Commence Literal and Metaphorical Wakeup

Her eyes open out of sleep to find herself walled in by darkened trees whose jagged tips look like teeth reaching up for the starry night panoramic blanket of a sky overhead.

Am I dreaming this?

Thirteen blinks and winces in pain at the sensation of a metal bar under the back of her neck. Another is braced awkwardly against her bum, and one pushes under the curve of her bare knees.

Where… in the hell…?

She sits up in an uncomfortable hurry and glances about herself. In the moonlight she makes out that she’s wearing the shorts and the halter she went to sleep in. The juxtaposition of normalcy with strangeness causes her to frown. A small canoe is her bed undulating on the glassy black ripples of some body of water.

…Huh.

As she rearranges herself to sit more comfortably in the canoe, her hands skim and thump into the coarse insides of the boat searching for paddles, or a life jacket, or even a map. She’s gripped by the sudden onset of fear when she finds nothing of use. Her eyes dart for answers in the blackened confusion of just waking up in the middle of the night in a boat with no paddles.

There’s really only one thing you’ll ever need to know about me.

Deep, soothing breaths help her gather her bearings. Thereafter she knows there’s no point fretting over the “where”, the “why”, or the “how” of this predicament, only what she’s to do about the state she’s found herself in.

Okay, two things, actually: the first being that this isn’t as odd or inexplicable to me as it may seem to anyone else

The canoe trembles and slides from side to side on the water as she plants her feet into the bottom of the canoe and carefully rises. Her hands grip the sides as she hunches over and tests a theory by thrusting her body so the boat dips up and down. The boat gently bobs and glides towards land. A victorious smile creeps onto her lips.

The second thing: I don’t give up.

She continues the motion. Hours, months and years of intensive fitness training make this as simple as doing squat thrusts, only on water, and in a canoe. Her efforts push the boat closer and closer to the shore through sheer momentum and inertia. She can feel the tip of the canoe dig into land, and she eagerly hops from the vessel splashing ankle-deep into water to pull the canoe onto grass. Satisfied, she sweeps some sweaty hair from her eyes. She frowns into the darkness of wherever she landed, confronted with a brand new problem.

Where on earth am I?
When I was a kid this would’ve seemed like a vacation, or an adventure, an escape at the very least. The thought of running barefoot through some forest at night was magical and freeing then. Now, it’s disturbing that my toes sweep through long, dewy grass, that I must hike up my knees in a sprint and coarse between rows of trees heading in some nebulous direction I’m uncertain of in pitch-black night. Cue imaginary Jason Voorhees creep sounds from somewhere in the deep dark woods.

CHHH-CHHHH-CHHHHH. HAAA-HAAAA-HAAAAA.

Truthfully, this is a new one. Might as well relish the experience, right? Maybe I’ll bound a little like a deer as I run.

I suppose, now that there’s no clear and present danger, it would be a good time to remember how I got here. Cause how can I know where I’m going if I don’t know where I’ve been, right? My name’s Thirteen, though I’ve been seriously considering changing it. I’m a wrestler by trade. I’ve had some moderate successes in a short stint of time like featuring in some main event matches against some pretty talented opponents. I even won a title belt once. Held it for 35 days. If I were wearing suspenders I’d likely jut them proudly away from my puffed up chest with my thumbs and mug smugly for some promotional material I could slap my name on.

Actually, I wouldn’t because it doesn’t matter. I took a break. I blamed it on the name. You don’t need to tell me, it is an odd name. It is a name that follows me and spells out a gimmick that just so happens to be accurate; note my current circumstances for proof if you don’t believe me. The problem was my whole reason for getting back into the sport some months ago was foundationally unsound. I signed on the dotted line to appease someone else, literally on account of a woman who’s own career had floundered and was looking for someone she could use to compete through by proxy. Someone whose life I became inextricably linked with and caught up in until it almost became mine. In truth, it felt like there was something, someone, waiting around every corner. It felt like there was some ominous foot permanently hanging over my head ready to squash me.

Ouch. Sharp stick. Hard to watch where I’m going in the dark. I digress.

Pain and loss aren’t good places to wrestle from. Each is a crooked motivator. My mind and my heart weren’t in what I was doing, so I stopped. I took a vacation thanks to Paul Knight’s generous contract payout settlement. I was released from Uprising, with no harm and no foul, and no hard feelings. I got to see Brazil for the first time as an adult, in spite of being born there. I managed to get out of my obligations, and my goal ever since has been to untangle my life from the mess.

