08/02/1997
He was freshly sixteen…
Fuck, that hurt.
The pain radiated from where the knuckle on his step father’s middle finger impacted on his jaw and radiated up through his eye sockets. The ringing was fucking with his equilibrium, the hand reaching out for purchase skidding and earning him a second smack to the face.
“You know, when I tell you to keep your goddamn guard up, it ain’t ‘cause I bloody like saying it, Matty.”The smoke-filled, gravelly rasp complete with a ‘charming’ cockney accent cut through the ringing like it did most other things. Matthew stared at his step father in silence for what seemed like eons, all three of him. His once fiery mane now a ghostly white, brilliant blue eyes shining with far too much good humor for a man who probably just punched basic math out of his adopted son’s head.
“On your feet, you’ve been hit harder.”“I think i’ve had enough..”“You don’t get to make that call yet, son.”A grunt from the young man who balled his hands into fists and pushed himself vertical off of his knuckles. He turned to face the older man who already had his hands up. Matthew nodded and brought his own hands up before they began circling each other once more. He honed in one the way the older man moved, trying to find telegraphs in his game. He dropped a shoulder, Matthew fired his hand up to block a wide hook, he dived forward with a killshot. An uppercut to the old man;s jaw, but the old man feints away and he gets nothing but air.
The old man’s next punch finds his ribs, the air drives from him.
Then the same knuckle, the same spot on his jaw.
Down, sprawled on the same floor.
“You can’t freeze everytime a plan doesn’t work out, or a punch doesn’t land Matty. C’mon lad, that’s day 1 stuff.”“Oh fuck off!” Matt managed as he finally willed the air back into his lungs
“Day 1, day 100 it doesn’t fucking matter, I can’t get ahold of this bullshit…”“You seemed an expert, all those fights you got in when you were a wee one.”“That’s different.”“It is. That was going to land you in jail, i’m trying to teach you to make a living out of this. Now on your feet.”Matthew groaned, rolling onto his back and arching it as he tried to will the pain out of his body, a grimace etched deeply into his features.
“I said get up. I told you, you don’t get to make that call yet. Not til you land something, lad.”“Fuck else is new? I never got to have a say in any of this shit…”“‘Scuse me?”A pathetic hybrid of a whimper and a groan escaped the younger man as he finally got to his feet, squaring up in silence. The old man hesitated for a moment, which led to Matthew taking the initiative and beelining in with a leaping jab that was easily deflected. He got his hands up and clenched through a series of body shots meant to back him up. A shove, he broke the guard and fire another uppercut this one into the old man’s ribs.
God, it was like punching cement.
Still, he laid in for all he was worth until the older man shoved him off, nearly sending him on his ass as then-ignorant feet failed to keep their purchase or maintain a strong base. The dropped his hands to restore his balance.
Balance that he would soon be freed from when the old man took advantage of the same way he did all the other mistakes.
Same right cross.
Same knuckle.
Same spot.
Same floor.
Same white, hot, ringing pain.
“You tagged me…look at that, Matthew. Progress….you earned the right to make that call.”The older man noisily undid the velcro of his gloves, coming to kneel by the downed youth. A big, calloused hand reached out to gently caress the thick mop of black hair atop the young man’s head and shift it so he could find his gaze beneath.
“One last lesson, son. This doesn’t happen when the real work starts. No one cares how bad you hurt, no one gives a shit about what else you’d rather be doin’ or how much you lost. All that matters is the bell sounds, and you fight until it sounds again…”“No one is going to come in respecting you, Matty….you gotta earn it by takin’ a piece of them after you beat ‘em..”“What, like a fucking ear?” came the breathless snark.
“In some territories, I'm sure…but I’m talking about something more permanent, lad….a memory. You make them fucking remember how bad you were, not how badly you cried…”A final pat of the head before letting the curtain of ‘plumage’ cover the young grimacing face back up as it rolled onto its back, a groan rolling out.
This was bullshit, why did his hands hurt as bad as the rest of him?
The camera fades into a shot of the interior wall of the Palace of the Grand Master of the Knights of Rhodes. Old glory fading with each passing generation on it’s slow descent into dust and yet proud. A relic of a time where it was but one of many, seemingly permanent proof of the existence of its time. History shouting “I was Here.” desperately to each new present that greets it.
