When my time comes
Forget the wrong that I've done
Help me leave behind some
Reasons to be missed
And don't resent me
And when you're feeling empty
Keep me in your memory
Leave out all the rest


“Many of us crucify ourselves between two thieves - regret for the past and fear of the future.”


The dark room illuminated with neon was like something out of a low budget B movie. The chipped mahogany tables, the stained bar stools even the flashing lights across the stage where dulled by the cigarette smoke which hovered above the heads of the punters, like a dark cloud about to rain down on the pathetic souls beneath it. Yet here Kendell was. She found herself in places like this too often. She wasn’t sure if it was because she found stepping away from the glamour and glitz slightly humbling or because slumming it was actually more intriguing than living a life of fame and wealth. But it ran deeper than that. At first looks the woman sitting in the middle of the room alone, at a small table with a cigarette in her hand adding to the dark cloud and a vodka sitting in front of her, looked like she had taken a wrong turn and was unfortunate enough to end up here but the truth was she was just as low as the rest of the life which sat sprawled around the bar. The crowd was a mix of predators and those lost souls who occasionally looked around to make sure nobody they knew had walked in. Kendell wasn’t sure which category she fit in to and she didn’t spend much time considering it either, instead opting to lean forward and bring her drink to her lips whilst still holding her cigarette neatly between her index and middle finger.

Disc Jockey: “Let’s hear it for Sandy! Her turn ons include detention and good spanking with that ruler!”

The excitement in his voice was almost humorous bringing a smile to Kendell’s face. She imagined he should be hosting the Miss America pageant instead of held up in a small DJ booth surrounded by rope lights and announcing who the next girl to get her clothes off would be. Was their any real need for a DJ? Surely Kendell was the only person that had even realised he was there, most of the other people there where too busy waiting for ‘Sandy’.

Sandy was a small woman who looked no more than twenty but the peroxide running through her hair and the bad breast augmentation made her look slightly older as well as slightly more pathetic, if such a thing could occur. She struggled to walk in her high heels as she stumbled out onto the stage while some cheesy 80s power ballad played on in the background, clad in what appeared to be a make shift schoolgirls uniform and clear heels. The girl could have been pretty underneath the two inches of make up she had plastered on her face and the cheap red lip stick which looked like it had been applied with a paint brush.

Sandy slid up and down the tarnished silver poll awkwardly trying to look smouldering and sexy as she removed her top but instead looking like a bulldog chewing on a wasp. Kendell sniggered, bringing the cigarette to her lips and inhaling, the flickering orange glow at the end almost burning to her fingers. Kendell rarely needed a reason to go drinking in fact she very rarely had a reason except the absolute enjoyment of getting wasted, but tonight was different. Tonight saw her drinking because the idea of sitting at home staring at the walls had become almost unbearable. She dropped the remainder of the cigarette on the already dirty floor and closed her eyes for a second, letting out a sigh.

It had been months since she stepped into the ring to wrestle and she had liked it that way. It wasn’t that she had lost her love for the sport but it had been taken from her because of personal circumstances. Becoming UWF champion in a matter of weeks had been an adrenaline rush, a certain highlight in her career, but where do you go from there? She had stepped into most wrestling companies and in a matter of weeks had become unstoppable. There was no more challenge. In fact she had gotten slightly bored with being the best which had her finding her entertainment elsewhere in the form of other wrestlers until that too became just another game she was able to win with her eyes closed. Unfortunately it was her backstage antics that had lead to her bowing out of UWF for some time a decision she didn’t regret. But what had her stepping into the ring again?

Kendell watched as Sandy wiggled along the floor in front of some man who looked like he hadn’t had a woman in a long time. It’s sad to think that people actually chose this life for themselves but at the same time a confidence builder to know Kendell was better than anybody who sat in the same room as her, at least in her own eyes. She glanced across at the bar, littered with empty glasses as the waitress went back and forth trying to serve the two men who sat slumped across the bar, periodically looking over their shoulders at the woman who was selling her soul and her dignity on stage. She contemplated getting another drink but decided that she had had enough of the high life and should start heading back to her hotel to finish the night off with the bottle of whiskey, which sat on her bedside table.

She stood up. For a woman who lived life indulging in pleasures most would frown upon she still had more eloquence than most. The eloquence of a lady, oh what sweet irony. The red chiffon of her dress danced around her knees as she lifted her matching purse and pushed the chair away from her, the men in the room now turning their attention to her as if she was about to remove her own clothing for minimum wage. She ignored the sleazy stares instead making her way towards the exit doors and stepping outside into the summer night air.

There was something about death that didn’t sit well with Kendell. True, she had seen it time and time again but when it came so suddenly to the undeserved it always made her take a step back and look at her own life especially with recent occurrences. She always wondered what she’d be remembered as, or would she even be remembered. She doubted it. In fact she was starting to believe that she would only ever be known as the woman who slept her way to the top and despite her usual apathy it left her feeling a pang of regret.