I’m tired of looking back into a pit of despair and unsatisfied longing. I’m tired of where I was entirely. I don’t want that name, and those problems following me any further. I cleared out of Canada, cleared my head in Brazil and made a decision for myself to sign with Boardwalk. This time there’s no invisible foot trying to squash me, my struggles don’t come attached to someone else’s baggage. I am motivated solely by a desire to find myself in a place I’ve never been, to compete at my fullest with no encumbrances.

Boardwalk friend or foe forget whatever you might know about Thirteen, if you know anything at all. Spare me my own history lesson, you won’t find effective ammunition there.

You can bring up whatever you want about 4CW, my record isn’t flawless, but it isn’t shameful either.

And frankly, I’m just really happy to leave Monarchy Wrestling behind me.

The woman you meet now is not the same as the woman she was.

She’s something new, something better.

The run feels good. I can feel the sweat sheen on my skin. The discomfort of the strange forest seems fitting now. As I run, and evidently internally monologue, I see an incandescent light on in a house up ahead of me.

That’s right! I took some of my settlement money and rented a quaint cottage off Lake Erskine.

I haven’t had the best of lives, but then who has, right? Those two things you need to know about me are just good old-fashioned life truths that’ll stick with me. The reason I never give up is because I know there’s always something to look forward to regardless.

I make a beeline through the trees for the house and quickly find the property line. Once I recognize the terrain I hasten my trek through my own back yard. My moist bare feet stamp onto the wooden steps and I find my way up onto the porch full of a sense of accomplishment. I even give a smirking Rocky celebration, lifting my arms as I run in place and throw a few shadow punches before I start to realize the cool night air.

She stepped through the sliding back door and closed the screen behind her. She’d lived long enough on the road to be able to feel like anyplace was home. She smoothed the soles of her feet on the carpet and finally felt the stiffness in her muscles return. An intensive training session earlier in the day with Cyrus Riddle had coupled with a solid week and a half of getting back onto a solid training regimen. Her body had returned to the good kind of soreness. And everything fell into place so neatly it startled her.

Everything, of course, save the strange wakeups. This wasn’t the first time she’d awoken in some strange place. Two days ago it was in the driver’s seat of her rental car with the remnants of a nutri-grain bar shoved in the ignition. Days before that she’d woken up wearing every item of clothing she owned. She didn’t need to put too many pieces together to recognize what was going on. On the night stand on her bedroom stood the pill bottle of Ambien, a “sleep aid” with quirky side effects similar to those she was experiencing.

Her problems had dwindled with better sleep, and so what if she woke up in a canoe? The alternative to the Ambien seemed worse. Recurrent nightmares plagued her previously, remnants of a life she was more than happy to lay in a coffin. 4CW and missed opportunities lay behind her; Monarchy was a distant memory in no small part thanks to Ambien and better sleep. She shook it all from her mind like an eager goodbye and rolled her neck as early morning sunlight rolled in through the windows enough to elicit a yawn like she’d finally rested.

Time to start the day, she thought without a hint of irony at how long she’d already been awake and all she’d already managed to accomplish. Smiling brightly, she moved to the fridge, passing the Boardwalk information they’d sent and re-read it as she passed forced into doing a double take.

Jan Van Der Roost is in this match…

A casual frown crept onto her brow as she blinked a few times.

But Jan Van Der Roost was from…

Her left eye almost twitched before she said the name. Instead her fists clenched and hissed the name through gritted teeth.

Monarchy Wrestling.

She shook her head in frustration.

Son of a…Just when I thought I was out, too.

The tension eased as she sighed. It wasn’t like she could change the booking, not like she would change the booking, not like Jan represented that fed anymore either. Neither of them really did from the beginning. If anything, that fed represented something both she and Jan shared in disliking.

So be it.

This was something new, afterall. You can’t move too far forward without bringing at least one piece of old baggage with you, she reasoned. Still…

I need a drink.

Opening the door of the fridge her sneakers spilled out into her surprised hands.

What the--?

They’d been in there for sometime.

Guess I know where I hid those last night.

She looked around knowing no one else was there to disaparage her and gave not-so embarrassed shrug.

