0019.MP4 - "Everything Burns" [MAL Title Match]

[Izzy Anders]

---

“I have held this belt pretty much my whole FGA career, you know,” Izzy spoke, beginning the scene. Once again, Izzy sat in front of a roaring inferno. Inside of the pyre were pictures. With the camera’s zoom, they could be made out. There were pictures of Izzy with Artemis and Kaya, her best friends. Another highlight was her standing on the top room after she won her debut match in FGA. Another was her triumphant victory in the Rookie X Cup, her defining moment, before her Mid-Atlantic Championship win.

“Camellia D. Magna,” Izzy hurled a picture of Camellia before her drastic change. She was standing there with a shining smile, something that people missed. Izzy watched her burn in the fire, no emotion coming upon her face.

“Fujiko Mine,” another picture went in. It was one that Izzy took with her once-crush. It was reminiscent of a time before the two went their separate ways. They stood there, clad in Renati-brand wear. Izzy once again showed no response to the destruction.

“Dom Harter,” she actually snickered when she flung a picture of him into the fire. The man stood centerstage, celebrating his first FGA Championship win along with the rest of the Murder. A devilish grin remained on Izzy’s face as her worst enemy went up in smoke.

“Salem Cartier,” a picture taken from Artemis’s and Salem’s wedding. Izzy stood next to Salem, hugging her lightly. The two looked as close as sisters in the picture; Izzy allowing Salem closer to her than most. Izzy’s face returned to its default, expressionless state. She looked up into the air, watching the trail of smoke.

Finally, in her hand, it was a picture of Savannah Taylor, holding up the EXODUS Pro Championship. The joy in her face was unrivaled to anything else that many have seen. Izzy looked at the picture for a moment and hesitated to throw it into the pyre. “Savannah Taylor, you’re among this list of people that have come to take this championship from me. You’re another one who has failed to. But yet, you stand before me again.”

“I admit,” Izzy said, speaking to the picture directly, rather than the camera, “I didn’t beat you the way that I wanted to. I left that night as a hurt champion. I should’ve lost my championship to you. I’m a woman of many things, one of the most prominent being a realist. I know when I was beat. I hated every minute of it, but were the odds ever in my favor that night.”

“It’s a rare chance that one gets to rectify themselves, to right a certain wrong,” Izzy paused for a moment.

“I get to beat you the right way, putting you down and walking out with the belt that has defined my entire life,” Izzy concluded her train of thought, before raising the picture high into the air. She gazed at it with a light smile on her face.

“How was that night, Savannah? The night that you won the most important championship you’ve ever held? That belt there defines you like the Mid-Atlantic Legacy Championship defines me. Actually, this match resembles the match where you won this championship right here,” Izzy prodded at the EXODUS Pro Championship on the picture, then laughed.

“An opportunity at glory stolen from you by another person. Then came a rare chance to take it all for yourself. In a triple threat nonetheless. The stars have aligned at the Gold Rush Rumble, Savannah, but I’m sorry to say it’s not for you,” Izzy lowered the picture down, eyeing it with silent contempt. “You think I’m going to let you come down to this ring and take the actual most important thing to me away from me. You think I’ll let you manufacture your own definition of destiny and SCREW ME OVER?! I’ve maimed people for less than that. So what you do you think I’m going to do to you?”

“You know, the thing about experience is that you tend to forget things over time. I wonder how many times have you pushed off the ‘most important’ label onto something else? When you won the EXODUS Pro Championship, did you forget about your dominant reign as San Diego Bay Champion? Did you forget what probably put you on the map? What kind of champion are you?”

“This is the reason why I hate you new people, you invaders. You’re all liars. You always parade around, spewing nonsense about how important things are. We both know that you hardly care for any championship, as long as you have one. You don’t care about making it the most sought after thing in the company. You only care about padding your stats, the glitz and glamour of being a champion. I bet you look at my championship and don’t even know its name!”

“I have defined this championship! This championship isn’t some statistic to me. I have bled for this championship. I have cried for this championship. I have ruined every friendship that I have to make sure I wake up with this championship next to me! I have loved this championship more than anyone else who held it. Hell, I have loved this championship more than anyone has loved their own child!” Izzy clutched the Mid-Atlantic Championship close to her form, her arms shaking from the intensity in which she held it. “And there’s no way in hell I’m going to let someone who doesn’t appreciate its value take it away from me.”

When Izzy released the championship from her crushing grip, she tiredly rose the picture of Savannah into the air and threw it into the fire. She hissed in temporary pain as the fire necked at her skin. “And you already know that I’m not going to let Annie Zellor take this from me. I’d rather die with the championship still in my hands than let her take it from me.”

