Post by Lantlas on Sept 26, 2006 19:39:30 GMT -5
Munich, German. 1988.
Young Lantlas Anduril, though not showing his fear, was growing more concerned by the day. His mother had not returned in three days, and little Neovan was becoming too much for the child to handle. Lantlas was a mere twelve-years-old, given the responsibility of taking care of his little brother, who was nine. Concealed in a darkened corner, breathing a bit easier since Neovan had finally fallen asleep, Lantlas scribbled on a small notepad. Most of his mother’s friends had noticed his incredible writing ability and intelligence for such a young age.
Lantlas dropped his notepad for a few seconds, and walked over to Neovan, who was snoring on the sofa and curled up with the blanket that Lantlas had given him when he was three. Lantlas very easily lifted Neovan’s head and placed one of the decoration pillows under his head. “Mommy?” Neovan’s voice barely whispered. Lantlas froze, and Neovan quickly fell back into a deep sleep.
Lantlas retrieved his pad from the corner. His words were surrounded by illustrious decorations and summaries of what each of them meant. He paged through many of the previous entries into his illustrated journal, which revealed quite a common theme: a forest. Lantlas thumbed to a blank page, and walked outside to the barely-standing wooden porch. Outside of several soldiers coming home very late, there wasn’t a sound in the air. A small crescent of the moon glittered the sky, and some of the stars surrounding it didn’t quite seem as bright as usual to the young Lantlas.
Walking down to the grassy little block that was still on his property, he sat near the edge of the small dirt path that, besides a car every now and then, was just a trail to get from boarding house to family boarding house. Most of his neighbors were not social people, usually because of avoiding the strange kid with the blue hair in house number sixteen. It was a rare occasion when a mother or a child would approach him, and this later would affect Lantlas in his conversational and interaction skills.
His pen lightly touched the top left corner of the page, and he held it there for a few seconds. A small inkblot started forming under the felt tip of the black-ink pen, likely going down through several pages in the process. Lantlas closed his eyes, and his hand began to shake. With his non-writing hand, he clutched his emblem around his neck, and visions began flashing before his closed eyes. He saw his father, who was no longer among the living of this world. The words of Revelation 21:3 repeated throughout his mind as the image changed to his mother. His sweet mother, who had been so broken over the loss of her husband and her children’s father, Lantlas felt empty inside for not being able to restore happiness to his mother’s heart. Lantlas had a bad habit of taking personal responsibility for others when they were down. He felt that if he could take the pain away from them and place it on himself, he could bring a little bit of life to another life, despite the building of tension on his. Unfortunately, that tension had built up too much for even a strong child like Lantlas to handle.
The pen began to move, and letters began to form preceding the motion of his pen.
“The words of a soul that appears to be much older than the body in which it exists, I feel that even with the divine power with which I’ve been blessed cannot save me from the black cloud appearing above the small beacon of hope protruding from my heart. What have I done to this world to deserve such a wave of mutilation, such bad karma that those responsible for raising me have vanished from existence? How is it that I alone am supposed to find a way to raise my little brother to be a man when I have not even yet begun that transition into adulthood myself? What is one to do under such circumstances?”
Lantlas wiped away at his still-closed eye with his right wrist, and continued to let the pen write the words from his broken soul.
“Why is it that I have to grow up without a father? What have I done to deserve losing such a man? In a world where many fathers are negligent and abusive, I am fortunate enough to receive one with morals, honor, and dignity… and he is killed. How in the world is that fair? How does the shift of balance in this universe work? Those evil and ignorant are protected by Fate, but those decent human beings and honorable people are stripped away from the world like the Gods are mining for unspoiled souls? What is Fate’s purpose?”
Lantlas again began to visualize his mother, as he remembered her before the loss of Jeremiah. Before the color left her cheeks, when her hair would still bounce as she walked, and before the smile left her face, Sharon Anduril was the angel in Lantlas’s life. Having taken care of him from a very young age, Lantlas knew no other as his mother, and not until a much later point in his life would he understand just what a volatile situation that actually was.
“My mother, the one who has taken care of me despite not being the product of her love with my father, what has she done to deserve losing everything as she has? Those responsible for his company will not give her any benefits for the loss of the sole provider for herself and two kids at home… Is there no justice in this world? Fight for your country, but should you lose your life, your family’s on their own? How does that work? If my mother has in fact disappeared, not only from our lives but also from the planet, I can’t say I’d blame her in the slightest. Humans are only but so powerful and strong, and once that barrier is crossed, their vulnerability skyrockets, and smaller things that would once not affect them are now like implosions around an already-broken city wall. The wall, after being damaged, cannot take the impact of the attacks like they once could, and will soon falter and cave, much like a badly broken heart. The fact that my mother’s heart still exists is a feat in and of itself.”