I guess I can just throw them in the dryer or something…


There Thirteen stood in a set of grey Fabletics leggings and a tight fitting branded halter sports bra. The workout had been vigorous; Thirteen had taken some time to ensure she looked presentable even if the camera had yet to begin filming. A man calling himself Telly Schiavone stood beside her in a sport jacket holding a microphone.

Telly Schiavone: Thirteen, right?

Thirteen smiled and basked in the impending sense of a promo about to be cut. It has been a while. Her smile broadened.

Thirteen: In the flesh.

Telly Schiavone: I can see that.[/i]

He scans her figure.

Telly Schiavone: I’m Telly Schiavone. And might I say you are looking scrumptious.

Thirteen regarded him awkwardly.

Thirteen: Thanks… I guess.

He glanced down at her feet.

Telly Schiavone: Sorry, but I have to ask, what’s with the shoes?

Thirteen’s expression momentarily sours as she shifts uncomfortably on her feet.

Thirteen: They shrunk.

Telly Schiavone: I can see that. How did that happen?

Thirteen: It-it’s a long story. Can we just get to the interview please?

Telly Schiavone: Okay. Just seems like a weird thing to happen—

Thirteen: Yeah, I get it.

Telly shrugs and cues the camera.

Camera Person Rudy: -olling.

Telly Schiavone: And we’re live here with newly signed Boardwalk talent and fitness madwoman, Thirteen.

Thirteen waves with a bright smile at those who will be watching at home.

Telly Schiavone: Glad to have you, Ms. Thirteen. Very excited to see more of you in and out of the ring. So, let’s just get right down to it. This week on Xtra, you’re scheduled to go against the third ranked contenders for the Tag Title belts of Boardwalk, “The Sisterhood”, and your partner is an old friend from your Monarchy days—.

Thirteen: Well, I wouldn’t call him a friend, exactly.

Telly Schiavone: Oh? Is there some animosity brewing already between the two of you?

Thirteen: No. What the Rooster and I have is a friendly affiliation. Jan and I, a long time ago, in a galaxy far away, forged an unspoken bond to stand against a tyrannically dictatorial federation CEO who made idiotic decisions in booking and displayed downright stupidity. I’m not saying those are present in this case, don’t get me wrong, I am saying that Jan and I formed a mutual respect for one another’s interests back in our time in Monarchy that will undoubtedly carry through into our match. I don’t agree with Jan’s choices, I don’t idolize his career, I don’t have to, but I do respect him. I can’t think of a better way to start my career off in Boardwalk then by paying back old favors and strengthening a bond that worked in the past.

Telly nods approvingly.

Telly Schiavone: Sweet. Sounds like a shared history might benefit you two against Sativa Neveah and Synnum Dela Cruz.

Thirteen considers it grimly with a shake of her head before looking squarely into the camera.

Thirteen: Unfortunately for the Sisterhood, there are a number of things working against them in this upcoming match and it has everything to do with their singles careers. They’ve clearly been a modestly successful tag-team in Boardwalk to hold the position they do. But what makes anyone think Synn’s going to have much gas left in the tank after while she’s busy preparing to lose her Fate Title over at 4CW?

That’s right, I pay attention to the world around me as well, Synn. I’m no Persephone Marquis, faced her once and know what you’re up against, and I think I can tell as well as you can when someone’s got your number.

She has it, doesn’t she?

So, while you worry about losing a belt over in your other federation way down in Canada, (and believe me, you’re worried,) you’re going to show up here on Thursday night after telling everybody your focus has been perfectly fixed on this match, which it won’t be, otherwise you’re not really preparing for that OTHER match, are you?

I won’t make this match about that other federation, though. What matters to me is this match, Synn. A match I’ve had ample time to train and prepare for, and to focus on. I have nothing personal to hold against you.

I am here in Boardwalk to succeed, though.

And since you and your tag partner are the ones standing in the way of my first victory here in my new digs, I’d say that’s enough of a reason to come down to the ring ready to beat you senseless and start my career here in Atlantic City off on a good foot.

And, when I walk down that ramp ready to beat you I have a partner I can trust at my side. Do you?

