips.
“A Mass Grave match, this match I look forward to greatly.”
Alexandra moves to stand in front of an old, creaky tombstone, her face illuminated only by the flicker of a nearby torch. The air is still, the only sound is the faint rustling of dead leaves around her as she stares into the camera with a deadly calm.
“Je$tyr Seryou$… How poetic that you’ll be facing me again in a Mass Graves Match. You know, we’ve danced this dance before. I’ve beaten you. And yet, somehow, through some technicality, you walked away with a title you never truly deserved. But let me make something crystal clear: there won’t be any technicalities to save you this time. In a Mass Graves Match, there’s no way to fake a win, no loopholes to crawl through. Either you’re buried… or you’re standing.”
Alexandra paces slowly, her eyes darkening as she recalls their previous encounter.
“When you stole that win, you thought you got the last laugh. But what you really did, Je$tyr, was wake something up inside me—a relentless need to put you down once and for all. You walk around with that title like it means something, like you earned it. But I know, and you know, that the only reason you have it is because fate let you slither through the cracks. Well, Je$tyr, I’m here to make sure there are no cracks left for you to crawl through. When I’m done with you, your jokes, your smug little grins, and all your dollar-store tricks will be buried right along with you.”
She grips the handle of a shovel, her voice cold and unyielding.
“This isn’t just a match for me; it’s the reckoning you’ve been running from. You think your cheap wins and cocky act are enough to survive a match like this? You’re fooling yourself. I’ve faced darkness and pain that would make you crumble. And while you’ve been busy hiding behind technicalities, I’ve been sharpening every ounce of my rage, every piece of my will to make sure that this time—when I put you down—you stay there.”
Alexandra pauses, her gaze piercing as she stares into the camera, as if looking directly into Je$tyr’s eyes.
“Bring your cheap tricks, Je$tyr. Bring your best moves, your silver tongue, your little ego. Because none of it is going to matter when you’re lying six feet under, covered by my dirt, left to rot with the memory of your ‘technical win.’ There are no flukes in a grave, no false champions. Just cold, hard finality. And come the end of this match, the last thing you’ll see before the lights go out will be me dropping the dirt on three fallen bodies.”
Alexandra Calaway standing solemnly before a tombstone etched with “Stevie Satisfaction.” Her face is shadowed, her expression a mix of curiosity and disdain as she contemplates her newest opponent. The night air is thick, the silence punctuated only by the distant howl of the wind, giving Alexandra’s words an eerie weight as she begins.
“Well, Stevie Satisfaction… This is our first meeting, and I have to say, your name is a little misleading. Because when this Mass Graves Match is over, I don’t think you’ll be feeling much satisfaction at all. I’ve watched you flaunt your flashy style and pretend like you’re untouchable, but in a match like this, flash doesn’t mean a damn thing. You can put on all the theatrics you want, but all that flair is going to do is make you an easier target, one more body left at the bottom of this pit. Because here’s the reality, Stevie: I’m not here to give you the satisfaction of an easy match against me—I’m here to put you in your place.”
She leans forward, resting her hand on the cold stone, a small smirk creeping across her face.
“See, you’re stepping into my world now. While you’ve been busy playing up to the crowd, I’ve been fighting in battles that leave no room for mercy or hesitation. A Mass Graves Match isn’t for the faint of heart, and I can already tell you’re not ready for what’s coming. I don’t need gimmicks to keep myself standing—I have years of experience, grit, and one hell of a violent streak. So if you think you’re going to strut in here and show me up, you’re in for the worst night of your career. The only thing you’re going to ‘satisfy’ in this match, Stevie, is the crowd’s thirst to see you buried alive.”
She straightens, her eyes fierce as she gives the tombstone one last look, as if already marking it in her mind.
“Stevie, I want you to understand this: you’re not walking away from this one. I’m not here to hand out participation trophies or to let some loudmouth rookie try to build a name off my back. I’m here to destroy anyone who stands in my way, to tear down every last obstacle until I’m the only one left breathing. So bring your best, Stevie. Bring all the charm and showmanship you have, because it’s all going to mean nothing when I put you six feet under and leave you to rot here… just another name on a stone that no one will remember.”
Alexandra slammed the shovel into the earth next to Stevie’s tombstone. Before walking over to stand in front of the third tombstone. Erik Holland, was etched in very well detailed letters. She smiles at the tombstone, if there was anyone in this match she was looking forward to tangling up with, it was him. Erik was probably the biggest challenge she had in this match, she wasn’t unfamiliar with his talent but, experiencing it first hand, is different than watching it.
