Post by Lantlas on Apr 4, 2006 16:44:40 GMT -5
I crack open one of my eyes, and I am lying on my back in the middle of the woods. I can't say there's any place I'd rather be, considering the circumstances. So many times throughout my life have there been humans I can relate to, although none quite as closely as Jason Willard. Where his hatred spawns from, I haven't the slightest idea, but my relation is not with his angry intentions. My heart clutches at the last remaining gap of a void long since buried in my heart with the rest of the tribulation life seems to throw. As I look towards the moonlight, everything changes to a long time ago, when I was much younger. Still living in Germany, not too long before we were to head to America to begin our careers in American wrestling.
The air force base holds many dark memories, such as the day we found out my father was killed in Iran. The last time I saw my mother was on this air force base as well. Neovan and I were young then, perhaps too young for our own good to be left alone to fend for ourselves. My recollection of the exact dates are unknown, given that the base never provided us with a calendar. All I know is that in the year 1994, Neovan and I began our wrestling training, and we only could measure the time by the seasons. Our training had measured five winters, this being the final one. I know we arrived in America in late November of 1999, right before the Millennium phenomenon, that mark in time of which everyone was both excited and petrified. My recollection of this specific time on the air force base is not one of wrestling, my parents, my brother, or even fearing our trip to America. It was about my Emerald...
Blue eyes seem to be a recurring theme in my life, as those who've had the power to both love me and destroy me seem to possess them. Above all my remembrance of each pair of eyes into which I've ever looked, one remains separate from all the rest. Ones so blessed with innocence and purity that it still boils my Elven blood to this day to know what happened to her, and to know that I couldn't have done a damn thing to prevent it. Let's back-track a little, so I can bring you up to speed.
I move back a few months, when the days were a bit longer and the leaves were still changing color. I'm guessing sometime in Mid-October, but it's too long ago to be sure. I'm walking home from the final phases of training, not yet knowing that I'd be hearing from Kinderfeld rather soon on the details of this country's departure. The same walk I made every day; from the cruddy dark gymnasium, the entire seventeen miles back to the piece of crap house they'd let us keep, as long as we kept paying for it. It was still in my father's name, so theoretically, they could've thrown us out anytime they wished. This walk was becoming excruciating, as I could not see out of one eye from all the blood I'd lost that day. After a metal bar repeatedly to that side of my head, it had swelled over and bled furiously. Something inside of me told me that this kind of abuse couldn't be legal, but in the end if it didn't kill us, it would indeed pay off.
I hear a rustle in the bushes to my right. I didn't think much of it, considering the usual wildlife was probably just looking for a mid-afternoon snack. I heard the bushes rustle one more time, and then I heard another sound... one that would not have been made by a rabbit or a squirrel. A whimper, one of a malnourished young human, a cry for help, if you will. Through my right eye, I scan through the bushes, trying to seek out from where the sounds are coming. I reach down towards one of the thorn bush branches and see a small piece of white cloth, one that appears to have come from a small child's dress. The poor child was hiding in the thorn bushes, she had to be in pain.
"Ich bin nicht hier, Sie zu verletzen, wenig ein." (I'm not here to hurt you, little one.) She must've heard the pure intentions in my voice, because I saw a tiny hand reaching up, trying to avoid any more scratches from the sharp and pointy thorns in the rosebush. Given that I was dressed in leather and a pretty thick shirt, I tore away the branches to get to the child. Finally, I found a pair of blue eyes staring back at me, skeptical and fearful. I'd probably be scared as a young child if I saw a giant-blue-haired being reaching for me too. "Ich bin nicht hier, Sie zu verletzen, wenig ein." I assure her one more time that I do not mean to hurt her in any way. The fear finally leaves her eyes, and I grab her under her arms and gently lift her out of the thorn jungle in which she'd entangled herself. She was bleeding all over the place, including a few deep scratches on her face.
"Wir müssen Sie aufräumen, liebes Kind lassen." (We must get you cleaned up, dear child.)
After taking several steps out of the garden, I placed her on her feet. As I set her down, her left hand wouldn't let go of my arm. I bent down once again as her hand gripped my arm like there was no tomorrow. I could sense this child had been abandoned, and that was something to which I could relate quite well. A tear ran down her cheek and mixed with the blood still dripping from the deep scratch on her face. I carefully wiped the tear away, and held her by her shoulders.
