(X)
The ring announcer cleared his throat, then spoke into the microphone: "For
this fight only, there are NO rules." He paused and let that sink in. "No
rules. Our lovely young challenger may use whatever stratagems she cares to.
And as for our irrepressible champion, Stars, well, she's been doing pretty
much whatever she wants to all night." The audience roared its appreciation.
"Now, girls, I won't ask for a good, clean fight, because clean is out of
the question. Just give it your best, and may the best woman be the last one
standing."
He stepped out of the ring, the gong sounded, and SG turned to face her
doom.
Stars, who had opened each of her earlier bouts by rushing forward and
getting in the first punch -usually the first flurry of punches - was oddly
relaxed. She sauntered over to SG with exaggerated casualness and turned to
an especially vocal part of the crowd and pretended to yawn. Then she cocked
her head, pointed to her jaw and invited SG to punch it.
The crowd got into the spirit. "Go ahead, hit her," yelled one fan. "What's
wrong, pussy, don't you know how to punch?" yelled a big woman at ringside.
But SG backed away, seemingly confused, and the crowd began to boo.
"Deck her, Stars," someone yelled. "Get this over with."
Stars shrugged and raised her hands in a gesture that said, "What more can I
do? I've given her every chance."
Then, so quickly that SG had no chance even to brace for it, Stars whirled
and punched her in the right breast. SG cried out, held her breast and
retreated. When she reached the ropes, she turned to protect her face and
belly from Stars' blows.
Stars hit her hard in the kidneys. SG's knees buckled. She was hanging on
the ropes, facing the crowd. People were screaming, snarling, laughing. What
were they laughing at, she wondered, just as Stars ripped off her headgear
and grabbed her by the hair.
Stars spun her around and looked into her frightened blue eyes.
"Okay, Trash Girl, let's see if you've learned how to bleed."
Holding her by the hair, she delivered three quick punches to SG's face.
"Ah, sweet Jesus, you've answered my prayers," Stars cried out as blood
gushed from SG's nose and already swelling lips and poured down her chin and
neck.
The sight of blood energized the crowd, and it was like a jolt of adrenaline
for Stars. She pounded SG mercilessly, and when SG slumped to the floor,
Stars shifted to her kicking mode. She kicked SG's stomach, she kicked her
crotch, she kicked her head.
Desperate to escape, SG pulled herself to the ropes and tried to crawl
beneath them. Stars grabbed her feet, dragged her back, then picked her up
and raised her high above the canvas.
SG was stretched out above her, one of Stars' hands gripping her throat, the
other holding her crotch.
"What do I do with her?" Stars yelled to the crowd.
"Slam her," several fans responded.
"Throw her over here," yelled a big drunken lout, who then grabbed his
crotch and gyrated suggestively.
Stars walked around the ring, holding SG overhead like a championship
trophy. She was enjoying herself immensely. She was radiant, almost
beautiful. She was no longer just Stars, she was a Star.
Too bad it would have to end, but at least it would be the end of Trash
Girl, too.
Stars went to one corner of the ring and laid SG out on her back where the
ropes met. "Hold her hair, Maxine," she told the big woman at ringside.
Maxine grabbed SG's hair and gave it a good yank.
"Hold her feet," Stars told another fan. He climbed up and did so, first
sneaking his hand between SG's thighs, to the delight of the crowd.
With her head hanging over the ropes, SG looked into a sea of merciless
faces. Everyone was upside down. Then she recognized Stick. Unlike the rest
of the fans, he sat silently, without expression. Then their eyes met, for
the briefest of moments. A look of pain spread across his face, then he
turned away.
SG wanted to call out to him, but a huge blow landed in her stomach and her
body involuntarily tried to double up. That was impossible. The big woman
held her tightly by the hair, and someone else was holding her ankles.
With SG stretched helplessly on the ropes, Stars pounded her midsection,
first with one fist, then another, then with both hands clenched together.
Even for an athlete in as good a shape as Stars, this was hard work. She
stopped for a breather, the walked around the ring, her hands on her hips,
gulping air and smiling at the crowd.
God, this was fun.
Then returned to the ropes, picked up SG and slammed her face down onto the
canvas. "I need your mike," Stars called to the ring announcer. The
announcer handed her his cordless microphone through the ropes. She placed
it on the canvas, next to SG's outstretched left arm. Then, planting her
right foot firmly on SG's elbow, Stars grabbed her wrist and sharply jerked
it upward, away from the canvas. The crack of the joint could be heard above
the noise of the crowd, and SG, who had seemed beaten into unconsciousness,
revived with a cry of anguish.
Stars picked up the mike and said breathlessly, "Now that's gotta hurt."
There was scattered laughter, but the crowd seemed subdued. Even the most
sadistic fans seemed shaken.
"How about the other arm?" Stars called out to the crowd. There were a few
shouts of encouragement, but it was clear that most fans had seen enough.
Stars felt hurt - and angry. Her moment of triumph was being spoiled. The
crowd that had so recently cheered her had suddenly transferred its sympathy
to this pitiful tramp.
Because of beauty. Because Trash Girl was pretty, and she was not.
Volcanic rage welled up within her.
"Okay," she shouted into the mike, "forget the arm. Let's work on that
pretty face."
She dragged SG back to the corner, stood her up, threw her arms over the
ropes and told Maxine to hold her elbows so she wouldn't sink back down to
the canvas. Then Stars went to work with newfound strength and savagery.
SG's head bounced back and forth as the punches battered her face. Gobs of
blood and an occasional tooth fell to the canvas.
After 30 punches, Stars stopped.
SG's head had fallen forward, her chin on her bloody chest. Stars spun her
around, then grabbed her hair and raised her head.
There were gasps of horror.
One eye was swollen shut. The other eyeball had partly emerged from its
socket and stared up at the ceiling. SG's nose was a shapeless, bloody lump.
Her jaw hung open, and her front teeth were missing from the bloody hole
that had been her mouth.
"You want pretty?" Stars screamed. "Here's pretty."
Then she grabbed SG's collar, dragged her to the middle of the ring and
dropped her lifeless body to the canvas.
It was all over.
*****
The coroner, a paid adviser to the Center's pathology department, certified
that the young woman, name unknown, died tragically in an athletic contest.
No one was to blame. Judge Vinson, a member of the center's board of
directors, accepted the coroner's report, and the case was closed.
SG's body was returned to the Medical Center. The kidneys and liver, too
badly damaged for transplant purposes, were removed, neatly packaged and
sent via a refrigerated truck to Mr. Cochon. In return, he made a generous,
tax-deductible $2,000 contribution to the Medical Center Foundation.
SG's breasts and buttocks were sliced and sent to a local deli owned by
Hammond's nephew.
Her arms and legs went to the county animal shelter, as dog food.
SG's disfigured head was deposited in a large jar of formaldehyde and ended
up on a shelf in a closet just off Dr. Cutler's office. From time to time,
she showed it to special visitors. Sometimes she enjoyed looking at it all
by herself.
Stars insisted on SG's heart and pussy, which she brought back to the
apartment, chopped up and made into a savory stew. Stick, unaware of the key
ingredients, pronounced it the best meat he'd ever tasted.
And the part of her that actually remained immortal? It descended to Hades
to suffer continued torment at the shadowy hands of those who had preceded
her: Jerome, Khalid, Jake and the scores of villains she had dispatched
before surrendering her super powers.
Sometimes, on a clear, cool night on the deck of the cabin overlooking the
valley near Big Pine Park, you can hear her screams. They sound like the
wind.
Thus do the gods reward those who defy them.
THE END