“Erik Holland… fighting with ghosts, bargaining with death. I’ve heard your little chat with the casket last night, and I have to say: it’s cute that you think you can talk your way out of what’s coming for you in the Mass Graves Match. But don’t fool yourself. That wooden prison you call a coffin? It isn’t some symbol for your past mistakes or a place to bury the bits of yourself you’ve shed. No… it's your destination. And, Holland, I’m the one who’s going to make sure you end up exactly where you belong. Six feet below.”
Alexandra crouches down by the pit, dragging her fingers through the dirt, her gaze fierce and unflinching as she speaks.
“You claim you’re just going to ‘fight’ without strategy, as if that’s enough. You think burying yourself in the crowd’s approval and ‘getting up off your knees’ is going to save you? That’s your ego talking, Holland, the very thing you swore you killed. But see, I know exactly who I am in that ring—there’s no part of me hiding from what’s coming, no part of me that I’m afraid to bury. I’m here to destroy everyone who stands in my way, and I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty to do it.”
Alexandra smirks, standing and slowly pacing around the grave, staring directly into the camera, as if challenging Holland himself.
“See, you’re out here fighting yourself, trapped in some tortured monologue with a coffin that has no time for you, Erik. Meanwhile, I’m out here digging graves, getting ready for what needs to be done. I’m not haunted by my past, and I’m not pleading with it. I own it. Every bit of blood, every broken bone, every scar and scream—I wear them all as trophies. Because I don’t need to kill my ego. I am my ego. And you and every other sorry soul in this match are just fuel for my fire.”
She picks up the shovel, dragging it behind as she continues through her speech. Alexandra comes to a stop in front of a gravestone again, carved with Erik’s name. She smirks and traces her fingers over it, relishing the moment.
“You said it yourself, Holland. You’re not even close to dead. But let me be clear: I’m going to change that. And if you’re still craving that darkness, still yearning to lie down forever, I’ll happily make it happen. When the last shovel of dirt lands on your grave, and the crowd is roaring my name, maybe you’ll realize that this time—when you stare into that dark pit—you won’t be coming back.”
With a final wicked grin, she drives the shovel into the dirt beside Erik’s ‘grave,’ symbolizing her intent to finish what she’s started.
“Oh, one final thing, Donnie Harris.. Fuck you.”
She disappears into the night.
Undisclosed Location
The camera opens on Alexandra Calaway, standing alone in a dimly lit graveyard at midnight. Fog drifts over three cracked tombstones, and a set of shovels rests against the edge of each one. Alexandra stands at the edge of it, looking down, her face partially shadowed, but a wicked, knowing smile spreads across her lips.
“A Mass Grave match, this match I look forward to greatly.”
Alexandra moves to stand in front of an old, creaky tombstone, her face illuminated only by the flicker of a nearby torch. The air is still, the only sound is the faint rustling of dead leaves around her as she stares into the camera with a deadly calm.
“Je$tyr Seryou$… How poetic that you’ll be facing me again in a Mass Graves Match. You know, we’ve danced this dance before. I’ve beaten you. And yet, somehow, through some technicality, you walked away with a title you never truly deserved. But let me make something crystal clear: there won’t be any technicalities to save you this time. In a Mass Graves Match, there’s no way to fake a win, no loopholes to crawl through. Either you’re buried… or you’re standing.”
Alexandra paces slowly, her eyes darkening as she recalls their previous encounter.
“When you stole that win, you thought you got the last laugh. But what you really did, Je$tyr, was wake something up inside me—a relentless need to put you down once and for all. You walk around with that title like it means something, like you earned it. But I know, and you know, that the only reason you have it is because fate let you slither through the cracks. Well, Je$tyr, I’m here to make sure there are no cracks left for you to crawl through. When I’m done with you, your jokes, your smug little grins, and all your dollar-store tricks will be buried right along with you.”
She grips the handle of a shovel, her voice cold and unyielding.
“This isn’t just a match for me; it’s the reckoning you’ve been running from. You think your cheap wins and cocky act are enough to survive a match like this? You’re fooling yourself. I’ve faced darkness and pain that would make you crumble. And while you’ve been busy hiding behind technicalities, I’ve been sharpening every ounce of my rage, every piece of my will to make sure that this time—when I put you down—you stay there.”
Alexandra pauses, her gaze piercing as she stares into the camera, as if looking directly into Je$tyr’s eyes.
“Bring your cheap tricks, Je$tyr. Bring your best moves, your silver tongue, your little ego. Because none of it is going to matter when you’re lying six feet under, covered by my dirt, left to rot with the memory of your ‘technical win.’ There are no flukes in a grave, no false champions. Just cold, hard finality. And come the end of this match, the last thing you’ll see before the lights go out will be me dropping the dirt on three fallen bodies.”