"Wissen Sie, wo Ihre Mutter ist?" (Do you know where your mother is?) After a few seconds, she shook her head. Another tear streamed down her cheek, and I knew I couldn't just leave her. I picked her up, holding her close to me as I continued my walk home. Every muscle in my body was aching, but that was not of my concern at the time. By the time I reached the porch of the broken-down house, she had fallen asleep on my shoulder. I carefully tip-toed up the wooden stairs, trying to make them creak the least I could. As I stepped through the door, I was sure that Neovan didn't notice my arrival. The last thing I needed at this time would be questions that would surely scare the poor little girl.
I laid her down on the sofa and propped her head with the only pillow I had. So innocent did the little angel look as she slept, surely for the first time in days. I couldn't even begin to imagine the trauma of being abandoned at such a young age by the one who's supposed to be her mother. After all, "mother" is the word for "God" on the lips of all children. I quietly found the medicine cabinet, and got some disinfectant wipes and a few bandages. I knelt down beside her, ever so carefully wiping the blood away from the hairline scratches all over her. I looked down at the bandages I'd retrieved, and they were blue, I suppose to match those crystal pools of innocence I'd seen in her eyes.
Something inside me made me watch her sleep all night. There was just something so heartwrenching about this poor child that I almost felt like I should be the one taking care of her. Who else in this world would if I didn't? I couldn't have just left her there to die.
The following day, I had to leave for training. Knowing he wouldn't be going until the second class, I called Neovan over. His face when he saw the child turned to that of pale white. Before he could say anything, I covered his mouth with my hand.
"Sorgen Sie für sie mit Ihrem Leben." (Take care of her with your life.) He could see the seriousness of my words in my eyes, and he lightly nodded. That night, I arrived home as Neovan was leaving, and the child was still asleep on the sofa, not having moved an inch. Neovan quietly walked out the door to head for his daily dose of blood donation. I kneeled down next to her, much like I had the previous evening, when her eyes suddenly flinched open. Alas, she was still weak and could barely move, but she managed to turn her neck just enough to look into my eyes. I softly ran my head over the top of her head, assuring her that she was safe, that everything would be fine. Her lips were trembling, as she was trying to muster the strength to speak. I leaned in close to her, as her voice could barely get above a whisper...
"Vati." (Daddy.) My heart split in two. How could this beautiful angel be so deprived of love that one night could make her easily confuse me for her father? Who would do this, who could be so empty and cold inside? What motivation would there be to abandon a little girl, certain of her imminent death? Her eyes closed once again, and I noticed something that detracted me from imagining what parents could do such a thing. Her shirt had been torn, and the angle it was at revealed something purple. I carefully moved the tear so I could see what it was, and I realized it was a bruise. I lifted up the side of her shirt, and saw that it was my handprint from picking her up the previous day. I began to panic. Was this child so weak that lifting her from a garden damaged her this much? I knew what I had to do, and I got the doctor on the line. He was there within minutes, and I could only watch as he carefully examined her.
The look on his face was a graven image. He pulled me to the outside of the house, and looked me in the eye. "Mein Freund, ich ist ängstlich, Sie zu erzählen, dass dieses Kind Leukämie hat." (My friend, I'm afraid to tell you this child has leukemia.)
That must be why she was abandoned. Parents so angry that their child was dying, possibly not having enough money to give her the proper treatment, they'd left her to die on her own. Pathetic souls. "Gibt es nichts, das Sie für sie machen können?" (Is there nothing you can do for her?)
"Die Krankheit ist zu weit entlang. Sie ist über hinaus Behandlung jetzt. Sie wird nicht leben, das Ende vom Jahr zu sehen." (The sickness is too far along. She is beyond treatment now. She will not live to see the end of the year.)
I don't remember much of what happened after that. All I know is I wrapped her up in several blankets, and took her with me to training. I laid her down on the unused mats, making sure her head was resting gently on the pillow, and I warned everyone with a stern tone to not go near her. I turned to the ring to see my brother being overtaken by three other guys, just as they would always do to me, and something triggered in my brain. Without even thinking, I ran inside the ring, and grabbed one of them, throwing them over the top the whole way down to the floor. I turned and cracked the other one upside the jaw so hard that I believe I broke it. The final one I pulled off my brother, I lifted him up above my head, and dropped him face-first to the mat. I pulled my brother to his feet, and he was watching in awe as the last of them rolled out of the ring to the floor in pain.