A perfect spot, really.
From off camera, footsteps begin to approach accompanied by a low humming of “Rains of Castamere” Eventually, the lithe form of Matthew “The Raven” Knox walks on camera, dressed in his usual drab attire with the biggest pop of color being the brown leather of the coat he wore and the glasz of his eyes.
“Dragons…Castles….rumors of Gold…” he let out a dry chuckle “I really nailed it, far as setting didn’t I?”He scans the walls of the old castle, allow himself a smirk before finding the lens once more.
“Suppose the Silver lining in all this is you’ve proven me to be as good as gold, Mark.”“Because…God knows you only pop your head up when you think it’ll most benefit you in some way.""Opportunity, image…as long as it makes Mark Cross matter if only for a little while. So, what is it this time?"He pauses, feigning an overdramatic thoughtful expression before snapping his fingers and pointing at the camera.
"Oh right…gatekeeping."Slowly, he began to pace the grounds as the camera followed each step. Hs face remaining flat, save the occasional venomous smirk as he set to speaking once more.
"It's an oddity, isn't it? World Titles and the attachment one forms to them. It's not unlike a lover, is it?""When you have it, you're the best there is. When you inevitably encounter loss? It's a downgrade. How dare anyone question otherwise, right?""Which leads me to the funniest part of all of this. The big, bright red mark in your argument. The gaping head wound that isn't your mouth…""All this bluster. All this gatekeeping. All this talk of the prestige and the sanctity of the SCW World Heavyweight Title…"He stopped in his repetitive path then, finding the camera and fighting to contain the grin tearing at his face for purchase.
"Coming from a blowhard who held it for less than two months."At this, he allows himself an outburst of laughter. He holds a hand up, begging for pause. For reprieve as he struggles to gather himself, caressing a sde as he threatens to pop a stitch.
"Man…tie that into the metaphor about it being like a lover and that makes you out as one of those sad sacks who lucked into a night of passion with someone way out of your league…and remained starstruck and convinced that love was true while she had moved on twice over and couldn't pick you out from a crowd…""That tracks though, given your social media presence. Hell, your presence in general really. Constantly seeking affirmation and reminding us daily that you, Life insurance agent looking you, have managed to find someone to love you."A pause, a smirk at his own pettiness.
"Just like everyone here seems to have stopped doing a long, long time ago now.""See, this match? This is on me. I saw red, I lashed out at the loudest most obnoxious voice in the peanut gallery and in doing so became little more than an enabler.""So congratulations Mark. You got one over on me. Bravo, Dragon.”He claps slowly, making a show of it while maintaining a deadpan stare into the lens.
“I promise, it’s the only and last one though.”“Usually this is my favorite part of the process, you know? Peeling back a man’s skull, picking apart what lies beneath and figuring out what makes your gears turn right before I throw a wrench into them.”A grimace, a shake of the head and a sigh escapes him. He stops his pacing, raising a defeated hand as he presents his problem to the viewing audience.
“The problem I'm having here is that you are no more interesting than the vapid attention seeking nudists that populate twitter…except they’ve probably given somebody an orgasm at least once.”“You’re transparent, Mark. Sickeningly so. Your play is simple. Effective, yes, but simple all the same. For those not in the know, sitting at home and listening to me drone on and on to sate their bloodlust before the bell rings though? Allow me the kindness of laying it out for you.”“See, Markus here thinks that with his not-terrible performance in the Blast from the Past tournament, combined with being a former World Champion, albeit with a pathetic fucking reign, combined with a victory over the number 1 contender will vault him right back into that opportune spot where he can get a world title match. Hell, i’m sure he’s already been in Underwood’s DMs about ‘Hey brother, if I can beat Knox you should force me into the match at into the void! It’ll draw the biggest gate you ever saw, dude!’”He takes in a breath, shaking his head and laughing quietly for a moment as he gathers himself.
“Forgive the Terry Marshall impersonation…”
“Well ain’t you just a handsome devil!” The old man proclaimed to the newborn he had just been handed as he held him up to inspect him, each hand securely underneath the child’s armpits and letting chubby legs covered in the navy blue onesie kick excitedly as the child giggled. Barely a few weeks old and already so expressive and excitable. FRom the nearby seat, the boy’s father couldn’t help but smile as he stared at his greatest treasure.
