Title: Half-Magic
Author: Missy
Email: [email protected]
Parts total: 1
Rating: R
Content: explicit language and
mild themes of violence.
Characters: Amy Dumas (Lita),
Matt Hardy (Same)
Category: Drama
Het/Slash/Both: Het
Summary: Lita compares her
life with Matt to a magic act.
Archical rights: Automatic
archival at the BCE Archive,
Kai's Page, Beyond
Boundaries, Wrestlefic.com
and Mirrors of Reality. All
others may ask, send a URL,
and provide full disclaimers as well as credit me fully. Please inform me if you are going to submit my
work to any sort of search engine. Please do not submit my work to a search engine that picks out
random sets of words and uses them as key words, such as "Google"
Distribution rights: Please contact me in order for this story to be placed on an archive, or if you
want know of a friend who would enjoy my works, please email me their address and I will mail
them the stories, expressly for the purpose of link trading. MiSTiers are welcomed! Please do inform
me that you'd like to do the MiSTing, however, and send me a copy of the finished product. I'd also
love to archive any MiSTings that are made of my work!
Disclaimer: Amy Dumas, et. Al are proprietized by themselves; Lita, as well as any other WWF c and
TM character name, is C and TM WWFE Inc.,. It is not meant to reflect on the sexuality of the actual
involved parties. This piece of fanfiction is not intended to misrepresent actual events and bare no
resemblance to any event that has ever occurred in reality, past or present. It is not meant to
disparage the used character trademarks or used persons. No copyright infringement is intended,
and the author is not making any money from the publication of this story.
****
This is not easy, though it may appear to be. Tis all but an illusion, my friend.
I always come out whole in the end.
I am his business, his way of presentation. It is his doing and his undoing, I am. I know this, for he
yearns to case me in rings of powdery smoke, echoing from the tips of my fingers to my elbows,
circling, unbound, to engulf me in a wicked fog. Hoping to make me disappear.
But I always pop up in the crowd, smiling perlescently back at the stage.
Effortlessly, I have taken my head off for him; holding it out for all to see; a polite dip of the shoulder
and a curve of the brow. How are you doing, mister? Don't pass out yet; the best part isn't
here.
I hold court by the stage, mannequin still in a white dress while he throws himself into a sharks'
den. I know that seems risky, but you don't see the safety pin on the back of his straight jacket; the
one that releases him from the condemning arms; a razor blade, slicing his flesh, fresh and new.
Red streaks our waters.
After, I will tend to him, even when he pushes me away. I will return with the scarf whirled around
my neck, used to soak up quarter-sized dots of blood.
He will push me away, but I will press myself to him; I can be the whore, I can be the mother, and I
will damned well be both if I please.
But he would love to just saw me in half. Disembody me so that I won't have a thought left in my
head.
There's a trick that we do where I have to crawl under water, through grey hoops, like forgotten
walebones, over broken glass, to reach him. That's his favorite; me on my knees, begging for
mercy.
And there's disappointment when I rise and walk away.
But I'm still the mistress beside the curtain; pointing him out to the world. Isn't he lovely? And I'm
fucking him!
Under the games, under the prettiness we present to the world, I think you all see the truth. If he
had his magic wand, he'd puff me into non-existence.
But all he has are his words.
"Fuck YOU, Lita." He snaps.
No, Matt, fuck you. Fuck you and this soul-less state of non-existence we're living in, like
black circles of water.
They're rising for us.
And it's not an illusion.