By: Atara Themis

Writing Prompt: Yes

Date: 13th Nov 2021


Part 1. Atty In the Hole

“Hello Doves.” came a saccharine and exotic salutation. A feminine voice, it would give momentary pause allowing the inveigling to take hold of those it targeted. From the confines of smartphone, computer, and whatever device was on hand, those two words seeped into ears around the world and all that heard would know who spoke them. They knew it was time to listen.

Better than her words was perhaps her image which also was caught in those tiny technological wonders. For every pair of ears that her voice had bewitched she exacted the toll of their eyes as well. It was a price happily paid as they knew the reward for affixing their attention solely to this siren of the wrestling ring was a glimpse of their Goddess. Aphrodite made flesh, or at least as far as they were concerned, would be manifested before them. The Grecian never failed them in that regard.

Eager and wanton eyes would find Atara sat comfortable in the plush of a black wraparound contrasting against a seemingly pink damask wall. The whole room in fact was set in a haze of red-violet light that danced sporadically off each and every surface. The round table at her front, covered in all manner of bottles and beverages sparkled in rhythm and was evidence of a bacchanalian affair.

Head front, Aegean blue eyes seemingly stared back at the flock who now watched their goddess whose own appearance betrayed none of what the evidence suggested. Brown locks had become disheveled and a side swept faux bob hung more loose than intended. Leaning forward a condescending smile had curled on Atara’s face as she broke the silence, “Hello Ophelia.”

“Ελπίζω να είσαι καλά?” Atara continued switching to her native tongue. It didn’t matter if Ophelia understood or not, the felicitation was clearly insincere.  Reaching towards the table, a shot was deftly retrieved and downed in one swoop before being slammed against the table.

“Opa!” Atara would exclaim before shuddering off the after effects of the liquor and resuming her gaze with the proverbial 4th wall.

“I know what you’re thinking, Farmer Pharisee. It’s a little early to be celebrating right? Especially being I just came off a loss to her Royal Majesty Queen Anne Boleyn. I should rightfully be down in the dumps and worried sick about the challenge ahead of me….yada yada…blah blah blah…

….suck my asshole!” Atara spat while simultaneously leaning so that she could smack her butt.

“Terrible Tara’s Tennessee Tartuffe’s reign as the Brooklyn Champion is effectively over Dove. Congratulations. It lasted as long your fucking eyeshadow palette on an any weather kind of day….” Atara paused and her brows furrowed in reflection

“You know what, I’m not going to pan your stuff. It would be unfair because I have honestly never used it,” she admitted while reflected further.

“Come to think of it, I don’t know anyone who has AND THAT IS NOT A DIG. Just a truthful statement.” Hands in the air professing innocence, Atara rolled her eyes at the voyeurs of this promotional piece.

“Anywho, Dove, we can discuss what you use to cover those bags another time  No doubt from the endless nights of boohooing yourself to sleep.” She finished once again holding hands up in protest.

“Not intended as an insult, just an educated guess based on what I have heard from you and others so don’t get your leather harness in a twist.” Atara smiled sardonically and eyes offered a gaze that suggested her statement was otherwise.

Standing from the couch, Atara straightened the hem of the bodycon mini outlining her shape before beckoning the eyes behind the wall to come hither. Following behind, her sashay led the view from behind a curtain into a corridor lined with fabric covered entryways. The aesthetic was much the same as Atara’s room and raucous conversation and music could be heard from each as she led them down to round double doors.

“There is a point to all of this, no worries,” Atara assured from over her shoulder. Her eyes rested briefly on the 4th wall and she offered a mischievous grin.

“Did I ever tell you that not only were Doves and Dolphins sacred to Aphrodite….”

“….but rabbits as well.” She was quite bumptious with herself. “They possess the magic of her fertility and in ancient times were believed to aid in the…baby making process. You needed a trinket of the hare…or so I think,” face scrunching at the end, Atara tried to recall but the insinuation was already out there. She was in the rabbit hole, this time and day’s darling den of decadence, the Velvet Rabbit.

At the hallways end and in front of the double door she stood still and turned on heel holding up a hand. “Rules are rules Doves. What happens at the Rabbit stays at the Rabbit. Camera off for the time being.”

At her order the camera faded out

Part 2. Unbridled

“Three words to describe me?

Full disclosure Dove, I had started to go with Cute As Fuck, but me standing infront of a mirror probably wouldn’t make for entertaining Television…or would it?

I’ll think about it.”