“Annie, my dear, I…thank you for saving my reign, but do you truly believe that this match is a reward? I bet that’s what you’re thinking. You’re thinking that your heroic actions require compensation. It’s what idiots like you think. You think that since you’re a hero, you deserve all the recognition, love, and attention that a ‘villain’ like me doesn’t get.”

Izzy lowered down to retrieve a photograph. Annie was on it. She stood next to Laurel Anne Hardy, celebrating her Tag Team Championship reign. “This isn’t a reward, Annie. This is a punishment. Because you’re a bad person. You said it yourself. I’ve remembered it ever since. And I’ve been waiting for the chance to truly punish you for it. The match we had…you just got a taste of what I can do.”

“I have you now in an environment that I can truly take advantage of. Killing two birds with one stone. See, for you, Annie,” Izzy caressed the photograph slightly, “I get to exact my personal revenge against you for what you did to me. You stopped me from taking out an abuser. You want to parade around what you did as heroic. You helped turn the people on me and make them HATE me for defending myself. You really are a bad person, Annie. You just have everyone convinced because you’ve been up their ass for so damn long that they LOVE it.”

“Dom Harter didn’t just attack me. No, I’ve been attacked before. I’ve been hurt worse physically than what Dom Harter did to me, because of how I grew up. I grew up in a place that you know nothing about. Behind your Starbucks and stupid albums, you have lived a lavish lifestyle. You’re just now being introduced to the reality of the world. I’ve been trying to escape it for years. When I came to wrestling, I thought I had a chance to.”

Izzy shook her head, letting free a disjointed laugh. “Dom Harter took that dream away from me. He took away that thought of safety from me. I thought he would end my career and send me back just for this championship here! But you saved him. You saved an abuser like him just because you thought you should. You’re no hero, Annie. You’re an enabler, a manipulator, a hypocrite. I might the only one who sees it. Actually, I think Laurel sees it too. I earnestly hope that all of your blind friends start to see through you too. Because you are a bad person, Annie, who let bad people do horrible things to good people.”

“So I’m free to say that I hate you, Annie Zellor. And I hope I can take away that same notion of safety from you in this match. I want you to shudder every time you see me, hear my name, and even think of me. I want you to have nightmares that your boytoy, your knight in shining armor, can’t save you from. It just so happens that Savannah is here to lend a hand in either saving you or damning you.”

“Savannah, Annie, this match tests something. Which is stronger? Your yearning to hurt other people or your desire for gold? Both of you probably want to hurt each other. You both want to hurt me, I know. You both want this championship away from me, but I’ll fill you in on a grim reality.”

“There’s no power in the world that will be able to take this championship from me. You’re both too weak. Your hate isn’t great enough to give you the strength to stop me. Your lust for gold isn’t starved enough to push yourself to steal from me. But boy, I’ve grown more and more excited to break you both. I don’t just want you out of the Mid-Atlantic Legacy Championship picture, I want you out of my sight forever.”

“Hence why I’m killing two birds with one stone. Not only will I silence your claims to my belt, but I’ll silence you. I want you gone from FGA. I want you to disappear forever. I never want to see you two again. I want to cover the path to me in bloodied bodies and broken dreams, a sadistic red carpet. Because the true main event is coming. I’ve marked the calendar and waited to see him come.”

“At the end of the path, two heads will be on pikes. Savannah Taylor and Annie Zellor, two more additions to my legendary reign,” Izzy rose up one final picture. It was one of Izzy with a bright smile on her face, a look far gone from her. The innocence of the picture went up in smoke as she dropped the picture into the fire. Izzy actually shed a tear as she watched herself fade away.

“This fire in my skin, this itching need to hurt you both has overwhelmed me,” Izzy stood up, taking up her Mid-Atlantic Championship belt. She just eyed the flames, returning to her expressionless state.

“And ladies…everything burns.”

---

Izzy went back to her apartment back in Toronto, a place she hadn’t been in what felt like eons. When she entered the room, she could feel a weirdness wash over her. She looked around, spotting the dust covered items that she left behind. She coughed roughly when it infiltrated her system, but it soon subsided. She took careful steps in, feeling as if something predatory would rush her and kill her on the spot.

When the unfamiliar feeling dissipated, Izzy strolled around her former home casually. She checked the fridge, seeing the milk was way past overdue. For whatever reason, she opened it. She gagged at the smell naturally and capped it quickly. She opened the freezer, seeing that she had some popsicles left over. She took one and began to rifle through the large amount of mail she stockpiled.

“Huh, didn’t know that I subscribed to Seventeen still,” she spoke lightly as she looked at Vanessa Hudgens’ on the cover. She sighed and placed it onto the stack of Seventeen magazines. After finishing the dessert, she moved along to her bedroom. Instinctively, she plopped down upon her bed. She missed how comfortable her bed was; she could feel her indent in it.

