Post by Amber Mansley on Apr 14, 2024 19:49:55 GMT -5
Hi Dad! I'm leaving you another message. I hope everything's okay at the hospital; I haven't heard back from you in a long time, and I hope the treatment is going well. I've been focusing on what you said and making better changes in my life. You'll be proud of me, and I can't wait to see you. Please return my call; I want to hear your voice again. I love you, Dad.
Hnng! Hnng! Hnng! Hnng!
Her phone was humming violently as it vibrated on the bedside table next to her hotel in the Hilton at West Palm Beach. The sun struck through the soft blinds of her bedroom inside the presidential suite, and the Saturday morning presented an atmospheric touch she was looking forward to. Amber sat up, rubbed the chunks of eye crust off her face, and looked around at her room covered under the soft sheets. Hilton always had excellent customer service, so she had her team pre-select them for her travel arrangements.
However, she did this alone. Amber booked this trip by herself due to how much it meant—to her father.
She wanted to see him after everything. Her life was getting better, her career was taking off, and Amber was on the cusp of making history to become a double champion on the two most significant nights of her career. She wanted to make this unique and reunite with her father after leaving home for so long. The nightmares burned deep in her soul, making it nearly impossible for her to sleep, but not anymore.
Hnng! Hnng! Hnng! Hnng!
The repetitive nature of the phone's vibrations was ignored. Amber found solace in the hot, steamy shower, excited about the day ahead. No phones, no technology, social media, or anything of that matter. She was finally going to see her dad. Once she turned off the shower handle, she stepped out, wrapping the towel around her chest and covering her body as she ran her fingers through the wet strands of her beach-blonde hair. Amber rubbed the fog off the mirror, getting a good glimpse of her reflection, and it was different.
No scowls, no pain, no suffering, or any negativity. The genuine smile her dad always praised her for—the smile of a daughter.
Amber couldn't waste any time. She got ready as soon as she could, shuffling through the multitudes of fashion designer clothing apparel at her disposal, but instead, she wanted to do something a tiny basic. Instead of Jimmy Choo's, Michael Kors, and Victoria's Secret, she opted for FashionNova on a less high-end spectrum of her fashion choices. Amber stood in front of her mirror in her white sneakers, a black leather jacket with a string top, and tight blue denim jeans with her up in a curly ponytail, with less makeup and looking more ladylike than usual. SimplicySimplicityve is a way of becoming complex in people's eyes.
Hnng! Hnng! Hnng! Hnng!
"Really?" She rolled her eyes, having enough of the recurring hum against the table. She marched over and sat on the bed, checking her phone to see that it was her former manager, Steven, whom she had fired after her recent transgressions from the bar fight. She pressed her thumb against the phone and answered the call before pressing it against her right ear. "What is it?"
"Ms. Mansley-"
"You're not my manager. You can address me as Amber." There was a moment of silence.
"Okay, Amber. You need to hear what I have to say." Steven was adamant and firm in his tone, but Amber rested the phone on the bed, having it on speaker. In the meantime, she was preparing to leave the day to gather everything necessary to spend time with her father. Steven's voice became tuned out, white noise and usual gibberish, her mind racing with all the thoughts of being with her family in better circumstances than they have in the last five years.
"Amber!" he yelled, snapping her back to reality. ]"Are you even listening to me?"
"No. I don't have time for this. I will spend time with my father. Are you bothering me? You don't work for me anymore. Leave me alone, and let me live in peace!" She marched back to the bed and held the phone in her hand.
"You don't understand! Your father is-" With one press of her thumb, the call ended. Amber rolled her eyes and grabbed her purse before leaving the hotel room to walk through the halls with a smile. The excitement in her fast-paced walking and the grip on her purse meant she was leaving with pure intentions this time. The schemes, the violence, and the anger were gone to embrace the true happiness she felt for once in her life.
Amber waited outside the hotel to get her car delivered after checking out from the reception. A black SUV pulled up, and the driver opened the back for her, to which she graciously sat down. Once everything was settled from her luggage in the trunk, the driver got in the seat, and Amber nodded.
"Where to?" He asked politely. She placed the address in her phone for the luxury shared ride, and the driver received it.
"Home. Take me home." Off they were. She remembered everything about West Palm Beach. The many memories shared between her and her father were too precious to forget. She leaned her cheek against the window and watched the buildings pass by, but she closed her eyes to feel the warmth of the Florida sun's rays bursting through the window to highlight her beautiful face.