Lantlas’s vision froze, and he saw himself. Those glowing blue eyes staring back at him in a glare that induced goose bumps on his own arms. Could this have been why people were so afraid of him? Is that what he looked like all the time? How is it possible to be in fear of yourself?
“What is my purpose in this world? Where have I come from to create such tribulation in so many lives before I’ve reached being a teenager? Am I the cause of everything around me breaking down, as it seems I am? And why didn’t my real mother want me? Did she know I would be the same way? Did she fear that once I grew up, I would destroy her life as well? It’s all I seem to be good for anymore, ruining things, destroying lives… What kind of way is that to exist? Am I the incarnation of bad karma? Do I bring anything good anywhere I go?”
Another tear dripped from the young boy’s face, but he continued writing.
“What was my real father like? Why would he allow my mother to disregard my existence as such? Did he hate her, or did he hate me? Did she get rid of me because he left her as a result of my conception? Did I destroy their lives, as I seem to have the parents who took the responsibility of caring for me? Has my existence destructed more than I even have yet to discover?”
Lantlas’s eyes opened, but he was no longer in his front yard. He was on a barren wasteland. The sky was red and yellow, and the ground was black. The stars were not around anymore, and the moon had crashed into the earth. Stains of blood and skeletons strewn about everywhere, Lantlas could not move from his frozen sitting position. His mouth was wide open in fear, but his pen continued to move in a furious manner.
“One day, will I love as my father did? One day, will a woman feel for me the way Sharon felt for Jeremiah? One day, will I be looking at my own son, trying to convince him that a bad luck demon is not trailing him like a stalker, screwing up everything in his life to the extreme? Will he see death as I have? Will he know pain and loss like I have? What would I have to do to prevent such actions from happening? Then again, will I even live long enough to know the sight of my own child, or produce one at all? What if my time on this earth isn’t meant to last any longer? What could be worse than disappearing from the earth unremembered? No one to mourn for you, no one to feel loss over the void left behind where you once were?”
Lantlas closed his eyes, and opened them one more time. To his relief, he had returned to the sitting position on his front lawn, but the sky had begun to brighten just a bit. Dawn was approaching, and another night had passed where his mother had not come home. Without knowing or understanding why, a final sentence appeared from the moving pen.
“And you… I wish I didn’t feel for you anymore.”
Lantlas then walked back inside, and could hear his snoring brother on the sofa. He then began to wonder how much he really meant to the little boy, especially in the absence of both parents now? Neovan had always clung to him like a puppy, and attempted to emulate almost everything Lantlas would do. Lantlas realized then that not everything he’d done in this world had been bad, as he’d managed to keep his brother in line, kept him a decent person despite everything that had happened. Neovan would be a good man someday, and when he was grown, living his own life, he wouldn’t have to worry about things like this. Lantlas, at that point, made sure from then on that his most important priority was to shield his brother from all the darkness Lantlas had seen. After all, what are big brothers for?
He closed the page in his notepad, and hid it in the same place as he usually did. As he returned his pen to his denim pocket, hoping it wouldn’t create another hole, Lantlas heard his brother stirring.
“Lanty, what were you doing?” he inquired.
Here it was, the moment of truth… Would he tell him about how he was contemplating his own existence, taking responsibility for ruining the lives of both his parents, and possibly his biological parents as well? Would he tell him of the metaphorical visions he’d seen, and how afraid he was that they would all come true, and he would find himself alone, surrounded by all the people he loved killed in cold blood?
“Nothing, Neovan… Go back to sleep.”
Neovan smiled and rolled over to his other side, so that his face was facing the reclining side of the sofa. Lantlas sighed in relief, glad that his brother had bought it. There was no reason for him to know that kind of pain.
…
Another week had passed, and another victory was under my belt, but that was not my primary concern. It was announced at the previous Trauma that at the next Pay-Per-View, I would be defending his championship against not one, but three challengers. Grimm would be receiving another chance to take my championship away from me. The Prophet would come into the picture, finally getting a chance to seek some vengeance for my interference in his title match ever so long ago, and a third challenger, Sean Hunter, would also throw his name in the hat for a chance to walk away with the title belt. That, as well, was not my primary concern. It was the letter I had found in Jade’s dresser by accident. While searching for one of my gloves, my hand had brushed away a box that revealed a piece of paper.
