Los Parejas Increibles

[DuLake]

Okay, so I know you're never supposed to start anything with an apology, but. . . No but really, I'm just breaking the rule because I want to. Anyway, I've been wanting to post something up here for a little while and this little guy sprang to mind because, well, I'm never going to use it for anything else. I'm honestly a bit disappointed in it because in some ways it feels more like a summary than an actual story (though some of my favorite short stories are like that) and the dialogue is a bit clunky (somewhat intentional, but still not great). It generally needs a bit more rewriting but I'm not in love with it enough to do so. I think it's on it's second or third draft, and I really don't see much happening with it besides, well, posting it here. Anyways, I'd always wanted to write about lucha libre (it's a rather intriguing phenomenon to me) and I love self-destruction stories (call it a tribute to Aronofsky films) so this story just fell together for me. So, excuses aside, here it is, I'd love to hear your thoughts (positive and negative, they all help you grow, besides nobody could be as critical of this beast as I am, so fire away).

And yes, that is my name. I sign everything. Please don't use it to stalk me (or do, just keep quiet and it shouldn't bother me).

Also, there is some mature content. No language that I recall, but it does get a bit steamy. It's not mature section material, but sexual themes are explored. If the mods feel differently and decide to move it to the mature section, I will not blame them and will formally apologize, but I doubt that'll happen.

So, without further ado:

“Los Parejas Increibles”

By Jeremy Lloyd Beck

The young boy in the nose bleed seats watched with wide eyes and open imagination as the luchadors tumbled over tight canvas. He was small and the luchadors were gods, superheroes, for three hours a week. Every seven days, he spent his entire allowance to sit a hundred rows above the titans as they teetered atop the corner turnbuckles and twisted through the air with grace and tenacity. His hero was El Hijo del Cielo, the white-clad warrior from heaven. Cielo's tag team was an incredible pairing; the angel stood beside the vicious El Diablo Oscuro, a dastardly dark-cowled devil from the underworld, and Cielo Poco, a midget who's costume and acrobatics imitated his namesake. Cielo was the mighty champion of the four sided circle and the hero of every child in Mexico City. He was a messianic figure in that arena, and proof for each spectator that justice existed, and that good always triumphed over evil.

The young boy cheered as his hero leaped from the top rope down onto his opponent and secured another victory for his team. The crowd celebrated in the stands as the three victorious men celebrated in the the squared circle. Cielo stood on the ring ropes and raised his humble hands and masked face toward heaven.

The young boy gasped as Diablo Oscuro slammed a solid steel folding chair into his partner's back. Cielo writhed on the ground and watched helplessly as his midget's neck was broken by a vicious piledriver; a dishonorable and dangerous maneuver where the target is held upside down and driven head first into the stiff canvas ring; a move banned in all of lucha libre. Diablo sneered and slithered about the ring in villainous delight before snaking his way out of the ring. Poco lay lifeless as the still-injured Cielo slowly crawled to the small man's side. Paramedics swiftly filled the ring and Diablo laughed from the entrance ramp. Cielo's face filled with righteous rage and ire as he pulled himself up by the ropes.

In the locker room Diablo and Cielo embraced and toasted the new angle. Thousands had stood on their feet and tens of thousands would travel to see the inevitable match between the two teammates turned enemies. The news of Poco's death would be leaked to the fans and Poco would don a new mask to hide his health. Cielo toured tabloid offices announcing his new found jihad against the devil himself. Diablo would reveal a new midget the next week, bearing Diablo's dark face, and Cielo would throw him into a trash can by the end of the night. The feud filled the stands and bitter fans boiled over the guard rails, throwing beer bottles and popcorn bags at Diablo Oscuro. The villainous star carried so much heat with the crowd that he couldn't wear his mask in public for fear that he would be attacked.

“Years ago, I swore to avenge my father, and now my plan has come to fruition. I will tear the wings from your angel,” Diablo shouted as a crowd tried to drowned him out with virulent and violent words.