Thirteen takes a breath, shifting on her uncomfortable shoes, and preparing her next diatribe

Thirteen: From what I’ve seen, Sativa Neveah, the “Ganja Goddess” is no slouch, either. Unlike Synn, however, Sativa’s not splitting her time between multiple places, unless you count the rumors of her supposedly running all of Los Angeles on the down-low while working in New Jersey for some reason.

That’s beside the point.

Sativa’s successful singles matches have been impressive to say the least. So, how is it you might ask, her performance as a singles competitor puts her at a disadvantage against Jan and I in this tag match?

Well, by her own admission those she’s fought and defeated such as Zybala, or Myris, have gone on to challenge for a title belt while she’s left to whine about it.

Sativa Neveah, you may very well be the Jan Brady of Boardwalk. There’s always another Marcia, isn’t there?

Way I see it, going into this match with Sativa Neveah involved is a win-win. If the Rooster and I lose this match it’s a lock, based on history alone, that we’ll go on to challenge for the tag belts in no time thanks to Sativa’s own observation of the way of things. And if we win, well, it’s just a hop skip and a jump until we go on to challenge for the tag belts.

What’s really sad is if you check the Boardwalk website, Sativa’s literally one person on one page, and another person on another page. If it’s not two people pretending to be Sativa Neveah, then somebody literally didn’t notice that one chick wasn’t Sativa anymore.

Jan Brady, indeed.

And, perhaps, Sativah’s burgeoning conspiracy theories will be proven right, huh?

But this is a tag team match. Singles success doesn’t mean a thing here. And these two have been a tag team for a minute longer than Jan and I have. This isn’t some uneven battlefield we’re walking into. As far as I’m concerned, “The Sisterhood” has as much still to prove to Boardwalk fans as Jan and I do.

No one’s on a pedestal in this match no matter what these two may say.

I’m here in Boardwalk to make a splash, and here’s me placing my first bet that it’s going to happen this Thursday on Xtra in this match.

Thirteen’s wide smile returns. Telly seems pleased as he glances to cameraperson Rudy to ensure they captured all that before looking back to Thirteen ready for a handshake.

Telly Schiavone: That was great. Thank you. So, you’re debuting in Boardwalk to a whole new set of fans, is there anyway they might be able to reach you, or otherwise keep up with the goings on for Thirteen?

Thirteen: Uhmmmm, yeah! There’s always my Twitter account. @lifeunsatisfied. That’s usually the best way to keep tabs on me.

Telly Schiavone: Sweet. I’m sure we’ll be seeing plenty more of you.

He shakes her hand.

Telly Schiavone: Thirteen, thank you. I wish you luck in your debut in Boardwalk!

They both smile for the camera, the perfect photo op, then the camera fades to black.

Off camera the handshake ends. Thirteen remains pleasant.

Thirteen: That was great. Good job!

Telly Schiavone: You too!

Thirteen fixes a long strand of dark hair behind her ear as Telly and his camera person ready to leave.

Thirteen: So, when will that air for Boardwalk?

Telly and cameraperson Rudy snicker.

Telly Schiavone: Boardwalk? Babe, we don’t work for Boardwalk.

Thirteen shifts uneasily in her uncomfortably small shoes.

Thirteen: What? I thought—

Telly Schiavone: Well, you thought wrong. That shits going on our YouTube feed.

Disconcerted, Thirteen’s confusion mounts.

Thirteen: So you’re just some YouTuber?

Telly snickers again.

Telly Schiavone: Heh, yeah. Just don’t call me a Millenial.

Thirteen folds her arms hopefully across her chest.

Thirteen: H-how many people visit your YouTube page?

Telly Schiavone: Now? Like 200 hits is my maximum so far on my wrestling, but who knows, you might draw us a couple more. Can always send me some nudes. That might pad the hit count.

Thirteen is offended. Telly snickers to himself and doesn’t seem to notice or care as he wraps the cord for his microphone.

Telly Schiavone: Anyway, See you around, babe. Thanks for the time

Thirteen’s left confused with a sense of bare nudity as she’s forced to watch some youtuber walk off with her first ever Boardwalk promo.

Thirteen: WAIT! At least let me have that footage for myself!

Too late. They’re swallowed up by the gym crowd. Thirteen frowns, not like this amounts to the first time she’s ever cut a promo that misfired somehow. The awkward shrug of dismay as she turns back to the gym equipment.

Thirteen: Okay… Guess I’ll just keep training then and hope that promo turns up at some point…