Alexandra Calaway standing solemnly before a tombstone etched with “Stevie Satisfaction.” Her face is shadowed, her expression a mix of curiosity and disdain as she contemplates her newest opponent. The night air is thick, the silence punctuated only by the distant howl of the wind, giving Alexandra’s words an eerie weight as she begins.
“Well, Stevie Satisfaction… This is our first meeting, and I have to say, your name is a little misleading. Because when this Mass Graves Match is over, I don’t think you’ll be feeling much satisfaction at all. I’ve watched you flaunt your flashy style and pretend like you’re untouchable, but in a match like this, flash doesn’t mean a damn thing. You can put on all the theatrics you want, but all that flair is going to do is make you an easier target, one more body left at the bottom of this pit. Because here’s the reality, Stevie: I’m not here to give you the satisfaction of an easy match against me—I’m here to put you in your place.”
She leans forward, resting her hand on the cold stone, a small smirk creeping across her face.
“See, you’re stepping into my world now. While you’ve been busy playing up to the crowd, I’ve been fighting in battles that leave no room for mercy or hesitation. A Mass Graves Match isn’t for the faint of heart, and I can already tell you’re not ready for what’s coming. I don’t need gimmicks to keep myself standing—I have years of experience, grit, and one hell of a violent streak. So if you think you’re going to strut in here and show me up, you’re in for the worst night of your career. The only thing you’re going to ‘satisfy’ in this match, Stevie, is the crowd’s thirst to see you buried alive.”
She straightens, her eyes fierce as she gives the tombstone one last look, as if already marking it in her mind.
“Stevie, I want you to understand this: you’re not walking away from this one. I’m not here to hand out participation trophies or to let some loudmouth rookie try to build a name off my back. I’m here to destroy anyone who stands in my way, to tear down every last obstacle until I’m the only one left breathing. So bring your best, Stevie. Bring all the charm and showmanship you have, because it’s all going to mean nothing when I put you six feet under and leave you to rot here… just another name on a stone that no one will remember.”
Alexandra slammed the shovel into the earth next to Stevie’s tombstone. Before walking over to stand in front of the third tombstone. Erik Holland, was etched in very well detailed letters. She smiles at the tombstone, if there was anyone in this match she was looking forward to tangling up with, it was him. Erik was probably the biggest challenge she had in this match, she wasn’t unfamiliar with his talent but, experiencing it first hand, is different than watching it.
“Erik Holland… fighting with ghosts, bargaining with death. I’ve heard your little chat with the casket last night, and I have to say: it’s cute that you think you can talk your way out of what’s coming for you in the Mass Graves Match. But don’t fool yourself. That wooden prison you call a coffin? It isn’t some symbol for your past mistakes or a place to bury the bits of yourself you’ve shed. No… it's your destination. And, Holland, I’m the one who’s going to make sure you end up exactly where you belong. Six feet below.”
Alexandra crouches down by the pit, dragging her fingers through the dirt, her gaze fierce and unflinching as she speaks.
“You claim you’re just going to ‘fight’ without strategy, as if that’s enough. You think burying yourself in the crowd’s approval and ‘getting up off your knees’ is going to save you? That’s your ego talking, Holland, the very thing you swore you killed. But see, I know exactly who I am in that ring—there’s no part of me hiding from what’s coming, no part of me that I’m afraid to bury. I’m here to destroy everyone who stands in my way, and I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty to do it.”
Alexandra smirks, standing and slowly pacing around the grave, staring directly into the camera, as if challenging Holland himself.
“See, you’re out here fighting yourself, trapped in some tortured monologue with a coffin that has no time for you, Erik. Meanwhile, I’m out here digging graves, getting ready for what needs to be done. I’m not haunted by my past, and I’m not pleading with it. I own it. Every bit of blood, every broken bone, every scar and scream—I wear them all as trophies. Because I don’t need to kill my ego. I am my ego. And you and every other sorry soul in this match are just fuel for my fire.”
She picks up the shovel, dragging it behind as she continues through her speech. Alexandra comes to a stop in front of a gravestone again, carved with Erik’s name. She smirks and traces her fingers over it, relishing the moment.
“You said it yourself, Holland. You’re not even close to dead. But let me be clear: I’m going to change that. And if you’re still craving that darkness, still yearning to lie down forever, I’ll happily make it happen. When the last shovel of dirt lands on your grave, and the crowd is roaring my name, maybe you’ll realize that this time—when you stare into that dark pit—you won’t be coming back.”
With a final wicked grin, she drives the shovel into the dirt beside Erik’s ‘grave,’ symbolizing her intent to finish what she’s started.
“Oh, one final thing, Donnie Harris.. Fuck you.”
She disappears into the night.