"I'm coming home," she whispered. Her eyes closed, and she took a deep breath, allowing herself to relax back into the seat. She understood he was letting go of the old her for a new one; however, she knew what that new life was entailing.
Oh, Damage, is there anything else to you besides being the casual big man who can put two sentences together and pretend he sounds smart?
The empty room mimicked the rundown abandonment of a former bar in its prime. The manager's office was ruined by time and left a shadow of itself. However, Amber was sitting in the old manager's seat with her feet kicked up on the desk, leaning back, surveilling the terrible scenery.
Is that what you do? You sit down with Corey Bull every chance you get and make jokes about The Fortunate Ones? It's nice to feel secure being the only giant in a small room, but every time you leave, you've been exposed as the little boy you are. Your obsession with us made you one of the most pathetic wrestlers in WGWF history.
Fuck The Fortunate Ones.
Your life's motto. It's sad, but you're proving what everyone else has been doing when you dissect. The Fortunate Ones left their mark on WGWF, and even though you were at the frontline praising our downfall, you continue to carry the legacy we've built.
The wooden table before the manager's desk was peppered with empty beer bottles and other disgusting trash. Amber rolled her eyes and sighed.
How many times can you fail as a man of your size? I made your friend, the little Bull, submit. I beat him down at his own game when he did not finish me. Now, in front of the entire world, you're getting your X-Division Championship opportunity that you've squandered repeatedly.
From losing to Enigma to not even defeating my friend, you haven't been in the best shape. You're starting to understand that all those tales of you being the golden boy aren't true. You sit and make up these lies, painting a picture of mythology to sound threatening, but you're just embarrassing yourself.
You are over seven feet tall and have the ego of a three-year-old child.
It's time to tell you who you are.
Amber let her legs down and leaned forward on the desk, resting her chin on her hands.
You are a small man compared to us. Our dreams, goals, and aspirations are more significant than we can comprehend. Damage: The only damaged thing about you is your mental capacity to understand that you've been a pawn in our game. You've failed with the many chances you had to make yourself better. You're a failure putting on this mask carved from the old ages and speaking in riddles to sound.
The elite is the one percent of people who control the world. The Fortunate Ones are part of that rank. Many can only dream, and they can wish.
What's funny is that Damage is when you use God's God but don't understand what's in front of you. Many people believe God has a plan for them, but others believe God has plans for them, too. T, hi,s is why the Fortunate Ones always enjoyed making you look like a fool. The number of times you've fallen to us, whether for the X-Division Championship or the Smash Championship, has been a pleasure.
And you can't fathom it because you're lost—a lost soul in an overgrown body who synthesizes the word of God toGodbrace his agenda.
A false prophet, how typical.
She slowly stood up from the chair and looked at the scenery again before noticing the cross hanging off the wall. Amber wondered why it would be in a rundown place, but she referenced the man she would compete against at WrestleWars. She held the cross from the wall, staring at it intensely.
You are pathetic. I hate when you do these speeches referencing mythologies, demons, and any unnatural beings, thinking you have a higher purpose. You're a pawn. That's your purpose. In this business, you need to be the best and don't have what it takes.
How does a man of your height and physical prowess struggle to even compete in the highest elite of professional wrestling? WGWF has given you the platform to show the world what you're capable of, and when push came to shove, you crumbled higher than the tallest tower. Why? It was a simple game of the mind, and you couldn't even last one minute.
That's why you're obsessed. This isn't about the X-Division Championship.
Your giant ego has been bruised, and you can't handle it.
Holding the cross in her hand felt right, but anger was brewing in her, knowing it was in the wrong environment. The wrong hands held this symbol that had helped her in her life, and she held it close to her chest. Amber's greenish eyes were almost blood red as she looked at the table and kicked it over, causing the beer bottle to shatter across the floor.
WrestleWars is a ladder match—the climb to heaven to become a champion. We've seen you fall on your path to redemption and can't handle being at the bottom of the barrel. With all that blessing God has given you, you've used his name and soiled his legacy.
That changes.
I am done watching you do the same thing every week. Hiding in your little room saying fuck The Fortunate Ones, but now you're going to tell it in my face, and when you do, I will rip your tongue out and shove it where the sun doesn't shine.
For too long, you've been talking about the bigger picture. I am the bigger picture. Your On your I am the roadblock to your future, and when we stand in that ring, you'll be doing what you do best. I pray to the heavens for mercy and the angel of death that God will end the division Championship.