Asahi Joseph Knox, AJ as he would come to be known, the only begotten son of Matthew Knox and the brightest beam of light in the man’s decidedly dreary world. Camden Roth Sr, the first, whatever was another bright spot, admittedly. Watching the old man showing such love and kindness to his son brought a warm smile to the morbid corvid’s weary features.
Admittedly, it also brought a small pang of sadness as he wished that his own dad was here to see and enjoy the moments already created with the youngest Knox, and all the ones yet to come. He allowed himself a chuckle at the child’s squeals as the Elder Roth took to the ancient act of eating the child’s belly.
His chuckle and smile faltered though, as Marika entered the room like a cool, arctic breeze to bring the pair the tea she had proffered them. The small talk between Camden and Marika sounded miles away as he shamefully averted his gaze from his wife, not catching Camden catching the change in mood.
He had been honest with her a couple days after he got home from Thunder in Paradise. It was no secret that they hadn’t had the most traditional of marriages, but they had sworn to do better. Be better people to and for each other for the sake of AJ and because in some twisted way, they loved one another. At least as best as they knew how to.
So, of course, on the heels of such a meaningful declaration he got drunk with a woman he’d had a thing for since the moment he laid eyes on her and came within a breath of sharing her bed in the Bahamas.
He was sure at least in part, it was the act but he knew on some level, deep down that it wasn’t what he did that hurt. It was who he did it with. After months of assuring her it was nothing but professional, he proved himself a liar and now she barely spoke to him. He was thankful that AJ was still too young to pick up on how foolish his father was. . .
“Bout like the Arctic…” the drawl cut through his reverie as he snapped back to now, eyes barely catching the retreating form of Marika as she made her way out of the room and down the hall, cooing and speaking happily to AJ as he was taken to enjoy his next meal and be put down with a full belly.
“I’m sorry?” he asked, returning his gaze to the old man.
“The air in the room when she walked in, was about like the arctic. And I ain’t never seen you scared to look nobody in the eye in the short time I’ve known ya, boy…So what’d you do to get her dander up?”He couldn’t help the dry chuckle at the brazen, intrusive question. He reached out and plucked his own steaming cup of tea from the dish it sat upon, taking a sip. Earl Gray, one lump, no milk. She prepared it how he liked, even though he deserved to just have the scalding liquid thrown in his face. He remained silent for a moment, drifting in the anticipation the older man felt for an answer.With a sigh, he relented to the one force more powerful than stubborn pride.
The truth.
“You know that show I was just at? For Thunder Pro?”“Yeah, Marshall’s company right?”“The very same,” he confirmed with a nod
“Well…you saw, I lost. We lost..me and Amber Ryan.”“Buncha bullshit, but from what I can tell all these zebra fucks is blind anyway, son…” a pause
“She ain’t mad at you for losin’ them belts and the prestige though ,is she?”“No, no..god no. That woman…supportive no matter how monumental or miniscule the loss is…” a pause
“She’s mad because, after…” pride made it’s final attempt to hold back the truth. What really happened, anyway? Nothing that had any lasting impact. It wasn’t like Amber was suddenly carrying around his dozenth love child. Why did she have to be such a–
The truth remained undefeated, and pride remained the ugliest of any man’s face.
“What was after?”“Amber and I had a bit to drink…things got heated, like they always do. We’re shouting, arguing and then…I don’t even know who made the move but suddenly it’s all hands and lips and clothes flying off and…” Matthew shook his head
“We didn’t sleep together. Reason found the one door that was left unlocked and we separated. Looked foolish. Booked separate flights back and…” he shrugged.
Camden Roth III couldn’t help the cackle that escaped him as he brazenly lit up a joint, taking a puff to get it started before trying to cough his lungs out and offering the dooby to Knox who politely waved it off. After a moment, and another hit the older man finally replied.
“My god boy, you got in that much shit with the old lady and didn’t even get your willy wet for it? Ain’t you a sorry excuse of a dirty dog…” he managed out between deep, bellyful laughs at the younger man’s expense. Eventually, he wiped the tears from his eyes and took a calming breath, then one more hit.