Atara’s honey rasp came in a hushed tone, almost reverent even. Enclosed in the surreptitious sanctity of a confessional, her face was screened off from the eyes of the 4th wall. Only a shadow of the Goddess was evidence she was there.

“I suppose many of us will go with the usual cliche resume information. You know, strengths and weaknesses type stuff. Bet they’re all survivors? The ‘never give up try hards’ you people love to root for.” She continued thinking out loud. Clearly the priest in this regard was the viewing public.

“I’m sitting here in this orthodox church, in Brooklyn mind you, and you know what. I have a confession.” Admitting with a sigh, Atara gave pause.

“I have never been….this is harder than usual…I have never been…” Silence.

“I have never been more aroused in a church than I am right now. Father, I can trust you with this. Last night, I paid my coworker…who I secretly but not secretly thirst over to dry hump me last night.” She professed with more excitement than she should have to the 4th Wall Father.

“I’ve been dying to tell someone and nothing leaves the confessional right!”

“Oh my gawd father, talk about a scepter,” Her voice was followed by her shadowed silhouette gesturing the size of what could be considered a yard or so. Give or take a few.

“Think I’m going to start calling Austin Dante, because boy is going through all the circles of hell deep when he bones,” Fanning herself, Atara exhales before looking back at Father Fans.

“I’ve never seen men that size who could like that. Muscle and meat was flipping and flopping everywhere. Pretty sure if I hadn’t worn underwear I would have left pregnant or full of deep seated self loathing and regret about doing something as natural as eating.”

“ANYWHO, now that I’ve got that off my chest…I need to confess something else.”

“I’m not fearless. None of us are, especially my opponent Ophelia Pinkslips. It’s absolutely absurd to say you fear nothing. I mean…you might not think you do, but there are things in the back of the subconscious that make even the most courageous of people say uuh?”

“I fear death. I fear injury. I fear natural catastrophe. I fear sickness. I mean…what about you Ophelia? What do you fear?” Atara posed as her silhouette appeared to look through the screen and directly into the 4th wall.

“We all know what you fear. You tell us every time you open that sanctimonious spitter. You’ve got to be the most panicked petrified performer in the history of the sport. You’re afraid of irrelevance, of people not caring, of people forgetting. You’re afraid of underperforming. Afraid you’re still judged for ‘sleeping your way to the top’

“Ophelia is afraid of what people think.”

“Where there is fear, Ophelia. There is doubt and doubt is a self inflicting disaster. You’ve built yourself a fragile pedestal Ophelia and the fact is, you’re a wrestler. Not a glassmaker.”

“That high tower you spit at us from will inevitably crumble. You will have none to blame but yourself. You talk all this shit of surviving, of struggle, of pulling yourself from the depths of a fucked up existence and in the next breathe kick someone down who in your own words is living the same existence.”

“What struggle have you been through in Fight bitch?”

“It all seemed like peaches and cream from what I’ve seen. How often does an untalented dullard farm girl with a complex, a farm girl with a losing record mind you, wind up with a title?”

“She must have sucked a dick for….

Free.” Unable to contain laughter, Atara snorted at her own joke.

“Look babe, no judgement here on that front and that’s deadass, but it bothers you so. Yeah.” She put matter of factly. It was true.

“Anywho Dove, as I was saying. You built the road to your ruin and it just so happens a friend felt I was the passerby to fuck your ‘sex positive but only if it’s for pleasure and not business ass up.”

“You know why? Not because I’m fearless. Not because I’m a super hard psycho with no remorse. Not because I’m a ruthless sadist or kink fed masochist. Not because I am a super powered myst and magic divinity. Not because I grew up a victim of abuse, not because I survived countless stints in rehab. Not because every moment in life has been a goddamn tragedy… ” Atara quickly caught herself and made the sign of the cross at her chest.

“But because I am Unbridled.”

“I have always been unbridled. Unconstrained and unrestricted.  I don’t live by your standards or anyone else’s.

“Think I feel guilty about what I did to Tara. Fuck her and fuck you. I got mine.”

“Think I care that you and her are friends, that’s there’s a potential for shenanigans. Try me bitch. I’ll go down as a martyr!”

“Shit happens in life. I don’t let it weigh me down. I don’t let other people weigh me down. I say and do what I want and fuck all else.”

“Not held down by bullshit. No doubt baby girl. I just do me. I do Atty.”

“Praise Themis and amen.”