Amber dropped the cross to the floor and sighed.
You know what's funny? For someone who talks about ego and fear so much, you are the giant representation of it.
Home.
Five years without the fresh breath of the grass on their home lawn. Amber stood before her family's Boca home, where the driver removed her bags from the vehicle. As he took off, Amber was taking everything in. The memories of her childhood, playing in the dirt with her father as a child and then the usual Sunday dinners when her mother hadn't abandoned them to be god knGod knew, walked the pathway to the door until stopping to see the dried blood stains on the concrete at that exact moment her father suffered a heart attack.
She hated that moment. Amber was cruel and selfish to leave her family behind when they needed her most. It's been eating away at her for years, so she wanted to make things right.
After a few knocks on the door, she couldn't get an answer, and she raised her right eyebrow at the silence. She knocked again more aggressively until turning the handle to find the front door open. Amber walked inside with a smile that slowly dissipated after she realized there wasn't much activity in the home.
"Hello?" The silence was defeating. Amber closed the door behind her and locked it before moving around the house in search of anyone. Unfortunately, the search and rescue had failed. She was alone in the home, which meant her family was gone. She returned to the living room and sat on the couch, wondering where they could have gone, but her phone rang again, and Stephen was calling. Amber answered the call reluctantly.
"What?" She was stern and loud in her answer. She didn't want to be bothered.
"We need to talk." God, was he serious? Amber made it known not too long ago that she didn't employ him anymore. He was free to go, but she guessed the friendship was why he needed to be involved. "Amber, what I'm about to tell you is very important, and I don't know how you will react."
"You're right," she interrupted him. "You don't know how I will react because no one knows what's happening with me. I'm home, Stephen."
"What?"
"I'm home." She said confidently. "Five years I've been gone, and I'm home, but it's empty. An empty home, Stephen! I've been waiting so long to finally come home to see my dad, but who isn't here? Do you honestly think I care about anything else? I need to see him. I want him to be there when I become champion and prove that I can still be that daughter he loves." She bit her lip, trying her best not to cry. It was highly emotional for her to release what she's been holding in for so long.
"Amber, I-"
"No. I don't want to hear it. I don't care about the business or anything else. I want to make my dad proud, and when I beat Damage to become X-Division Champion, he'll finally see that I'm not walking down this path, which is disappointing him."
Stephen remained silent. It was the first time she opened up about her dad to him on such a deeper level. It was fulfilling to hear her humane side, but he knew it was too late. On the other hand, Amber stood up from the couch to walk upstairs to the main bedroom, her parent's home, to see the family portrait hanging on the wall. She placed her hand on the picture, mimicking the touch of her father's face, then sat down on the edge of the bed.
"Amber." Stephen had to say it. "This is about your father."
The immediate mention of her father made time stop. She sat upright and pressed the phone close to her ear, knowing Stephen's tone was severe. The feeling of the worst was starting to kick in, and she almost fell over until she gathered her balance. Amber marched out of the bedroom to downstairs, back in the foyer.
"I don't know how to say this. Boca Regional Hospital has been trying to get in contact with you. Your father, his condition hasn't gotten better and the cancer had become terminal-Amber, are you there?"
"I-I'm h-here." Her voice cracked, and she struggled. The tears began to stroll down her face, and she leaned against the wall to keep herself standing. Amber's eyes closed, and she bit her lip, trying to believe what he said next would not come to fruition. No, please. She begged the lord with all her mercy, knowing she could make things right again. "Stephen, please tell me he's okay. Please tell me he's okay! PLEASE TELL ME HE'S OKAY!!!" She screamed at the top of her lungs, begging for her father's life.
The phone dropped from her hand, her handbag, and the gifts she carried. "Amber...hello?" She was frozen. "I'm sorry." He hung up, and Amber let out a near blood-curdling scream before collapsing onto her hands and knees. She bawled as her tears flowed like an ocean and buried her face into the palm of her hands. It couldn't be. After everything, this is how it ended: too late to see her father's smile.
She punched down on the floor to the point her knuckles began to bleed profusely that the palm of her hand was covered in it. Amber stood up and saw the blood covering both her hands, then balled her fists; Something deeper had been awakened.
Blood. It's so easy to draw, with nothing else to lose, it was time to take everything. Amber marched to the garage and saw the old charger muscle-bound vehicle her dad worked on. She grabbed the keys and got into the driver's seat, letting the engine hum with a roar. Once the garage door opened, she immediately pressed the gas and drove away from her home, staining the wheel with her blood.