Kendell had spent her life caring about nobody but herself, growing up as the daughter of a rich ‘business man’ and an alcoholic mother resulted in her not getting the attention she needed as a child leaving her to learn how to fend for herself. Fortunately for Kendell she was born with bright blue eyes that glittered like diamonds underneath her heavy dark eyelashes, long dark hair that fell around the sallow skin on her high cheekbones and blood red lips. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder but there was no denying that Kendell Smith had been born with some very good genes. But unlike most beautiful women, Kendell Smith had been born with the brains to know exactly how to use her beauty to her advantage, something she had learned to perfect.

Paul Cannon and JC Diamond had been her complete opposite. Two people who had touched the lives of many and left memorable imprints on the hearts of everybody they met. The news of the car crash broke while Kendell was at home in New York. She wasn’t sure why she felt anything when she heard that Paul was dead and JC was in a coma, but she did. It was unlike her to care about anybody but herself but the more she sat down and thought about it the more the reality of it had hit home.

Murderer.

She shook her head gently and looked at the pavement as she walked, trying to shake away the memories that where flooding her mind. Bad things seemed to happen to good people. Kendell had had her privileged life with her own choices determining how it all would end but Paul and JC well they had lived their lives in perfection. So sweet and nice to everybody around him it was almost as if they had stepped out of a fairytale. And yet here was Kendell, walking through the streets of New York while Paul was… well… Paul was gone and JC was putting her life back together. It brought her life into retrospect.

Kendell shivered suddenly despite the warm night breeze. Her red heels clicked on the pavement underneath her as she walked among the street lights down the darkened New York streets making her way back towards the more upper class end of the city. In the door way of one of the large derelict buildings sat a man mumbling to himself incoherently. She wondered if he had done anything bad in his life to result in him being homeless or had he been just another unfortunate soul who life had dealt a bad hand.

Old Man: “A bit too pretty to be wandering through these streets this late at night, aren’t we?”

The voice, dull and lifeless with just a hint of sarcasm and a patronising ‘ha’ came from the man in the doorway. Kendell stopped in her tracks and turned to look at the man.

Kendell Smith: “I don’t know about you but I’m definitely too good looking to be walking down these streets alone, you on the other hand look like part of the furniture.”

Old Man: “Oh well aint you got a sharp tongue for such a pretty woman. There must be a brain in that pretty little head of yours”

Kendell Smith: “It keeps me with a roof over my head and clean clothes which is more than I can say for you old man. Frankly your choice of living arrangements and fashion sense leaves a lot to be desired.”

Old Man: “Fancy yourself as a comedian do ya? I didn’t always live like this you know!”

Kendell Smith: “Save your sob story for somebody who cares.”

Old Man: “What? You think you’re better than me?”

Kendell Smith: “I think the fact that you’re lying in a doorway in Salvation Army clothing and drinking cheap scotch answers that question, don’t you?”

Despite the dark night and the vague hazy glow of the street lamps she still caught a glimpse of something in the old man’s eyes, a look of sadness and regret. It was usually then that she would turn around and walk away; laughing at his misfortune and feeling thankful that she was born with intelligence but for some reason she sat transfixed to the spot, feeling an emotion that swept over her rarely, guilt.

Kendell Smith: “Mind if I join you?”

The old man looked up from the ground, a look of bewilderment twisted across his aged face, a map of hardship and worry, and years of being disappointed.

Old Man: “Sure… take a seat.”

As she moved to sit down on the step beside him he passed her the bottle of scotch.

Kendell Smith: “This all you have?”

Old Man: “Oh I’m sorry; I’ll have the butler bring us some vintage port shall I?”

Kendell smiled, taking the bottle from his hands and bringing it to her mouth. Mixing scotch with the gallon of vodka that was already making its way around her system was probably not the best idea. She knew she’d be regretting this in the morning but she was never one to live her life based on future regrets, God knew her track record of life mistakes sure proved that.

Old Man: “So if you’re going to sit down here and drink my alcohol it would only be common courtesy to tell me your name.”

Kendell Smith: “Kendell… my name’s Kendell.”

Old Man: “Well it’s nice to meet you Kendell, my name is Frank.”

He extended his hand in greeting, covered in an old, grey, fingerless glove he was like a homeless stereotype. She shook his hand and handed him back his bottle of scotch. He spoke between sips of his drink while staring ahead out onto the empty street.

Frank: “It’s true what I said.”

Kendell Smith: “What was that?”

Frank: “It wasn’t always like this for me. I’ve made mistakes in my life.”

Kendell Smith: “Haven’t we all.”

Frank: “I’ll drink to that! So tell me Kendell, what is it you fill the empty moments of your life with?”

She took the bottle back from him and followed his stare out onto the empty street before bringing it to her mouth, tilting her head back whilst closing her eyes and letting as much alcohol flow down her throat as possible. She moved the bottle from her full lips and wiped away the access alcohol before speaking.

Kendell Smith: “Drinking and fucking….”

Frank: “Ha ha a woman after my own heart.”

Kendell Smith: “Oh and wrestling.”

Frank: “Wrestling?”

He looked a little bemused as he turned his attention away from the bottle of scotch for the first time since she had taken a seat beside him.