“You gotta resolve whatever made you do that though, Son. Shit like that’ll ruin you quicker than anything you can shove up your nose..” a pause, a knowing nod from the elder Roth to the younger Knox
“Or in your veins, for that matter.” “I mean, what’s there to resolve? It happened, as little as ‘it’ was. I was drunk, we were pissed about losing, shits falling apart…just chemical reactions more than anything.”“Well there’s the dog again, this one runnin’ around lyin’.” the unmistakable west virginia twang weighed with good humor and a heavy truth
“You drink like a fish and smoke like a train most days we’ve shared, and I never seen yer eye wander one no matter how many of them pretty girls came over to talk to you and ended up kissin’ on me when they find out the rich old fuck is the only single one.”“Never heard you complain.”“And boy let me tell ya, neither did they…” a cheshire, dirty grin from the old hippie. He tugged at the long grey ponytail, reached up to scratch his beard and took a long swig of his own tea as he contemplated his next words
“I seen how you look at your wife, boy. I seen how you fought to protect the secret of ya’lls marriage when I first met ya. I know Love when I see it, but I know a disaster too…”“What are y–”“I say I was finished boy? Zip them lips, open them listenin’ holes and learn somethin’. Might just keep your kid from comin’ from the same broken home all your other kids come from.”“Hey no–”“I said zip it, boy!” the older man barked, face falling more to a stoney expression now as he pointed at Matt Knox
“You got a mess’a kids, from a mess’a different women. Now you got one who wants to raise it witcha. Not some groupie you knocked up, a woman who wants her life to be a part of your life….and you’re terrified o’at. Out here so damn afraid of the end that you wanna wreck it right after the begginin’...”Camden leaned forward, reaching a hand out to rest on Matt’s shoulder. His tone softened, but kept that stern ‘Old man educating young man on the ways of the world’ tone to it as he spoke.
“Not everyone is fixin’a leave ya, son. You ain’t doin’ none of us a favor in drivin us out neither. You got a life now, you made somethin’a yourself outta absolutely nothin’. Miles’a ‘data’ on addicts and ex athletes and you made yourself an exception to them all because by god, you are exceptional…and so is that woman, and she loves you. That little boy loves you, and he wants to come up with the both of ya lovin’ him under the same roof…”“You need t’quit lettin the noise fuck your shit up, son. The noise they make, and the kind you make up all on your own, too.”The rest of the visit was a pleasant fog in his memory. Kind words, funny stories, a few jokes at Cam Roth III’s expense. As the old man was getting ready to go, Matthew couldn’t help but linger by the door as he watched him depart with a friendly wave, giving AJ’s cheek a pinch ‘to grow on’ as he bid the child goodbye as well.
With the closing of the door, he soon found himself alone once more as Marika went to lay AJ down in his crib for that promised nap. He’d follow soon after, watching her hum to their child while trying to ignore his presence. Redoubling his courage, he approached the pair slowly, coming to a stop behind Marika. He stood still for what felt like an eternity before slowly, he reached forth to wrap his arms around her and lean over the crib.
Betting that the presence of the child would convince her to spare his life.
“I’m sorry, Marika…” he whispered into her ear, his own eyes closing as they began to sting. The overwhelming scent of Raspberries from her perfume doubled the weight of the guilt he felt. He’d burned that wretched shirt that he couldn’t get the smell of cinnamon from, the physical reminder mocking him for his sin.
Justified as it was, it had to burn.
“I can never make it completely right….but if you can give me a lifetime, i’ll spend it trying to…” his grip tightened instinctively as a lump formed in his throat, his voice hushing an octave
“I can’t go on without you…foolish as it sounds, hypocrite it makes me. I’m not a good man, and I'm certainly not a good enough man to be the one to have your hand the way I do…”“But i’d love it, if you let me keep trying to be…”He could feel her tense beneath him, struggling against leaning into his chest as she always did when they embraced like this. He took a steadying breath, laying a kiss atop her head.
“I’ll leave you to i–”His sentiment was cut off by her hand firing up to rest on his forearm, pulling it back taut to her slighter form as he went to pull away. Nothing further was said, or needed to be, as he practically melted into her form. The smell of raspberries overwhelmed him and lifted him from this mortal coil to rest on cloud 9.