Now, the real damage had begun.
DENY.
Hnng! Hnng! Hnng! Hnng!
Her phone was humming violently as it vibrated on the bedside table next to her hotel in the Hilton at West Palm Beach. The sun struck through the soft blinds of her bedroom inside the presidential suite, and the Saturday morning presented an atmospheric touch she was looking forward to. Amber sat up, rubbed the chunks of eye crust off her face, and looked around at her room covered under the soft sheets. Hilton always had excellent customer service, so she had her team pre-select them for her travel arrangements.
However, she did this alone. Amber booked this trip by herself due to how much it meant—to her father.
She wanted to see him after everything. Her life was getting better, her career was taking off, and Amber was on the cusp of making history to become a double champion on the two most significant nights of her career. She wanted to make this unique and reunite with her father after leaving home for so long. The nightmares burned deep in her soul, making it nearly impossible for her to sleep, but not anymore.
Hnng! Hnng! Hnng! Hnng!
The repetitive nature of the phone's vibrations was ignored. Amber found solace in the hot, steamy shower, excited about the day ahead. No phones, no technology, social media, or anything of that matter. She was finally going to see her dad. Once she turned off the shower handle, she stepped out, wrapping the towel around her chest and covering her body as she ran her fingers through the wet strands of her beach-blonde hair. Amber rubbed the fog off the mirror, getting a good glimpse of her reflection, and it was different.
No scowls, no pain, no suffering, or any negativity. The genuine smile her dad always praised her for—the smile of a daughter.
Amber couldn't waste any time. She got ready as soon as she could, shuffling through the multitudes of fashion designer clothing apparel at her disposal, but instead, she wanted to do something a tiny basic. Instead of Jimmy Choo's, Michael Kors, and Victoria's Secret, she opted for FashionNova on a less high-end spectrum of her fashion choices. Amber stood in front of her mirror in her white sneakers, a black leather jacket with a string top, and tight blue denim jeans with her up in a curly ponytail, with less makeup and looking more ladylike than usual. SimplicySimplicityve is a way of becoming complex in people's eyes.
Hnng! Hnng! Hnng! Hnng!
"Really?" She rolled her eyes, having enough of the recurring hum against the table. She marched over and sat on the bed, checking her phone to see that it was her former manager, Steven, whom she had fired after her recent transgressions from the bar fight. She pressed her thumb against the phone and answered the call before pressing it against her right ear. "What is it?"
"Ms. Mansley-"
"You're not my manager. You can address me as Amber." There was a moment of silence.
"Okay, Amber. You need to hear what I have to say." Steven was adamant and firm in his tone, but Amber rested the phone on the bed, having it on speaker. In the meantime, she was preparing to leave the day to gather everything necessary to spend time with her father. Steven's voice became tuned out, white noise and usual gibberish, her mind racing with all the thoughts of being with her family in better circumstances than they have in the last five years.
"Amber!" he yelled, snapping her back to reality. ]"Are you even listening to me?"
"No. I don't have time for this. I will spend time with my father. Are you bothering me? You don't work for me anymore. Leave me alone, and let me live in peace!" She marched back to the bed and held the phone in her hand.
"You don't understand! Your father is-" With one press of her thumb, the call ended. Amber rolled her eyes and grabbed her purse before leaving the hotel room to walk through the halls with a smile. The excitement in her fast-paced walking and the grip on her purse meant she was leaving with pure intentions this time. The schemes, the violence, and the anger were gone to embrace the true happiness she felt for once in her life.
Amber waited outside the hotel to get her car delivered after checking out from the reception. A black SUV pulled up, and the driver opened the back for her, to which she graciously sat down. Once everything was settled from her luggage in the trunk, the driver got in the seat, and Amber nodded.
"Where to?" He asked politely. She placed the address in her phone for the luxury shared ride, and the driver received it.
"Home. Take me home." Off they were. She remembered everything about West Palm Beach. The many memories shared between her and her father were too precious to forget. She leaned her cheek against the window and watched the buildings pass by, but she closed her eyes to feel the warmth of the Florida sun's rays bursting through the window to highlight her beautiful face.
"I'm coming home," she whispered. Her eyes closed, and she took a deep breath, allowing herself to relax back into the seat. She understood he was letting go of the old her for a new one; however, she knew what that new life was entailing.