"Das ist ja eine Erzählung erzählt zu werden, wenn ich je Ein gesehen habe." (Now that's a tale to be told if I've ever seen one.) Yes... An Elvish Tale.
Back to where I started from, in what must've been a late November night. Kneeling next to her, I could feel the life leaving her. Several tears ran down my cheek, mostly out of my helplessness. This child was going to die, and I didn't even know her name. Her heartrate was slowing, and I picked her up in the blankets. I held her as close as I could without hurting her, and I slowly moved back and forth, to keep her asleep and peaceful. Without even realizing it, I began to sing her to her ever so softly...
"Aufheben ein Schatten
Im dunkeln von Nacht
Ablehnung, zu übergeben
Aber widerwillig, zu kämpfen
Wenn nur, wenn nur
Diese Risse, die ich weine
Könnte unter Anmut fallen
Und hemmt nicht aus dem Licht
Wenn nur, wenn nur
Der Schmerz könnte verschwinden
Die Gedanken in meinem Kopf
Könnte sein, was ich sage"
(Lifting a shadow
In the dark of night
Refusing to surrender
But unwilling to fight
If only, if only
These tears that I cry
Could fall under grace
And not block out the light
If only, if only
The pain could go away
The thoughts in my head
Could be what I say)
I looked at her peaceful face, knowing this would probably be the last moments I'd spend with her. All of the sudden, her eyes opened slightly. Her lips trembled, like the only other time I'd heard her speak. I prayed that I could hear her, and I put my ear down as close as I could without touching her. "Mein Name ist Smaragdgrün. Ich liebe Sie, Vater. Immer werde ich mit Ihnen sein." (My name is Emerald. I love you, father. Always I will be with you.)
Her eyes then closed, and I could no longer feel a pulse. Regretfully, I phoned the doctor to alert him of the news he knew would be coming eventually. As he arrived to take her away, he asked me what her name was, for the records. I looked at him, and muttered only two words... "Emerald Anduril."
...
I return to the present, my tears blurring the vision of the moon under which I lay once again. I regain awareness of the situation into which I've entered. Foes which have nothing on their mind but the destruction of myself, Seth Sinn, and Blade. Yet, at the point where I should be boiling and enraged, ready to end Jason Willard's career, I find myself instead envious of him and his daughter. I close my eyes, seeing those two eyes looking at me for the last time, and I know that weakness cannot infiltrate me now. For whatever reason, this Willard has decided to attack me. His problems with Sinn and Blade were none of my concern, as I have plenty with Blade as well. For all I care, they could take him out of the game completely. I knew not of this American Nightmare fellow, and I knew Anthony Douglas had a problem with anyone who could be happy once in a while... Yet this Willard fellow still is a mystery to me.
Vicious attacks with weapons, even bringing his own children into the realm of danger for the success of his missions. While I did not understand his motives, albeit his unprovoked hatred for me, I understand that it is yet another challenge I must overcome on my quest to become the world champion, and yet another step I must take in the Elvish Tale. Willard is an anarchist, a threat only to those who fear him, just a name. A Nightmare to Society, but I am not a part of any society.
Realizations were flowing like a river. I sensed certain chapters of this Tale were soon to end. Above all, I sensed that within a short period of time, I would once again be alone. However, unlike every other time in my life, it would not be a bad kind of solitude. Perhaps I needed to distance myself from those involved in my past. Perhaps this is where their journey on the Elven Path leads them. Wherever their destiny might take them, I will wish them only the best when the time comes. I must journey on alone, fully focused on the most unachievable of goals in my career... dethroning Ace Anderson, and becoming the PCW World Heavyweight Champion.
Once more, I remember Emerald looking into my eyes. At once, another memory hits me. One of a dream I had several weeks ago, where Sinn and I were discussing the newborn child he was having in this realm of fantasy being knocked out had created...
"Yeah, but it just wasn’t the right thing for me. Probably never was. I'm happy she found you though, Lane. I really am. I couldn't be happier myself. Oh, that reminds me... you're going to be a Godfather!"
"You're kidding."
"Nope, Devon's expecting."
"You have any ideas for a name?"
"I was thinking 'Emerald'..."
What could this mean? What could my subconscious be trying to tell me? Nothing that crossed my head was ever to be taken lightly. The Elvish Tale is about to enter a zone in which I'd never experienced. Where will this journey end, and who will stand with me at the end?
"Answers will come in time."
One can only hope.