No one else mattered, nothing else mattered. Nothing but what was here in front of him. Not any title, not any war, not any of the noise.
Nothing.
“But the point, inconvenient and ugly, still stands Mark. You saw an opportunity to further overinflate your unjustified ego, and appointed yourself the grand poupa gatekeeper of Sin City Wrestling.”The smile fades, melting into a sneer now as he reaches up, stroking his chin once and scoffing once, his tone flatter and more venomous.“You. Soulless, Conniving, Unworthy you whose veins are filled with putrid green slime instead of hot red blood have deemed yourself the moral authority on World Championships and their challengers. I know I already took the time to point out how pathetic that notion is, and how pathetic your reign was, but let's revisit your record here in Sin City Wrestling, shall we?”“And don’t get excited, don’t mean your win-loss-draw record Mark. I mean the impression you’ve left here, the mark on the company. What will matter to the generations of talent to come who end up working here, or read up on the history of a long-standing promotion for the sake of education. What will they see of Mark Cross?”“Hype. Empty Calories. And an unjustifiably overinflated sense of self worth.”“Because, as far as records go? You are a Blast from the Past participant,and a one time short lived, nay transitional, World Champion. You have held no other singles titles, you have held no tag titles and you do not possess any record for most wins that I can find.”“It seems to me that your greatest contribution to SCW has been that of being a good hand. A veteran presence with some notoriety here and in a few other places only you and the brass have heard of. Someone to book the rookie against, see how bad that signing bonus is going to look ninety days down the line…”“Now, if we ask you? You’re the measuring stick. The one that matters. The guy who is 2-1 vs the current Champion, even though that one loss is the only one that really matters because…that loss is what ended your time at the top.”“See, now it kind of makes even more sense. How angry you are. How hard you’re trying to gatekeep. You don’t give a shit about Mac picking me. You don’t give a fuck about my qualificatons. You don’t care about anything except the fact that he didn’t choose you.”“You’re angry at me, because Mac didn’t serve you your opportunity at redemption on a silver platter. And why should he? What have you done to separate yourself from anyone around here lately Mark? Please, listen to that word again Lately.”“Lately, in 2022 you’ve had one singles match against a scrub they fed you to sate your ego. You’re .500 in tag matches from your pedestrian attempt at winning a shot at Mac yourself. Our records are identical, except i’m one loss heavier and have a tie to my name. So please don’t act like your complaints are based on workrate, when you simply don’t do enough work to earn anything but a per-appearance paycheque here, Mark.”“So, with that in mind, i’m going to take a moment to apologize one more to Fenris and to the rest of the lockerroom. No, this apology has nothing to do with Mac Bane deciding he wanted me to be the man to take his precious World Title off of him. I mean, i’m sure he’ll be happy that it’s someone not named Alex Jones this time at least…”“No, I want to apologize for my loud mouth, further enabling a mediocre old man’s delusions of relevance and grandeur. This should be me and Fenris trying to tear each other apart in a brutal display of two actual warriors trying to best the other.”“Instead, you get to see me kick the shit out of some has-been who’s biggest achievement was a participation trophy level world title run.”“Oh man…did I just bury you?”“Consider it a preemptive strike, because i’m sure that whatever hot air you expel while pontificating about what you are, who you are, and what you’re due? You’ll have plenty to say about how little I deserve this, especially if I can’t beat you. How me with the world title will somehow debase it, devalue it, nevermind the fact that if I beat Mac, carry that strap to the airport, and successfully get it to the next show?”“I’ll already have a better reign than you.”“Let’s face it, Mark. As a wrestler you’re a skilled but decidedly unspectacular Part-timer. You’re older now, too. Slower, not as strong and i’d venture that the mind doesn’t react like it used to. As a man, you’ve only shown yourself to be an arrogant piss baby and slimey opportunist. And as a dragon? Well, you’re more pathetic than the fat shit Disney made a movie about especially when it comes to hoarding gold.”“Shit…no, now THAT was a burial.”“Climax Control Three hundred and whatever will be a reckoning for you, Mark Cross. When you make your way to the back, after you’ve sent your hourly ‘oh my god guys I totally have a girlfriend” tweet, as you unlace those boots while trying to focus on anything but the pain I have caused you…”“You will realize that the world has moved on, that the beating I gave you was a Mercy…a Mercy that will allow you to move on without badgering a company who’s locker room has grown tired of you.”“And I won’t even ask for a thank you…..”“Your silence will be enough.”