Confession concluded, Atara disappeared with a slam of the door. Just seconds after her voice echoed throughout the church, “Jesus turned a hoe into a housewife! Miracles are real!

Part 3. Vivacious

Unbridled meant Atara could experience a life of no hesitation. Impetuous since she was a child there was little she would say no to. Anything and everything was on the table for at least a try. She needn’t think too much and was of the mind the hesitant were the meek. Suppose most would think her a thrill seeker but that’s not the case. It didn’t have to be exciting adventures. It just had to be new. Food, books, music, whatever. 

She had no restraints or qualms to keep her back and approached everything with a lively enthusiasm or at least until it became mundane and repetitive. Her’s was a vivacious life fast past. She lived at 200 BPM…she knew bitches hated her because they couldn’t keep up.

There was an emotionally crippling life of sadness and heartbreak. There’s was an unforgettable hard life. Hard Knocks.

Atty’s was a vivid vibrant world of laughter and fun. She had seen more than most, travelled as Aphrodite had and left a mark everywhere. She soaked up culture becoming a cocktail of knowledge, she was very much finely shaped cosmopolitan. Just like Brooklyn. Atty was the champion the Burrough needed. It Wanted. She was what Fight NYC wanted. Her face, her voice. She hit big and hard everywhere she went.

She resonated with everyone. Her influence reverberated into everyone and tried as they might. She can’t be stopped. 200 BPM. Hard Knocks. Atty was Hardstyle.

She was euphoric to those who loved her and a bad trip for those who didn’t, but no matter the outcome of that Atty sticker, bitches remembered the story. They told their friends and kids the story of the time they tried Atty. How it changed their life.

Of how lights lit the sky and the ground shook with the drum bass and the impact of thousands of feet jumping in unison. Bodies were free of shame and clothes were more accessory than necessity. Those same bodies were colored and glowed in bright expression.

Meanwhile the Ophelia’s, the Viking Clans, Tara Fenix’s of the world were bringing everything down around them with paranoia and sleepless nights. With them you went hungry and lost teeth. Offering absolutely nothing of value except a desperation to be so like Atara that it was almost commendable if only they could get past those bridled constraints.

But country music sucks donkey dick and metal sounds like it’s orgasm.

Oh you, Vivacious Unbridled Atty, never change.

“Whooooa…Cashe? Somebody?” Atara called from the club bathroom. Her mind had just been blown. This mirror had just taken her on a journey, to a place of wild imagination.

Part 4. Beautiful

Wind in her hair, Atara stood up through the sunroof of her Fight NY chauffeur’s vehicle as it travelled through the city. It’s destination was obviously the tower though Unbridled and Vivacious Atty had convinced the driver to make a few unscheduled stops. Judging by the beaded bracelets scaling her arms and glow sticks around her neck, vivacious Atty had become rave girl Atty and the party wasn’t over. The synthesized bassline vibrating the windows was sure to break a sound ordinance but she didn’t care. 

Atty was unbridled, she was free of restraint, of shackles, of worry, of regret.

Atty was vivacious and full of life, of energy. She was curious and always learning and apologized for nothing.

She was loved and hated equally. A duality known to only one her eyes.

She was Aphrodite.

Feminine and Divine.

Atty was Beautiful.

Part 5. Summary

Seated at a kitchen table, Atara Themis’ Aegean blue eyes peered again into the 4th wall. Her expression and gaze held no sign of contempt or malice and she was dressed plainly in a t-shirt and shorts. Atara held a coffee mug in one hand and her chin in the other, all things seemed unusually normal for the Goddess.

After moments passed her lips would  curled into a smile and her voice broke the void

“Ophelia, you don’t have what it takes, girl. That’s plain and simple. There’s no shame in admitting it. No judgement, at least from me anyhow. You want to be a married farm girl in Tennessee milking the cows and collecting eggs and I think that is lovely Dove. You’re better suited for that life.

Tara can’t fight for you. You can’t take her pain away by beating me up. So dismiss any fanciful thoughts of conquering the evil villainess. It’s you that is under siege. I don’t need a locker room at my back to decide to puff my chest. I asked for this loan to get this title shot and someone felt I should get it

There goes the didn’t earn it argument. I took it. I reached up with an unbridled hand and with vivacious enthusiasm pulled the opportunity into my hands and come the final bell I will be walking out as the Brooklyn Champion. Gold around my beautiful waist…

.. and Aphrodite with her girdle is irresistible to even gods.” Atara lectured as the scene faded out.

“Fucking piss smelling cat lady goddess…ffs”