I won the match. I'm still the champion.

So why do I not smile? Why do tears threaten to fall?

I should be happy, right? But I'm not. Not happy at all.

But that's who I'm supposed to be. The happy girl. The one who always smiles. Come what may, I put on the brave face and act like things don't bother me. But not everything is black and white. Not everything is good and bad. Not everything is happy and sad.

Look at me there. Barely five years old. Smiling, of course. I didn't have problems then. Didn't even know what 'problems' meant. Good ol' times. I can't believe they dressed me up like that. Pink ribbons. Frilly dress. Big bow in my hair.

Maybe that's why I've ended up how I am. I mean, I would hardly call myself a typical girl. I'd rather have my trusty guitar than a new pair of shoes. Rather get the latest Playstation game than a make-over. I wrestle - you don't see may girls doing that. OK, they may valet or manage or whatever, but when it comes to actually getting in the ring and fighting it out, well most are too frightened of breaking a nail.

That's why I admire Ette. She's taking up the challenge, fighting against all odds to make something of herself. Sounds kind of familiar. She lost, it's true, but at least she had the guts to try. But if I'm honest, I'm surprised she's even made it this far. There's no doubt she has the talent - but she seems a wreck. Like her life's a disaster. Sounds familiar again. But they're bad memories. I don't want to think about those.

I turn the plastic coated page and there I am again.

Two years on. I'm seven now. And it's Halloween. The hand-written caption reads, "Jenny thinks she's a superhero!". A small smile appears on my face. Happier times. I stand proudly, hands on hips in the trademark 'Super-Girl' pose. I wear the costume to match. Seems I've always wanted to be a hero, eh?

Life's tough. So what?

Jango's a hero. He's the Universal champion. Well he was. It was sneaky what Ian did at Sex and Violence. But Jango will get his revenge. And maybe his title back. He held that title in quiet confidence. He wasn't cocky like some. He was level-headed. Took things in his stride. But that's almost all I know about him. He didn't wear his heart on his sleeve, like I sometimes did.

I prise the next two pages apart, a leak in the roof meaning they stick together. Squinting at the old picture, I recall that little face. "Jennifer in the Brownies." What was the motto? Serve your God....Help your Queen and country...Always do your best. And I always have. Done my best, I mean. At least, I've always tried. But maybe that's not good enough anymore. After all, but two weeks ago I was defeated. Pinned by a man who chose to talk more than he wrestled.

It was my own fault really. Neo had the reputation. I had heard of his talent, but didn't take it seriously enough. But I'm not going to beat myself over it any longer. I'm moving on. Look at the big picture: I'm the Underground champion...and he's not even got a job anymore.

It's too quiet up here. I don't like silence. Silence means sadness. Anger. Despair. Things I don't like to feel. That no-one likes to feel. But that is life. And that is what it's like in this attic. It's a room of memories. But not mine; they are my Mum's memories. Or 'Mom's' as I guess I should be saying now.

It's strange. I never thought she'd keep something like this. We didn't exactly...Well, we weren't always such the happy family - despite what the photos in the album in my hand show. She didn't want me to be a wrestler. Didn't want me to achieve anything. She wanted me to grow up and be a nice little housewife. But I wanted more. I've always wanted more. And that's why I did what I did.

But my Father - I shudder having to call him that - was the boss of the family. His word was law. Break his law, and you'd suffer the consequences. And yet, he actually encouraged me in 'my pursuit of greatness' as he called it. He'd train me - when he wasn't drunk I mean. He was a naturally aggressive man. That's why I can't mention him in front of my Mum. The physical scars may have healed, but those in her head remain.

There he is. Me, him and my Mum. A happy family. What a lie.

The hatred in me still burns. I want to rip up the photo, as if it would rip him out of my life. He has no right walking back to me, just because I've made it and he hasn't. Acting like I need him. Ha! His words were venom. They poisoned my mind. He made me hate my friends. Hate my Mum. Hate myself. He tried to turn me into the monster he was himself. And that why I had to escape. And I hate him. I hate him. I hate him so much.