HOLD.
Oh, Damage, is there anything else to you besides being the casual big man who can put two sentences together and pretend he sounds smart?
The empty room mimicked the rundown abandonment of a former bar in its prime. The manager's office was ruined by time and left a shadow of itself. However, Amber was sitting in the old manager's seat with her feet kicked up on the desk, leaning back, surveilling the terrible scenery.
Is that what you do? You sit down with Corey Bull every chance you get and make jokes about The Fortunate Ones? It's nice to feel secure being the only giant in a small room, but every time you leave, you've been exposed as the little boy you are. Your obsession with us made you one of the most pathetic wrestlers in WGWF history.
Fuck The Fortunate Ones.
Your life's motto. It's sad, but you're proving what everyone else has been doing when you dissect. The Fortunate Ones left their mark on WGWF, and even though you were at the frontline praising our downfall, you continue to carry the legacy we've built.
The wooden table before the manager's desk was peppered with empty beer bottles and other disgusting trash. Amber rolled her eyes and sighed.
How many times can you fail as a man of your size? I made your friend, the little Bull, submit. I beat him down at his own game when he did not finish me. Now, in front of the entire world, you're getting your X-Division Championship opportunity that you've squandered repeatedly.
From losing to Enigma to not even defeating my friend, you haven't been in the best shape. You're starting to understand that all those tales of you being the golden boy aren't true. You sit and make up these lies, painting a picture of mythology to sound threatening, but you're just embarrassing yourself.
You are over seven feet tall and have the ego of a three-year-old child.
It's time to tell you who you are.
Amber let her legs down and leaned forward on the desk, resting her chin on her hands.
You are a small man compared to us. Our dreams, goals, and aspirations are more significant than we can comprehend. Damage: The only damaged thing about you is your mental capacity to understand that you've been a pawn in our game. You've failed with the many chances you had to make yourself better. You're a failure putting on this mask carved from the old ages and speaking in riddles to sound.
The elite is the one percent of people who control the world. The Fortunate Ones are part of that rank. Many can only dream, and they can wish.
What's funny is that Damage is when you use God's God but don't understand what's in front of you. Many people believe God has a plan for them, but others believe God has plans for them, too. T, hi,s is why the Fortunate Ones always enjoyed making you look like a fool. The number of times you've fallen to us, whether for the X-Division Championship or the Smash Championship, has been a pleasure.
And you can't fathom it because you're lost—a lost soul in an overgrown body who synthesizes the word of God toGodbrace his agenda.
A false prophet, how typical.
She slowly stood up from the chair and looked at the scenery again before noticing the cross hanging off the wall. Amber wondered why it would be in a rundown place, but she referenced the man she would compete against at WrestleWars. She held the cross from the wall, staring at it intensely.
You are pathetic. I hate when you do these speeches referencing mythologies, demons, and any unnatural beings, thinking you have a higher purpose. You're a pawn. That's your purpose. In this business, you need to be the best and don't have what it takes.
How does a man of your height and physical prowess struggle to even compete in the highest elite of professional wrestling? WGWF has given you the platform to show the world what you're capable of, and when push came to shove, you crumbled higher than the tallest tower. Why? It was a simple game of the mind, and you couldn't even last one minute.
That's why you're obsessed. This isn't about the X-Division Championship.
Your giant ego has been bruised, and you can't handle it.
Holding the cross in her hand felt right, but anger was brewing in her, knowing it was in the wrong environment. The wrong hands held this symbol that had helped her in her life, and she held it close to her chest. Amber's greenish eyes were almost blood red as she looked at the table and kicked it over, causing the beer bottle to shatter across the floor.
WrestleWars is a ladder match—the climb to heaven to become a champion. We've seen you fall on your path to redemption and can't handle being at the bottom of the barrel. With all that blessing God has given you, you've used his name and soiled his legacy.
That changes.
I am done watching you do the same thing every week. Hiding in your little room saying fuck The Fortunate Ones, but now you're going to tell it in my face, and when you do, I will rip your tongue out and shove it where the sun doesn't shine.
For too long, you've been talking about the bigger picture. I am the bigger picture. Your On your I am the roadblock to your future, and when we stand in that ring, you'll be doing what you do best. I pray to the heavens for mercy and the angel of death that God will end the division Championship.
Amber dropped the cross to the floor and sighed.
You know what's funny? For someone who talks about ego and fear so much, you are the giant representation of it.
ACCEPT.
Home.