It had been eleven years since a fifteen-year-old Cielo debuted against Diablo's father, El Hechicero. They fought for years before Cielo finally unmasked and retired the villain, who was growing to old to compete and would gladly lose to his best friend's son. This occasion had catapulted the young contender's career, making him a star just before his eighteenth birthday, a birthday he had celebrated with his best and oldest friend, now called Diablo Oscuro, at a strip club in the city. His fame was closely followed by fortune and advertising dollars and he would return to the club in the city whenever he sought to relive his first great victory. The busty women at the club would fawn over his mask; a white and silver symbol of pride and honor that courageously bore the crucifix of Christ on the forehead. It was a juxtaposition of light on his dark skin and he wore it always. None had seen his face since he won the match, not even his wife or child, let alone his cousin who worked at the strip club in the city.

He grew up in Naucalpan, and had been close to his cousin but, when his father moved to Mexico City to headline lucha libre matches, he lost touch with her until her quinceañera, the week before his debut against Hechicero. Her frilly pink dress perfectly accentuated her petite waist and developing bosom. She danced with as much poise and grace at her party as she did with raunch and sex at the club. She didn't recognize him at the party, and politely turned down his dance request back then. He never told her who he was, or that he became a luchador and he found a sort of malformed comfort when she danced for him at the club. She could not afford to refuse his fifty dollars invitation to dance, nor could she refuse his two hundred dollar invitation to go back to her apartment for a naked night together. Naked beneath a mask, of course.

Her smooth skin felt like heaven beneath Cielo's rough hand as he traced her ample curves. He softly kissed her body as she writhed atop his herculean form. His chest tingled beneath her rosary as it fell against him. It was the beauty and the worst kind of beast as he thought of the naked angel of Naucalpan while kissing his son at home good night. He sighed in ecstasy at the image of her tempered tan body and full blushing lips.

“Were you thinking of me?” His wife asked him as she noticed his erection. “Or perhaps the Diablo?” She laughed at his scowl and removed her robe. “Come to me,” he did, but only to imagine the angel or any of his other mistresses. His fingers traced his wife's similar body, and her identical rosary, and his lecherous fingers could only imagine the angel's body in it's place.

Cielo visited his cousin many times, and each time he did it grew harder to go home to his wife and pretend it wasn't her. The last time he went to his cousin was the night before his grand main event with Diablo, which was also the first time he saw the boy from the arena despite his immaculate attendance. Cielo's cousin tried to rush him past the child, but he stopped as the boy admired his hero. He quickly arranged front row seats for the two before seducing his new-found nephew's mother for a few hundred dollars. He stayed there that night to enjoy morning sex and avoid his wife's unwelcome body.

The young boy sat in marvel at the spectacle in front of his front row seat as his mother watched her child more than the matches. When it was time for the main event Cielo's theme music blasted over the speakers and the crowd blasted from their seats. Cielo bore his gold-finished championship belt proudly as he paraded to the ring, flanked by dancing girls and sparking pyrotechnics. It was the grandest entrance the crowd had ever seen as he stepped dominantly into the ring while the shrinking demon slithered back into the opposite corner.

The referee called for the bell and the two started the trade of shots and stunt work. They flipped and spun and flew across the ring as only veterans could. Each maneuver drew the crowd to cheer or boo or gasp as the best friends and famed rivals put on a show like no other. It continued in gruesome succession until Diablo Oscuro ran into the referee, rendering him unconscious. Cielo struck in vengeance of the rule keeper, but was twisted into the most heinous of moves. Diablo laughed maniacally as he lifted him up for the forbidden piledriver. Cielo's face broke into panic as he felt himself slip ever so slightly from proper position. Extra referees ran down the entrance ramp to pretend to stop the move, but they were expectedly useless as Diablo dropped down to the mat. Cielo cried out in real pain as Diablo smiled sadistically. The referee's pushed him from the corpse of his friend as Diablo Oscuro waited for his friend to jump up triumphantly and come back to win the match of the decade.