I guess I need Free World Wrestling. A way of relieving my anger. But also my sole source of happiness. I should really thank Mr. Greer. He's made all this possible.

The album suddenly cracks in my hands, the paper stiff with rainwater and dust. My eyes flick back towards the worn pages, but there is nothing to fear. It remains intact. I guess it's been here for some while. I'm not surprised really. After all, the smiles soon faded.

There I am again. Me and the gang. I'm only twelve and the cracks in my smile have already started to appear. That's when I knew, when I learnt that life isn't all kittens and roses. But listen to me, going on about how bad life can be. Boo-freaking-hoo.

Life can be wonderful. Jake certainly knows that now. He won back his title. On his own. And he damn well deserved it. I know Jake's had stuff go on the past, but FWW is his life. I remember way back to the first edition of Mayhem. The build-up. The fans. And the main event. The whole roster in a battle royale for that title. It was such a shock for me, my first official match as a professional wrestler - I almost forgot what I was doing out there. But Jake didn't. It came down to it, him and Hate left in the ring. They hadn't been getting on at the time, so it was kind of fitting it came down to the two. And he did it. Mr Matthews did it. Until Travis came along anyway.

Come to think of it. Jake and I - we're the only two left from that first show. Each one of the others dropping out one by one. Couldn't cut it I guess. I bet people were just waiting for me to fail. To get my ass kicked and leave like the others. I didn't though. And look at me now, the first and still Underground champion.

Strange though, first impressions. I remember the first time we met, Jake and I. My little prank. Didn't think he'd even talk to me after that, but here we are. Who'd have thought I'd end up a proud member of Generation Elite, let alone that I'd...we'd...actually, let's not go into that.

The next page. I'm sweet sixteen and it's the night of the prom. I hated that dress. Big. Red. Feminine. Not me. Only five or six years ago though. Funny how things change.

You know, I'm probably happier that Jake got his title back than I am about retaining my own. Strange really. It's as if I'm cursed. Every time the title's on the line, every time I try and prove just why I am the champion, seems there's interference. The mysterious Justin Douglas - now even the boss himself, Mr Stan Greer. Kind of makes me wonder if I really do deserve that belt. If I really can do it alone.

But I can. I can do this. That's how I got here. I'm a fighter. A survivor. I won't take things lying down. And that will never change. And that's why Mayhem will bring the same old me. The same smiling, happy Faith. 100%. All I got. In that ring.

I've seen Stallone in action. I do not underestimate him - he certainly has a long career ahead of him. But he will not use me to progress. I am not a stepping stone. I am still striving to make something of myself, and I refuse to be crushed. So if people think I'm getting lazy, expect me to fail now I've slipped up before - then they are wrong. Very wrong.

The angel has fallen once.

But I will not again.

The pages are blank. Ending at "Jennifer aged 17". That's when I left. I guess she hates me now. My Mum I mean.

Wait.

There is more. Dozens of photos. Photographs of me in action, flying around that ring. I'd never expect her to have these. Guess she really was proud of me.

Guess lots of people are proud of me.

I flick through the pages. Images of the past.

A blonde baby.

Six-years old, I cry pointing to a fallen ice-cream cone.

Five and dressed like a proper girl.

Halloween.

A camping trip, I wave towards the camera.

Me in my Brownie uniform.

I'm hanging with the guys.

Air guitar, hair flying everywhere.

The night of the prom.

The day after the prom.

I make the mistake of dying my hair black.

Seventeen, I'm not smiling anymore.

Me in the ring.

Swantom bomb.

Suplex.

Faithless.

Roundhouse kick.

I've changed.

But who cares? I don't. I won't dwell in the past any longer.

I look towards the future.

To Mayhem.

And I smile.