Five years without the fresh breath of the grass on their home lawn. Amber stood before her family's Boca home, where the driver removed her bags from the vehicle. As he took off, Amber was taking everything in. The memories of her childhood, playing in the dirt with her father as a child and then the usual Sunday dinners when her mother hadn't abandoned them to be god knGod knew, walked the pathway to the door until stopping to see the dried blood stains on the concrete at that exact moment her father suffered a heart attack.
She hated that moment. Amber was cruel and selfish to leave her family behind when they needed her most. It's been eating away at her for years, so she wanted to make things right.
After a few knocks on the door, she couldn't get an answer, and she raised her right eyebrow at the silence. She knocked again more aggressively until turning the handle to find the front door open. Amber walked inside with a smile that slowly dissipated after she realized there wasn't much activity in the home.
"Hello?" The silence was defeating. Amber closed the door behind her and locked it before moving around the house in search of anyone. Unfortunately, the search and rescue had failed. She was alone in the home, which meant her family was gone. She returned to the living room and sat on the couch, wondering where they could have gone, but her phone rang again, and Stephen was calling. Amber answered the call reluctantly.
"What?" She was stern and loud in her answer. She didn't want to be bothered.
"We need to talk." God, was he serious? Amber made it known not too long ago that she didn't employ him anymore. He was free to go, but she guessed the friendship was why he needed to be involved. "Amber, what I'm about to tell you is very important, and I don't know how you will react."
"You're right," she interrupted him. "You don't know how I will react because no one knows what's happening with me. I'm home, Stephen."
"What?"
"I'm home." She said confidently. "Five years I've been gone, and I'm home, but it's empty. An empty home, Stephen! I've been waiting so long to finally come home to see my dad, but who isn't here? Do you honestly think I care about anything else? I need to see him. I want him to be there when I become champion and prove that I can still be that daughter he loves." She bit her lip, trying her best not to cry. It was highly emotional for her to release what she's been holding in for so long.
"Amber, I-"
"No. I don't want to hear it. I don't care about the business or anything else. I want to make my dad proud, and when I beat Damage to become X-Division Champion, he'll finally see that I'm not walking down this path, which is disappointing him."
Stephen remained silent. It was the first time she opened up about her dad to him on such a deeper level. It was fulfilling to hear her humane side, but he knew it was too late. On the other hand, Amber stood up from the couch to walk upstairs to the main bedroom, her parent's home, to see the family portrait hanging on the wall. She placed her hand on the picture, mimicking the touch of her father's face, then sat down on the edge of the bed.
"Amber." Stephen had to say it. "This is about your father."
The immediate mention of her father made time stop. She sat upright and pressed the phone close to her ear, knowing Stephen's tone was severe. The feeling of the worst was starting to kick in, and she almost fell over until she gathered her balance. Amber marched out of the bedroom to downstairs, back in the foyer.
"I don't know how to say this. Boca Regional Hospital has been trying to get in contact with you. Your father, his condition hasn't gotten better and the cancer had become terminal-Amber, are you there?"
"I-I'm h-here." Her voice cracked, and she struggled. The tears began to stroll down her face, and she leaned against the wall to keep herself standing. Amber's eyes closed, and she bit her lip, trying to believe what he said next would not come to fruition. No, please. She begged the lord with all her mercy, knowing she could make things right again. "Stephen, please tell me he's okay. Please tell me he's okay! PLEASE TELL ME HE'S OKAY!!!" She screamed at the top of her lungs, begging for her father's life.
...Your father passed away two weeks ago.
The phone dropped from her hand, her handbag, and the gifts she carried. "Amber...hello?" She was frozen. "I'm sorry." He hung up, and Amber let out a near blood-curdling scream before collapsing onto her hands and knees. She bawled as her tears flowed like an ocean and buried her face into the palm of her hands. It couldn't be. After everything, this is how it ended: too late to see her father's smile.
She punched down on the floor to the point her knuckles began to bleed profusely that the palm of her hand was covered in it. Amber stood up and saw the blood covering both her hands, then balled her fists; Something deeper had been awakened.
Blood. It's so easy to draw, with nothing else to lose, it was time to take everything. Amber marched to the garage and saw the old charger muscle-bound vehicle her dad worked on. She grabbed the keys and got into the driver's seat, letting the engine hum with a roar. Once the garage door opened, she immediately pressed the gas and drove away from her home, staining the wheel with her blood.
Now, the real damage had begun.