…
My dearest Lantlas,
As you well know, my past has been haunting me as of late. I need to know the truth about what really happened the night my parents were murdered. Since there was not enough evidence, the only person who can reveal that information is the murderer himself. I have to find him, sweetheart; I have to know. Staying here with you, although it’s all I’ve ever wanted, would only put you and little Emerald in danger. Please understand; leaving you is the hardest, most painful thing I’ve ever had to do…
…which is why I cannot bear to look into your eyes as I say goodbye. I don’t know what is going to happen to me out there or how I’m going to survive without you, but I do know that I cannot stay. If anything bad were ever to happen to you or Emerald because of me, I could never forgive myself for it. With you I feel safe, but to drag you into my troubles would be selfish and risky. This is something I have to fix on my own. Leaving you hurts, but losing you would hurt so much more.
Please say goodbye to your sweet Emerald for me; tell her I’ll come visit sometime. She really is beautiful, Lantlas, and lucky that you came along. You saved her, just when her life was almost taken away forever. And you saved me. I’ll never forget you.
I love you, Lantlas. Goodbye.
-Emily
…
She was planning on leaving me? After everything that had gone on, she felt she was putting me in danger? My hands began to shake, and it easily tore the piece of paper in half from the folds. The tremors shot down my body like a bolt of lightning, and I collapsed to the floor. While I was staring at the ceiling, everything had begun to come back to me, from a very dark time in my past. When I was so much younger, I’d imagined being in a barren wasteland, surrounded by everyone I loved, only they were dead. I had to shake it away, it wasn’t a time to be thinking like that, but it kept coming back. After it had seemed like everything was finally all right, it was going to be stripped from me once again. I couldn’t do it, I couldn’t let her become another Terry. It wasn’t only about me being attached to her anymore; Emerald loved her as well. I could probably survive another heartbreak, but I refused to let my Emerald go through that kind of pain.
Why would she possibly be afraid of putting me in danger? Who in the hell, her past or not, was going to come mess with ME?! “I’m gonna get that Jade… Holy shit, a big blue elf! I think I’ll fuck with him?” Not only was I quite capable of handing whomever would come after her, but I was also quite comfortable with the fact that as a wrestler who’d only been defeated one legitimate time in thirty-plus matches, that I could handle defending my daughter as well. I just didn’t understand why she would do this to me, after connecting on such a level relating to the past about how she would never do something like that.
As I still lay on the ground, a good half hour later, my nerves had finally calmed to the point that I was no longer convulsing. Something inside of me told me that I was not meant to see this, and perhaps there was more to it that I didn’t know. With all the strength in my body, I pulled myself to my feet and back to the dresser. Underneath where that letter had been, there was a small leather-book. I could only assume that it was her diary, and even though I’d had bad luck with running into those before, I needed to know what was going on for my own sanity.
…
September 21st, 2006
Last night I tried to leave the letter to Lantlas, but I just couldn’t. After I’d managed to say goodbye to little Emmy, I had the letter in my hand and I was going to do it… but it didn’t happen. The connection with him, how much I was drawn to him, I just couldn’t bear to lay another burden on his beautiful heart. Tonight, I laid in his arms, just listening to his steady heart beat, and I visualized everything that would happen if he actually found that letter… I could see him convulsing, collapsing, and returning to the dark state he told me about three years ago when he ended up kidnapping Al Laiman’s sister. I couldn’t be the cause of something like that, so I’ll have to search for the killer myself… I just won’t tell him about it. He doesn’t need any reason to add another worry to his list, nor should he have to go through that kind of pain. Goodnight.
…
I wasn’t sure what to make of it. On one hand, I was upset that she wasn’t being upfront with me, but at the same time, I was relieved that she wasn’t leaving me. I couldn’t imagine what I would’ve been like a week from now, in the ring with one of my title contenders at the next Pay-Per-View, Sean Hunter… What I would do to that poor man with all the pent-up emotion and aggression building up in my heart… with only one way to let it out… I would destroy him, possibly end his career, as I seem to have a habit of doing anymore…
I smiled a little bit. Maybe holding on to that darkness didn’t have such bad results all the time. If I could harness the emotion I felt the first time around with reading that letter, what kind of destruction would I be capable of in that ring? I mean, I know it sounds horrible, but effective nonetheless. Maybe it wasn’t the right thing to do, to feed off of emotion that isn’t really supposed to be there, but if it worked…
I tucked the diary away in the drawer once more, but I folded the letter up and slipped it in my pocket. It was almost like adding an accessory pack of energy, and an evil little smile curled up from my lips. Sean Hunter was fucked.