Post by Deleted on Apr 13, 2020 22:32:01 GMT -6
"You want the real smile?
Or the one I used to practice not to feel like a failure?"
- "Solway Firth" by Slipknot
Or the one I used to practice not to feel like a failure?"
- "Solway Firth" by Slipknot
It's not a rarity that the trails to the past are oft lost to the eroding flow of time. Events become so distant that they become lost among junkyard of other discarded memories and over time lose their luster and prominence, serving just to become clutter and weight like everything else. Sarah's exit from the Extreme Wrestling Corporation managed to keep some of its shine though the placement of when had become blurry. Even then, it stuck with her. A weekly schedule at Blood and Salt - her training facility and gym - had scrubbed any coherence to the progression of time aside from the visible changes in season at her home on the Yankton Reservation.
It was only a span of months.
It had felt like years.
The stinging failure of losing one championship to then lose the chance to make FSW history as its first North American Champion was only soothed by forcing herself to forget about how recent that downward spiral was. Sarah had been told that you could effectively change your feelings by smiling. Like it'd condition you to feel the joy that was typically associated with that expression. She wasn't sure if it was due to the forced grins or the steep decline in crimes that usually cited the reservation's youth as the cause but over time, she felt the grasp of her past in EWC loosen but she could still feel where its finger were wrapped almost as if they were muscle memory. Gone, but not forgotten.
As much pride as Sarah felt when she saw her prefab warehouse with a ring and other training equipment expand its clientele, the thoughts of what was and what could have been haunted her like a Wendigo, the spirit often referenced as the herald of preparation by many Native cultures. One that would want to see its children flourish or die. The more students she acquired, the more she saw them improve and lack satiation at merely having their accomplishments acknowledged with a belt and certification. They wanted a a winning record. They wanted a fight. It made Sarah hearken back to when she had that same appetite when she was their age and it spurned thoughts of how it simply faded away. She hadn't even become comfortable. It was worse. She'd became benign to her own progress and instead invested her energy into everyone else but herself. It wasn't entirely a bad thing to do, but she left herself no scraps to pick clean nor ledge to cling to.
The pride in progress made by her students was soon balanced by the disdain she felt about herself. The way she tucked tail and left. The lack of will when she failed to succeed twice. It was crushing and the false smile she put on her face turned from being a source of strength to move forward to her own memento mori; it wasn't just her career, but what she had dedicated her life to that started to wither away. The determination she used to feel began to atrophy in favor of stagnation. Slowly, Sarah began to recognize the hole in her soul where the fire used to reside. She learned how cold it was regardless of what she provided to the future of combat sports. Stepping into the ring and looking into the eyes of an opponent - be it man or woman, title or non-title - before engaging in the most primal and natural of competitions is what she'd thrived on for most of her life and the fact that it was taken from her by her own hand ate her alive.
It must've become apparent to the people that came to her little slice of combat sport heaven out on the plains of the Dakotas. She never expressed the feeling of having something take root deep in your gut that actively squeezed the life out of you or at least, she didn't mean to but it hung in the air like a rotten smell in your car you can't quite find the source of and her students and staff began to take notice. When it clicked that it wasn't just affecting her but those who didn't deserve to be in the area of her splash damage, Sarah knew things had to change. She watched their hunger closely as they put in hours upon hours just for the chance to step into a fight professionally. For some, it was their only way off the rez. It even brought about a summit that she'd unknowingly been climbing to. A paradigm shift. If they couldn't keep their stomachs from rumbling at the mere thought of having their name called by an announcer then she was doing them and herself a disservice by allowing herself to wallow in pity. Did a loss to a piece of garbage like Joe Hustler even really matter? Was the inability to be one of five to climb a ladder and take a belt down really worth handing in her proverbial badge and gun?
Sarah Roberts, "The Deerfield Destroyer", a name that the FSW roster and EWC as a whole had learned to respect and in some cases fear had since faded from their memories like an emperor that'd misstepped and allowed their kingdom to collapse. Lost in history, nothing more than a footnote with "31 Days" next to it. She couldn't let her legacy and love for the sport be tainted by her own qualms. Luckily for her, Delilah Huang - her longtime manager and friend she'd even barely spoken to since her resignation - still had a knack for making deals. Luckily for her, AC Delaney was on the market for more talent under the green banner. That false smile that slowly became a reminder of her dying will and failure became a reminder that her lowest low wasn't quite rock bottom - not by a long shot.
The EWC may have forgotten Sarah Roberts, the woman who happily paid for her opponents' visits to medical facilities following encounters with her in the squared circle but she sure as hell hadn't forgotten about them. The coals and embers were stoked and became a fire once more. Sarah had nothing to prove to anyone but herself.
That's what made her even more dangerous than before. Sarah wasn't fighting for purity of combat sports. She wasn't fighting to restore dignity to any brand or championship.
Sarah Roberts was fighting for herself.
Blood for the blood gods, skulls for the skull throne.
Let round two commence.