Kendell Smith: “Yea, I’m a professional wrestler.”

Frank: “Like Hulk Hogan?”

Kendell Smith: “Sure… why not…”

Frank: “Well I gotta say little miss, I wouldn’t have pegged you as the type of woman who beat up other people. You seem kinda delicate.”

Kendell Smith: “It’s a gift.”

As she said it out loud she realised how much she actually believed it. She was like a moth drawn to a flame; she couldn’t help but come back even if it resulted in her getting burnt. She loved the glory; she lived for the success and the adrenaline rush. Knowing that people could love her or hate her but never deny her talent left her feeling smug. Going down to the UWF ring once again at PPV had her almost shaking with excitement.

Curt Evans, up until the night of PPV she had known nothing about him and if she where to be honest she still knew nothing about him nor did she care to find out.
All she knew was all she felt like she should know; that she had his UWF belt, which was rightfully hers anyway and that she would kick his ass to take it back officially. Unfortunately though the bloodlust that pulsed through her veins, which usually gave her an edge over her opponent in a match, had been silenced somewhat by her emotional state as of late.

Murderer.

He was just another overgrown, steroid pumping, male wrestler who lacked charisma and the characteristics of a champion. She was one of the most successful female wrestler’s in the business. There was no doubt in her mind that GBL had encouraged her to take on the new Universal Champion because he trusted her to bring the title back to Adrenaline. Not to mention that the imitation show, Uncensored, needed a match with somebody like Kendell in it for one night just so it could actually earn money from ticket sales. It wasn’t people like Curt that pulled in crowds it was people like Kendell. Those who would stop at nothing to win, those who where ruthless and who thrived on the success. She had never been one to step into the ring in hopes of making friends, but despite her apathy towards the wrestlers of Adrenaline she would represent them the best she could when she went to Uncensored and demolished Curt Evans on his own turf.

She sniggered. Her first week back and she was already in a main event and not even on her own brand, not many women could say that, in fact, not many wrestlers male or female could say that. She knew it rubbed some of the ‘stars’ the wrong way but she really didn’t care how they saw it. God she missed wrestling but she only had herself to blame for her absence, well there was one other person she could blame but revenge was sweet and she would exact hers all in good time. They had taken away her glory. They had taken her away from the one thing that made her who she was and she’d be damned if she’d let it go. Curt Evans would simply be a stepping stone to reclaiming her throne as the Adrenaline superstarlette she once was, that was, of course, if she could push the emotions to one side.

Murderer.

She shook her head again and raised the bottle of scotch to her lipstick stained lips, trying to block out the memories, trying to block out the guilt. Frank looked at her with an arched eyebrow as he spoke.

Frank: “The face of a woman spurned.”

Kendell Smith: “Excuse me?”

Frank: “Believe it or believe it not I know the facial expressions of a woman like the back of my hand. I was married for twenty-five years and let me tell you when you’re married that long you have to be familiar with a woman’s facial expressions just to survive. Having said that it doesn’t take a genius to realise that there’s something wrong with a woman who would rather sit drinking with a homeless man than go back to her home alone.”

Kendell Smith: “Do you believe in karma Frank?”

Frank: “Karma?”

Kendell Smith: “Yes, the wrong you do in life comes back to kick you in the ass.”

Frank: “Ha ha well I live in a doorway so I’ll leave that one up to yourself.”

Kendell Smith: “I’m due a good karma ass kicking. Lately I’ve been noticing how people who have lived their lives accordingly like the reflection of perfection are being screwed in the ass while I have glided through life doing what I want when I want without paying the price for it.”

She realised she was no longer really talking to Frank but instead to herself. She had drifted off in to a rhetorical discussion with her own doubt, guilt and self-realisation.

Frank: “Words of regret if ever I heard them. Many of us crucify ourselves between two thieves - regret for the past and fear of the future.”

Kendell Smith: “Insightful words for a man dressed in plaid.”

Frank: “You’re young, you have your whole life ahead of you. Don’t spend it worrying over spilt milk. Mistakes are what make us who we are so rather than shunning them use them to help you grow and then grab life by the balls.”

Kendell put her hands on the cold concrete and pushed herself up onto her feet so that she was standing over Frank. It was time to go home, sitting here on the streets of Manhattan wallowing in her own self pity with a man who looked like he hadn’t seen running water since the turn of the century wasn’t going to help her win her up and coming match. She looked through her purse and handed Frank a wad of bills.

Kendell Smith: “Here… find yourself somewhere to sleep and get yourself some better scotch.”

Frank took the money from her and smiled up at her gratefully. It was an uncommon act of kindness on Kendell’s part, out of character, but then she hadn’t been feeling in character a lot these days.

Frank: “God bless you and good luck.”

She smirked but nodded.

Robert Collier once said “All of us have bad luck and good luck. The man who persists through the bad luck -- who keeps right on going -- is the man who is there when the good luck comes -- and is ready to receive it.” Kendell could already feel the dark cloud pass, all that was left was to reap the benefits of her own persistence and on September 10th, that was exactly what she planned to do.