“What you can, and cannot control in life is usually determined by little more than your willingness to exert the right amount of willpower to do so.”The words rolled from within his chest and the part of his brain that gave him the ability to wax poetic about mostly anything. Weave a line of bullshit, overload them with words while working toward his actual goal was the usual tactic.
However, here in the school he founded and was as prideful of as his children and career in wrestling, that bullshit had to mean something. It was truly terrifying, knowing how some of them took his word as gospel.
The fools.
“Wrestling, Fighting, Combat in general? You will never be more in control than you will be in those situations, if you know what you’re doing.”He paused in a row, observing the rows of students. A full class of twenty-five today, all currently working on their jab in unison. He took a moment to correct a smaller student’s stance, widening their base with a gentle push on their ankle with his foot. A pat on the back as he continued to walk the rows. A smile exchanged between him and his oldest daughter, Helena as he passed her, then started up another row.
“Should you leave this place with everything we have taught you and decide to pursue a career in this great sport of ours, the sport of kings, you will need to prepare for the fact that nobody will give a shit about where you learned to fight or how well you can fight.” a pause
“Hell, all they’re going to see when they look at you is what they want to see, what they want to be the truth.”He brushed past Avalon Blackthorn who was leading the exercise, raising his palms to catch a couple of jabs within if only to feel something in the moment aside from numbness. He smiled at her efforts, shaking the stinging from his palms as he bagan down another row, stopping to correct another stance.
“I wish I could lie to all of you and tell you that all you need to do is win enough fights and that goes away. But you’re not here for me to lie to you. You’re here to improve, to learn, and to be the best you that you can be. So i’m going to be honest with you now. As good as that person is? As golden as you get? It won’t mean jack shit until you’re too old and broken to give a fuck about the affirmation.”He paused in the middle of the row he had set to pacing, his gaze rising to look at the CCA logo painted on the brick wall, and then beyond it to the infinite expanse of nothingness he always fell into as his thoughts got away from him.
“You sign your first contract, you sign away your right to basic decency. Everyone will want to either hurt you for the opportunity, or fuck you for the optics. You will never be human to your fellow fighter, you will only ever be a means to an end. A scapegoat for everything that ever went wrong for your opponent.”His gaze was locked on nothingness, a bitter smirk bubbling to the surface of his tired, weathered face adorned in the three day beard and with random strands of raven hair hanging loosely from his attempt at tying it back. Truly a disheveled man slowly being crushed under the weight of his own expectations, deeply thankful that he hadn’t opened a finishing school instead of a wrestling one.
“Daddy issues? That’s on you. Losing record? You’re going to be the one worse than them to right their ship. Lost a title, got divorced? Your blood will lubricate the gears that manufacture their rebound. And the sad thing is, even when you do find a friend or two in this business they will never place the worth of that friendship over the worth of their own aspirations.”A light touch on his arm snapped him from his reverie, his eyes snapping toward it to find his other daughter, one of many as it were, Alix staring up at him with the worried ‘Pater, you are rambling again.” look she gave him at least once a day. He paid her a reassuring smile before shaking his head and continuing his pacing.
“And so, today’s lesson can be surmised like this, class. You will never be guaranteed a fucking thing. Money, Titles, Friends, Love, A Family. These are all luxuries in life, luxuries that you are willingly risking with this career path. So work on knowing you before you know anyone else. Because no one. Not your mother, not your lover, not your best friend, not me, not Avalon, NO ONE will be guaranteed to be there in the morning….except yourself.”He paused at the end of the line he had gone down, reaching up and running a hand through his hair before nodding. He finds Helena among the rows and motions her toward him. Dutifully, the eldest daughter steps forth and approaches him. He leans in and mumbles to her.
“Alright, break. Helena, lead sparring if you don’t mind?”“On it, Da.”A smile broke through all that had surfaced from within and briefly, he pressed his lips to her scalp before patting her shoulder once and making a bee-line for his office. He paused briefly by the now vacant one across from it, grimacing at the obvious void left by Don Tirri being gone from this particular branch of the school. He shook his head, clearing the train of thought before it could touch the rails and slid into his own office.