The sirens of police cars, the random chatter, and the odd streaks of silence made Izzy return to her past self. Sitting in a bed, wondering about what came next. As she got up, she looked up to see her body mirror. She could see the small scars and the dreariness that was latent. Her skin looked tired. Her hair was well-maintained, but lack the livelihood of the last time she looked in the mirror.

She stood up, taking off her shirt. As she did, she saw the changes that her career has taken on her. No longer did she saw that her abdominal muscles had fully developed. Along her arms were the different skin discolorations that came from the bruises and cuts she suffered. Her knuckles were worn from the amount of violence she waged to defend her championship and herself. She placed her hand upon her chest, rubbing the scar that came from getting shot earlier in her life.

“I’m beautiful,” Izzy said, after a long while.

“I’m beautiful, no matter what anyone says,” she said, sending herself into a trance. She opened up her closet, reaching within to find a black dress. She eyed it for a minute. “But you’re truly alone in the world now,” Izzy added, clutching the dress with slight rage.

She looked downward to the ground after she concluded her statement. The rage submerged itself into her psyche, allowing grief to take over. She wanted to cry, but there were no tears to give. Her mind had yet to decide if she was going to cry or simply sit around, emotionless...as always.

“Isabella Anders?” a voice echoed in her head.

“Yes?” the conversation fully manifested inside of Izzy’s head.

“Hello, my name is Patricia Helmer; I’m calling from the Detroit Medical Center,” the voice sounded almost robotic to Izzy, which only confused her more.

“Uh-huh?” Izzy leaked out, auto-responding to the statement.

“You’re Freida Anders’ daughter?” Patricia asked, causing Izzy’s eyes to widen slightly. What was wrong with her mother?

“What’s the matter with her? What’s wrong? I-Is she hurt?”

There was a silence for a while. Izzy broke it when she noticed. “Tell me! Did she fall? What?”

“There’s no easy way to tell you this—“

“Please…no,” Izzy didn’t even need to hear the words. Patricia’s statement was far than enough for the storm, the paranoia in Izzy’s head to come to a standstill. There’s no easy way to say something horrible. If her mother had cancer, she would tell Izzy herself.

“Your mother died this morning,” Patricia’s voice almost fell upon deaf ears. 

...

“Uh-huh,” Izzy fell upon her mirror, sliding down it. There were no tears, only a growing black hole in her stomach. She laid on the phone, her eyes turned down to the ground.

“She…she,” Patricia had a tough time saying anything further, “The police will be calling you when they have an official statement for you,” she added, nervously.

“Yeah,” Izzy auto-responded, scratching absentmindedly at her leg.

“Um, have a nice day, Miss Anders. My condolences.”

“It doesn’t matter if you offer them or not, my mother is fucking dead,” Izzy hissed before hurling her phone across the room. It hit the wall extremely hard, bouncing off with a loud crash. Izzy went blind, deep anger ripping out of her body. She slammed her hand against the wall. She stood up with a guttural noise.

“Police? What the hell did you do, Mom?!” she glared into the mirror, “What the hell did you do?”

With a roar of unbridled fury, Izzy smashed her fist into the mirror. Pieces went flying past her in a brilliant glimmer. She continued to destroy parts of her room, before she noticed the amount of blood that was hitting the carpet. She looked at her hands and saw that she once again injured herself. As she looked at her injuries, she allowed herself to calm down.

Looking down at her hand in the memory caused her to come back to reality. Izzy looked at the healing wounds on her hands. While she stood there, she looked up at the mirror. It was not the same one. “Why did I get another one?” she mumbled, placing her hand over her own reflection. The faint sound of her cell phone ringing caught her ears. She walked over to the stack of Seventeen magazines. Her new cell phone glistened in the refracted light.

She picked it up and answered. “Hello?”

“Hello, this is Officer Gregory Rose from the DPD, is this Miss Anders?” a gruff voice rung out to Izzy. She lolled her tongue in her mouth.

“Yes, this is she,” Izzy said, her words influenced by a cold air.

“We have an official…uh, cause of death,” Rose said, hearing Izzy’s dreadful tone.

“Can I take a guess?” Izzy asked, refraining from chuckling.

Officer Rose didn't seem amused by her cynical humor. “Ma’am, there’s no easy way to say this.”

“There never is,” Izzy said, strolling back over to her new mirror. She gazed at it with a vagrant smile on her face.

Once again, a silence came between the two. Izzy felt more irritated than before about it. She wanted to growl, but she didn’t want the officer to feel threatened. She didn’t need an investigation of any sorts in her own psyche. Finally, papers were being moved on his side. He must have done it absentmindedly, to avoid the awkward silence.

“She committed suicide.”