But he didn't.

Rather, he couldn't. He could only lay on his back, and cry out in pain as the young boy cried for him from the sidelines.

“Surely,” the boy thought. “El Cielo cannot be dead.”

Yet the seconds turned to minutes and Diablo realized his friend's pain was real. He rushed to his side and cried out his name – El Cielo's real name – as all the referees were lost in complete confusion at the chaotic moment. A real medical team was called in this time, and the referees tried to pull a sympathetic Diablo from the ring as he drew more heat from the crowd then ever, and without even trying. The devil had fell an angel.

Cielo was rushed to a hospital across the border, and, for the first time since he retired Hechicero, his mask was removed in the presence of others. His wife did not visit him in the hospital, and Cielo did not realize why until he left the hospital months later. She had left a message on Cielo's coffee table, held down by her rosary, explaining her position. She had left him when he had not returned home the night before his match with Diablo. She knew all along and couldn't take it any longer. The lucha libre would not take him back either, and Cielo would snarl every time he saw a poster advertising the new champion, El Diablo Oscuro, most hated man in all of Mexico.

With his last dollars, Cielo entered the club of Naucalpan, his first time entering without his mask. Without asking, his cousin walked up to him.

“El Cielo,” she laughed. “You're alive. They say El Diablo killed you.”

“How do you know me without my mask?”

“I always knew, but when Diablo called your name. . .” He shriveled as she answered him. “You can't afford me anymore. I met some wealthy men at the seats up front, and they are better to me than you ever were.”

“Then you're a bigger whore than I thought.”

“And you're a bigger fool,” she retorted as he turned away. “Say hello to your family, or are they Diablo's family now?” El Cielo was stunned. “I heard that he took them in after she left you. Ironic, isn't it? Leaving the fallen angel for the devil.” Cielo couldn't answer as she continued to chide him. He left with head high and spirit in pieces on the floor. His life was destroyed, and it would be up to him alone to piece it back together.

The next evening, Cielo stood atop the arena that used to be his and watched as thousands filled the house that he built. Dancing spotlights cut through the dark, occasionally lingering on the marquis that begged for the fall of El Diablo Oscuro. He grimaced as he reached for his greatest weapon; showmanship. He hurled a corn sack effigy bearing Diablo's mask from the roof. It slapped the building hard and loud as a noose anchored the Diablo to the roof. The spotlights caught the analogue as the crowds gasped and Cielo pulled on his mask, stepping forward into a spotlight. It was the proclamation heard around the world as Cielo declared his intentions.

“Diablo Oscuro may have killed me, but the blood of heaven boils in my veins, and I am alive once again,” Cielo shouted to world. No one could ignore it. “If I cannot have his belt, I will no longer wear this mask.”

The game was set and Cielo would get his one match whether the lucha libre wanted it or not. He was even more popular than ever before and they could not ignore it. If his first match with Oscuro was the match of the decade, this would be the match of the century.

Cielo entered the locker room as one who had held a sport hostage. He embraced his best friend and greatest enemy once again.

“We will change the world of libre forever,” El Diablo Oscuro whispered in his ear.

“Nobody will ever see the sport the same,” El Hijo del Cielo replied with coy disdain.

El Hijo del Cielo entered the ring first, and looked down at the boy in the front row and his coquettish mother, in seats they could now afford, and then at his wife, sitting alone, in the seat Diablo Oscuro had given her. Cielo took a deep breath as Diablo joined him. They had the greatest of matches, until Diablo, once again, knocked over the referee, and Cielo once again twisted with Diablo, but once more this time. Cielo was on top and he bent down to whisper to his friend.

“Do you trust me as much as I trusted you?”

And Cielo lifted his friend from the ground.

