“The Super Wheels Super Tournament” - A Satirical, Short Story

When I was six years old, my consciousness arrived and I noticed that I was not like the other girls. While all the kids in my class, the girls in my scouts, and—by photographs—once my mother, all looked like ordinary girls, I looked like something of a beast

At age six I was five foot seven, two hundred pounds, and my skin had this vibrant red glow. The doctors told my mom I was an abomination to mankind and a force of evil. My mom said I was just special and it was no more than eczema.

“You are a beautiful flower,” Mother would say. She was a dainty woman who raised me alone. Neither of us knew who my father was. My mother claimed there was never a man, she had always been lesbian, and like my unexplainable size, her pregnancy too was unexplainable.

“I feel like a tree stump,” I said in my deafening, demonic voice. It was cute then.

As I grew up a little, or should I say, as I broke the six-foot threshold, and smashed all logical weight expectations for the typical human woman; I entered the eighth grade.

At this point, I was well-known around the schoolyard for my humongous and threatening appearance. Kids at school trembled when I came around. They would scatter and hide in whatever they could find on account of my massive presence.

One time I caught a kid off guard by the water fountain. I suppose I cornered him. There was nowhere for him to go so he had no choice but to crawl into the tee-shirt of another kid, to which that kid climbed into this other kid’s shirt, and then all three of them jumped out the school’s third-story window together. It made me very sad.

It was another day of walking home from school.

Recently I had been banned from riding the bus due to my causing of suspension issues and ‘inducing unwarranted trauma’. I took my route through downtown, past all of the shot-up houses and crack dens. I went this way since it was usually desolate, and I don’t have to bother civilians out on the main streets.

Today was different.

“My friend, my friend,” a tiny voice cried out.

I looked around and then down to my kneecap to see a very feeble old man wiping his forehead. He was profusely sweating but appeared inquisitively happy. The little bald man wore suspenders and a bow tie.

“Hi,” I said in the most non-threatening voice I could. A window broke in the distance.

Nobody other than Mother ever spoke to me, not even the teachers at school. I was never called for attendance, questioned, greeted, or spoken to in any manner. Last week, I broke the tip of a pencil in class and it caused several kids to have panic attacks. We had to go into lockdown that day.

“I’ve seen you walk this way many times. You’d be a great fit for my roller derby league, you know. There is a cool prize for the winning team of the championship, you know,” he said trembling. I noticed through his shaking he was trying to rub his hands together. Either it was he was terribly old or incredibly scared.

“Ok,” I said, and to be honest with you, I wasn’t so much interested in roller skating; I was just really bored.

“Take these and come back here tomorrow.” He handed me a pair of size W18 roller skates and walked back toward this big warehouse that was lurking behind us. His suspenders were soaked with pee but the old man looked thrilled. I examined the beat up building and my skates and for the first time in my life, I smiled.

I told Mother at dinner. She was in the middle of beheading the pig roast.

“Mama I’m gonna be a part of the derby. I’m gonna win the prize Mama.”

Mother burst into a fit of joy. She threw the pork-coated machete into the air and it landed, point down into my resting forearm, wildly bouncing off my muscle, shattering into a million pieces, and then disintegrating on the counter. Mother was so happy.

It was a beautiful moment; I picked her up and cradled her like a baby in my massive arms. She showered me in kisses. I couldn’t wait for tomorrow.

The next morning before school, I broke in my roller skates.

I raced to school. I outran the school bus, the monorail, and the 7:00 AM flights that road the pale sky above me. I wore my skates the entire school day, molding them nicely to my toes and heel. Throughout each class, all I could do was daydream and wonder about the derby event, my new team, and the prize.

My confidence was overflowing. I had no doubts about myself. Even though I had never actually seen a roller derby contest in person I felt I was ready for what was in store. I watched a YouTube video.

“There are the blockers and jammers.” I thought from the back of the classroom.

Four blockers stop one jammer from scoring points, and the jammers are in charge of lapping the blockers to gain points. Each blocker that’s passed by a jammer is one point and they must make a full lap around the roller ring.

I figured the tiny man expected me to be a blocker for obvious reasons.

The final school bell rang and I made a full dash toward the warehouse. When I got there in magnificent speed, I spotted this big banner strung outside the warehouse that read:

‘The Super Wheels Super Tournament: Roller Derby Extravaganza’.

Lots of cars were parked outside. I tightened my skates.

I rolled inside and was greeted by a decently crowded room. There were tons of people in the stands and plenty of derby participants. I was met with the usual horrified looks and expressions I normally got. A couple of old ladies fainted when they spotted me. Luckily there were ambulances onsite.

“You made it. E-Excellent!” The tiny man quivered.

Rightly so, I met my teammates who were just as terrified as the guests and got ready with my gear. I was given kneepads, wrist guards, hair ties, and a shiny silver helmet; the tiny man slapped a sticker the circumference of a truck’s tire on the backside of it.

“That star means you are a jammer.” He patted my head and paused. “You know what to do.”

My excitement was overbearing as we neared the game. Then it hit me. He didn’t want me being some wall or playing as the protection piece. I was gonna be the one running these girls. I was the jammer. I knew what to do.

Gazing out into the stands, I saw Mother shooting me a thumbs-up. I was so happy to see she made it. She was crying the same tears as last night, without any break, all because she was happy to see I was finally allowed a part of something.

My soul bubbled. I felt like I found my calling standing on that shiny wooden floor.

All of the girls lined up along the roller track. Never in my life did I feel more alive. The muscles and tendons in my leg tensed and contorted as I prepared to dart.

The ref blew his whistle and we launched.

The force of my toe pushing into the ground cracked the wood. The massive sound of the track paneling snapping deafened the crowd and a small shockwave erupted under my footing. I gotta give the opposing girls credit. Their blockers at least attempted to stop me.

These girls all linked together and prayed to their God.

I broke through their barrier, severing some arms.

Each stride grew greater. I rounded the derby ring in 2.8 seconds. My laps were happening faster and becoming increasingly more powerful in movement. It was like a ring of fire that surrounded the track.

My teammates stopped and stood frozen on the track like mile markers on a highway while I bolted around the opposing team. The other team was discombobulated by the scene and the heat. Eyelashes burned away, makeup ran. The heat was becoming lethal.

Their people sat on the wooden floor and started crying, flailing their stumps around. Fortunately, my roller skating speed instantly cauterized their fleshy wounds, searing their nubbed arms like pork steaks. I took each step harder and harder, finding no limit on how fast I could go. Now there was a winding flame ring created as I ran at multidimensional speeds around the track.

The opposing team’s jammer was too busy looking for loose limbs to even think about gaining a point. The fire grew black. Her face went blank and her eyes unblinking as she cradled her limbs and then disappeared in the growing flame.

A win was futile for them anyway. So I just kept going.

I racked up a lot of points within those two minutes we were given.

After only one round of derby, they called the event and granted our team the prize. My teammates were shellshocked and just stood there wide-eyed looking at the ground or hid their faces in their hands. I proudly went to receive our prize.

“You’re gonna go far kid,” the old man said to me. He was ghost white and counting a bundle of bills in his hands. He was gonna be my new coach.

The announcer carefully handed me a prize certificate to Red Robin and ran away screaming. So did all the guests—except Mother.

My name is Banshee Tenebris, ‘the Destroyer of Worlds’ and I’m a winner.