Memento Mori...

[Melinda Rhodes]

The Original Rebel steps into the frame, dressed in black leather, her jacket studded with spikes on the arms and shoulders, an ornate belt with her winged Rebel Star logo, tight fitting pants, and boots. The top beneath her jacket was dark see through mesh with a black sports bra underneath. She looks up at the large Stranglemania Banner, her gaze lingering on her match, the Iggy Swango Memorial cup. She strokes that spot with a gloved finger, a sadness in her gaze.

“I’m so sorry, Iggy… “

Her head lowers, those long raven black locks falling in front of her pale face, the old shame burning in her cheeks as she remembers the harsh words she said about Iggy in the past.

“It’s been a couple years now since Iggy passed away and not a day has gone by where I hadn’t felt some sort of guilt for the shit I assumed at the time. I didn’t know what she was going through in her final matches, the struggles with health and the like. It never dawned on me because all of us go through this biz pretending we’re invincible and that no one can touch us or hurt us, even when we wake up cracking every joint and groaning with aches and pains from nights prior and the abuse we put ourselves through.”

Her head lifts and she looks back at Iggy’s smug, smirking face as her image stares back at her over a pair of shades slid down the bridge of her nose. One of her trademark expressions.

“But people die everyday from all kinds of things. We can lie to ourselves and try our damnedest to say that won’t be me who’s next, but truth is? We’ll never know when our time is up, only to make the most of what time we have and poor Iggy had to put up with me saying all kinds of shit, feeling like I was snubbed and disrespected for what seemed like lack luster efforts in the ring.”

Mel turns away from the banner to face the camera, her hands pressed together as she puts them up against her face.

“She never said a peep and soldiered on through all the insults, never telling anyone the truth until she was gone. I imagine she was hopeful that her condition would improve and then she’d come back and whup my tattooed ass for talking all that trash. Always the optimist, she never wanted anyone to feel sorry for her and just did the best she could with what she had.”

Her neck tightens a bit as she fights back some pretty overwhelming emotions inside of her.

“If I had known, I’d have done more to help rather than condemn, but then again, who the fuck was I to assume anything? What kind of an unprofessional piece of shit was I to ever run her down for under performing? I could’ve asked questions, made moves, but nah I kept my head wedged firmly up my own ass and just kept bashing and trashing her.”

Slowly she lowers her hands down, gripping her wrist as she stands there as if paying respects at a funeral.

“This match ain’t just me taking on a ton of other motherfuckers in a Hellevator match, not just another night, and not even because it’s Stranglemania that it’s special. It’s a match in honor of one of the greatest names in the sport and the history of EWC. Iggy Swango deserved better out of me and in this match, I get my shot to do just that.”

Melinda leans against that banner, hooking her thumbs in the belt loops of her pants.

“The Hellevator has always been a brutal match with each floor containing a new surprise at the opening of any door. We’ve seen some hellacious falls in some cases too. Ain’t none of us getting out of this match unscathed. New scars equal new stories when you get old like me and new scars at my age, just are gonna’ add more color to the tales I tell when I’m a shriveled up prune in a retirement home.”

She chuckles softly.

“Well if I make it that far. I’ll say that there’s three names I know well coming into this with me. Caleb Scott, my sick and twisted face paint wearing bud who’s fought with me countless times over that FX Broadcast championship he now has mounted on a wall somewhere. Kinda’ glad it went to you, old friend. I think if it ended up in anyone else’s hands, I’d be tempted to go to their house and have a match for it right then and there.”

Mel gives a nod of approval.

“Pheonix Winterborn is someone I’ve never faced but always seen around. You ain’t ever failed to impress and I doubt you’re gonna’ start disappointing anyone now, especially on the night of nights, Stranglemania. I got mad respect for you and I’m looking forward to this because finally these two ships always passing each other in the night are gonna’ collide. I’m excited, no doubt about it."

With a wink of her eye, she clicks her tongue against the back of her now grinning teeth.

“Dalilah Ashe is another one always floating around but I’ve never quite had a chance to say hello to her either. I’ve heard and seen alotta’ shit about the Last Temptation and what I’ve seen matches up with the description of wicked evil bitch. You bring the darkside and I’ll be swinging these god hands to make you go lights out, honey.”

She strikes a boxer’s stance, moving forward while swaying slightly left to right with her fists at either side of her face. The Rebel gives the air before her a one two punch with a little chuckle.

“Got a guy calling himself Zero, but I’m going to assume that’s to throw me off and make me treat him like a zero rather than just zeroing him. Ain’t gonna’ work sunshine. I’m one of those veterans that’s a student of the game. I don’t just go in there swinging like a dumbass, uninformed and without a care. I wanna’ know my opposition. Got the Lad, Justin Paige, Bruce Booth, the man with a name that I actually have to say sounds really cool when you say it, Divewire, Narumi Tsutsumi, Apollo Polamalu, and Rick Rampage to round out this massive match straight outta hell’s heart.”

Mel pounds her fist to her chest.

“I was broken, but now I’m glued together, clued up, and I know I’m tough enough to go the distance in this match. Ya’ll might’ve heard about me, but ya heard is only half the story and the half I have is pretty damn epic. I’m coming in here to put some respect on the name of Monday Night Brawl again and let the world know that The Original Rebel Rhodes is back in the business of cracking heads, wearing gold, and looking damn good doing it!”

She leans towards the camera with a wild grin and a manic gleam in her eye.

“Try as each of you might to put me down and take me out, kids and grown ass adults alike, I ain’t starting my big comeback gettin shoved out a Hellevator at the biggest show of the year. It’s Stranglemania, motherfuckers! LET’S FUCKING GOOOO!!!”

The Rebel is pumped up and full of hype and excitement, pumping her fists and dancing left to right in place for a moment. She starts to walk off, only to stop, her gaze catching that image of Iggy Swango once more. She presses her hand on the banner, her hand partially framing the face of Lady Stardust.

“This is for you, me, and the fans, Sondra. Wish you were here, but instead I’ll just have to settle for seeing you on the otherside someday hon... that's if Heaven'll have me of course.”

Melinda pats the banner and calmly strolls out of frame, the camera zooming in on Iggy’s face slowly and then fading out to black.

One of the biggest regrets one can make is the final words another will hear. No one can truly know what another is going through fully. Try to remember that behind every larger than life persona is a human being subject to all the same rules as everyone else. Be a cool pro and think before you speak for the bitch you curse out could be someone suffering in their last moments of life. Learn from me, this lesson of life and may it better you going forward. Regrets are a bitch to live with and the last thing you want is someone thinking you hated them on their deathbed. You feel me?

Memento Mori...

For Iggy.

For Bucky.