The decor was spartan, save for the high number of framed photos that lined the wall directly across from his desk. The smiling faces of each of his children, right down to the latest pair of ultrasound photos staring right back at him. A small smile crossed his face, before he shook his head.
God, he really needed to get snipped.
He fell into his chair and lulled his head back, letting a decidedly dramatic groan escape him as he let his brain swirl around the infinite everything that made up his last forty years. The growing weight of desiring an after pushing down upon his shoulders while the ground swelled with expectations, threatening to crush him betwixt at the first given opportunity.
God, what the hell had you done, Mac?
That title fucked up everything. Made it professional, took away the very, very personal aspect of the fight.
Anything to save face, isn’t that right you punk son of a…
The thought was interrupted by his door being opened without anyone knocking first. This detail giving away the identity of his intruder without him needing to lower his gaze to meet hers.
“Band aids and aspirin are where they always are, Ava..” he commented dryly.
“Cut the bullshit. What was that?”“What was what?”“Your mid life crisis mental breakdown in the middle of class. Are you trying to snap and go all goofy again? Because you can’t dump that on me now that Tirri isn’t here to hold the place together while you get yourself right..”“No, my cheese is firmly affixed to my cracker Ava. Thank you for your concern, though.” He finally did lower his gaze to meet her own piercing one. The one that was more like him than either would admit, but one of the few, recently anyway, who was not one of his blood children. No matter how much he wished otherwise.
“You’re really a shit liar, you know that?”“How can I forget, much as you remind me? Get back out there before it descends further into chaos, Ava. You’re on the clock.”“I didn’t accept the job.”“It wasn’t an option not to.”She had departed before he finished the sentence. Defiant and angry. She’d fight to the death to not take his help, just like he’d fight beyond it to give it to her. Everything he spoke of, the lessons and the fears he may have created for the industry therein went double for her. The shit he’d seen and gone through, even just over the past month? He’d not wish it on his worst enemy.
Let alone his best friend.
Once more his reverie was shattered along with his peace. The trilling of his cellphone’s generic ringtone. He popped up from his seat, pulling the phone from the pocket of his sweatpants before hitting ‘answer’ and beginning his slow pace around the office.
“This is Matthew.”“Hello, may we speak to Matthew Aloysious Knox please?”“This is him, may I ask who’s calling?”“This is a representative for the Estate of Camden Roth Sr.”“...The what?”“The Estate, sir. I’m sorry to be the one to inform you, but Mr. Roth died early yesterday morning. We’re contacting you today because you’ve been na–”Everything phased out then. They might as well have been talking to him from the other end of the globe with nothing more than their voice shouting over a windstorm.
The old man?
He’d just seen him. He’d just seen him when he came to meet his son…
This wasn’t fair.
How could he be taken like that? When he was still so full of life?
The impotence of man was all so clear to him in that moment as he stood, alone in the endless expanse of a deafening and unending silence..
“And in that silence, Mark..I want you to reflect on it all. I want you to find pride in what you have done, despite how short the rest of us sell it? I hope you find peace with who and what you are, and learn to love it.”“In that Mercy, of the time I give you to go wherever it is you go when you’re not here. And, let’s not lie…no one really cares where that is aside from you and whoever is traveling with you on your dime..”“Wherever you go, I think you should stay this time. Because your time here, your legacy here is never going to be any better than what it is now. And trust me, if they really needed a gatekeeper they’d find more qualified help.”“So, great Dragon of SCW, Former Participation Transitional World Champion Participant, great decider of Golden prestige and relevance…ask yourself. In face of another opportunity at relevancy. With the fate of a redemption you don’t deserve against the man who beat you when it mattered….”“Can you stop me?”Leaving the question to hang, Matthew backed toward the wall of the ancient, decrepit castle. He’d join the millions of ghosts in the hallway as he made his exit, spirits that lingered unseen with the eyesore that was. The lingering memories that no one could ever seem to remember. The silent screams of a fossil realizing how alone it really is.
How time had marched on, and passed it by.
How nobody noticed, or cared….
As the footstep fades, so does the shot to an all encompassing black.
Where no one was.