Edited October 7, 2012 by Emotional Outlet

[Pinkie Pie]

That was quite nice, if I may say so myself~. Some of it was a tad choppy around the stripper part [said vaguely to avoid spoilers of course] but other than that, I enjoyed it. Interesting subject, by the way. Out of all things, why lucha libre?

[† Anras Rune]

pretty cool du! a strange topic to write about indeed, lucha libre. well thought out though and explores some interesting ideas. as jen said, it does get a wee bit choppy at the strippers bit, but other than that, well done!

[DuLake]

Yeah, that's definitely a place to smooth, just too lazy to sit and think about it. haha

As for lucha, it's a really intriguing subculture (to me at least) because it pulls a lot of otherwise forgotten Mexican heritage into a very modern event. The masks, for example, are really the last vestige of masked theater in a society, and mimic religious festivals where the early Mexicans would wear masks to represent (and draw power from) their gods. This sort of mythological link still exists, and so you have a wrestler (most famously El Santo) who remains an active hero for some forty or fifty years, and is the subject of numerous movies, comics, etc. Lucha just has this bizarre magic to it that caught my imagination. Plus, nobody writes about lucha in the US (besides, Mucha Lucha back in the day lol), so it seems vastly more original than it is. lol

Edit: Gah! Double post! Could a mod please delete that extra one for me?

[† RazorDan]

it was a bit choppy I guess. I think you maybe try to use too many words or too may large words which causes the flow to be slightly disrupted if you get what I mean . Okay critical analysis over.

Dude, that was awesome. The ending was great. In a relatively short story, I believe you managed to portray Cielo's character perfectly. I lost myself in it. I'm really looking forward to more of your work.

[DuLake]

it was a bit choppy I guess. I think you maybe try to use too many words or too may large words which causes the flow to be slightly disrupted if you get what I mean . Okay critical analysis over.

Probably true, I'm a bit of a word junky (alliteration is my heroine). I appreciate it though, it never hurts to be reminded some things.

Dude, that was awesome. The ending was great. In a relatively short story, I believe you managed to portray Cielo's character perfectly. I lost myself in it. I'm really looking forward to more of your work.

Thankies! ^.^ I'll admit, I was really happy about the ending (don't you love it when that stuff just kind of falls into place?). I've got another story or two that I'm not planning on sending off, so we'll see.

[† Ferocia Coutura]

One word: fabulous.

[Pinkie Pie]

As for lucha, it's a really intriguing subculture (to me at least) because it pulls a lot of otherwise forgotten Mexican heritage into a very modern event. The masks, for example, are really the last vestige of masked theater in a society, and mimic religious festivals where the early Mexicans would wear masks to represent (and draw power from) their gods. This sort of mythological link still exists, and so you have a wrestler (most famously El Santo) who remains an active hero for some forty or fifty years, and is the subject of numerous movies, comics, etc. Lucha just has this bizarre magic to it that caught my imagination. Plus, nobody writes about lucha in the US (besides, Mucha Lucha back in the day lol), so it seems vastly more original than it is. lol

me?

You know, that's an answer I'd give if someone asked me a question like that XD Good one~ We're more alike than I thought. I usually pick obscure or lesser known things to write about too.

[DuLake]

You know' date=' that's an answer I'd give if someone asked me a question like that XD Good one~ We're more alike than I thought. I usually pick obscure or lesser known things to write about too.[/quote']

Seriously! Why write about the normal stuff other people are already writing about? The weirder the better (this one hardly even counts as weird for me).

[Libitinarius]

Half your story reminded me of a giant well written wrestling rp. I thought back to when Owen Hart lost his life on the bungee cord (imitating Sting) and before that he actually ended Stone Cold Steve Austin's career with a piledriver. The part where your story started to submerge me, was when you started giving details of his personal life. I like the morbid reality and the callus persona your main character portrays in the story--it was a breath of fresh air.

[DuLake]

Thanks, Noato. Yeah, I kind of wanted to show the magic the fans saw before getting to the reality.

Also, aw. . . Owen. Sad times.