For Krissi.
Quando corpus morietur, fac ut animae donetur, paradisi gloria.
Sparkles of the incoming light streamed across the arena as the crowd began to shuffle into their seats, screaming and chanting the name of their heroes. The workers backstage crossed wires and television frames, steadying themselves for another spectacular pay per view. Wrestlers prompted themselves for the grand daddy of them all, focusing their attention and doing their rituals of preperation.
An unknown, insignificant man ran down the sides of the huge ramp, set up to hold a gigantic concert by a famous band. His body hunched over, the man scurried over to the announcer, whispering into her ear the shocking news he recently heard. Once he informed her, he stepped back and watched her reaction, only to make sure she understood what she had to say.
Lillian Garica's eyes watered profusely, her mouth agape. Speechless to the core, she nodded, never once noticing how her hands began to shake considerably. Grasping the hold of her mic, she trudged forward, feeling the gravity of time grasping down her place in reality, slowing everything down to a languid pace.
Her satin blue dress sparkled in the golden light, stepping through the ropes and walking forward until she stood silent in the middle of the ring. For a second, she contemplated how morbid and aghast it was to merely stand as a lonely soul, surrounded by the ranting, yelling chargin of humanity. Gulping down her evident sob, her eyes glazed over the crowd, watching intently as they quieted down.
"L-ladies... and gent--" She cut herself short, bitting harshly on her lower lip to confine her sorrow down. Lillian knew she had to compose herself. The world had to know the news, no matter how devistating it was. Tears brimmed against her eyes, blurrying her vision. She blinked a couple times, apathetic to the way the salty water drowned her eyelashes and created streams of black tears down her cheeks.
"Ladies... and gentlemen," she shakily whispered into the mic, bringing her eyes downcast. Strands of her perfectly curled hair fell over his face, as if they tried to hide her from the cruelty of the world, and of the news. Lillian sighed into the mic, breathing in her confidence, and only shread of strength to stand on. It was time.
Her eyes met the crowd, and the camera focused only on her.
"... an hour ago, Steve Austin died."
Her world tilted and contorted, her vision misplaced and her sanity gone. Lillian didn't know what happened, or where she was anymore. A guilt, a profound, annoying depression rested upon her heart, and the gravity of time pulled her to the ground. Her eyes searched through the crowd, her lips parted slightly.
"I... I... I have... am... I..." She stuttered, eyes searching and pleading for some sort of relief from the hurt, the pain and the anguish. All this dowsed her completely, from head to toe, the uncaring numbness controlling her thoughts and actions. Her hand shakily dropped the mic, and she felt herself falling.
Lillian cried out, falling on the mat, in the middle of the ring, hugging herself, trying to keep the shards of her being together. She knew that many tears would shed tonight.
But for that moment, she felt nothing, heard silence, didn't sense the hands of the referees, the workers in the back, and her corresponding ring announcer helping her to her feet and dragging her to a safer spot. Only one thought ran through her mind.
The word was out. The effects were soon to come.