“Father,” a boy named Cameron crept up to the giant of a man sitting at his desk.
“Yes, boy?” his father’s husky voice called back, not stopping to gaze at him. He continued to scribble down on a piece of parchment.
“Why did you have so many children? It never seems like you like any of us?”
“You should read this play, Cameron.”
“What is it called?”
“It’s called Fences.”
“What is it about?” Cameron asked, looking to see if it was on one of the numerous shelves inside of his father’s study. He couldn’t see it, despite the soft light of the lamp nearby.
“What it’s about doesn’t matter, but one scene of it should tell you all you need to know about our relationship,” his father said. “The father tells his son that he doesn’t have to like him. All he needs to do is do right by him and to be responsible for him.”
“So you don’t like me?” Cameron asked, despondent over the ramifications of his father’s words.
His father remained quiet. “I had many children because I wanted to make a child that I might actually like.”
━━━ ♠ ━━━
011
fatherly love.
“Mr. Ayla, we regret to inform you that you have been suspended until further notice. We found that your reckless behavior in the championship match might have put other people in danger, including yourself. Please take this time to recover and adjust yourself for the ongoing season. We would love to have you back when you return.” - PRO WRESTLING EXCELLENCE MANAGEMENT
Allen Chaney only received a medical suspension, but that was exhausted before too long. Henceforth, the status quo that Pro Wrestling Excellence tried to make returned. Issak Otto was in queue for the next title shot. Joe Mountouri had won a tournament to advance onward, due to some rather idiotic circumstances. Pro Wrestling Excellence had chosen expansion as all places do. The Conquest Brand invited new sycophants to join what was still a standard of excellence amidst the stained world of professional wrestling.
All I saw was mediocrity, and it made me sick.
So, I turned my attention to something else, something that was familiar.
I looked at my wife.
We were in our backyard on a snowy day in the midst of my suspension. We watched our older children scoop up snow and pelt one another with it. Their faces lit up with heat as the coldness dispersed among them. I stood outside, on guard, while Tara paced with our newest child, Leo. For once, he wasn’t crying. His newly developed eyes tracked the falling snow. Perhaps it was why he wasn’t screaming.
Tara’s body language told me that she was relaxed, her shoulders slacked back. A semblance of a smile stayed on her face as she looked down to Leo. The little prince was different from his older siblings, especially compared to Sylas. Where Slyas was quiet to a haunting degree, Leo may have been the root cause to why–as if he stole Sylas’s volume. Orson asked me at one point if Leo had a mute button. I came to understand that we were blessed by Sylas’s silence.
Yet, our family life was a distraction. The most important one, yes, but a distraction nonetheless. Tara and I trained together again as she began to get ready for her return to Pro Wrestling Excellence. For me, it only stoked the flames of my desire. When Tara would go to sleep, I would stay up with Leo, watching the different videos that the PWE roster published.
Everyone wanted to be a hero, I thought. People that came into the company believed that they were a cure-all for a disease that didn’t exist. Allen was the leader of the brand, and he was faced with ignorance from the get-go.
There are good people in wrestling. I’ve seen them myself. They’re the most frustrating creatures to deal with but they demand your respect. Any person who keeps their morals in a business that devours them is someone worth befriending. Jessie Fontaine, who I wished had won the tournament that Joe had–and that’s a topic for later–was one of those people. I helped him when I could to see his return to wrestling. My sister, Artemis, engineered most of his new offense, but I gave advice when I could. On the other end, my youngest sister, Sophie, had a true chance to stand in my way, but she and Jessie clashed. Jessie smiled at his elimination and was thankful for the opportunity. Yet, on my screen, I didn’t see a good person. I saw something well put together but fake.
I loathe Issak Otto.
He’s put together with falsehoods, capped with a smiling mask. If you touch his face, you may feel the porcelain material, but one should be careful. He might bite your fingers off. He spoke ill of me and used me against Allen. I hated the idea of him getting a title shot. I nearly vomited at the prospect that his unworthy hands may graze my championship. He called me a tyrant but I call him a liar. And Allen saw through that, like I know he would.
Each day, I waited. I crossed lines through dates and planned for my return.
“Mr. Ayla, we understand that your suspension has expired but you haven’t made any plans to return. Are you still interested in pursuing opportunities in our company? If not, we will have to see about severing your contractual ties to us. Congratulations on the newborn, by the way. When you get the chance, give us a call or email us, whatever works.” - PRO WRESTLING EXCELLENCE MANAGEMENT
I ignored the email but I contacted the right people.
“Mr. Ayla, we still haven’t heard back from you–” - PRO WRESTLING EXCELLENCE MANAGEMENT
I ignored the rest of that email too.
“If you see me, then you know my answer. I’m allowed backstage as per my status.” - PRO WRESTLING EXCELLENCE MANAGEMENT
The week of Magnificence II came around. I packed my bag and kissed Tara goodbye but as I looked at her, there was something different there.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Nothing,” she said, staring off into the snow. Not vacantly, but not here either. “Have you decided what you want to do?”
“I was given a summons, so I have to obey that,” I said, letting out a sigh. “Either way, whoever wins, I’ll see to making a statement. I’ll cut the lights out, come from wherever I can, and I will lay them down.”
“You’re hoping it’s Allen?”
I smiled, which I didn’t think would happen. “Yes. It has to be Allen. Even if Issak wins, I’ll just tear it from him so that Allen and I can finish what we’ve started.”
Tara’s face changed, only a bit, but enough for me, a six-year veteran in Tara Body Language, to notice. “Mm,” she hummed before turning around. “Enjoy yourself then.”
I didn’t chase; I nodded. “I’ll do my best.”
Tara stopped her ascent on the stairs. “Allen…do you consider him your friend?”
I couldn’t figure out a proper answer to that question. Allen had called for the holidays. As awkward as it was, it felt like a hand being outstretched. As I considered Tara’s words, I pictured what would happen when Magnificence II concluded. If Allen raised the championship, I would appear there like the phantom he knew was coming. Lights on, lights off, roll the cameras, and a lariat would be delivered upon him. I saw him smiling, knowing that we would finally reach a conclusion. It started off with animosity, transformed into respect, and even trust. I believed he was the best person to lead Pro Wrestling Excellence in my absence. He was the only one that knew about Tara’s delivery and why that was the real reason for me taking time away. My suspension had already expired by then.
I feel different these days. I didn’t find myself being as quiet as I was before. I played more with my children, but I let myself be childish with them.
“I think he is,” I said.
“You’re certainly being theatrical for him,” after she said that, Tara gave me a weary smile. She waved me goodbye before heading up the stairs.
Magnificence II came and went. Allen smiled. The crowd was uproarious, not with boos, but with cheers. I never paid the audience any mind, but it did liven my spirits. But it was Allen’s grin before the lariat that told me all that I needed to know. He was waiting for him as much as I was waiting for him. I had returned to my wrestling home, where the man that I wanted to fight most was at his best. Next time, we wouldn’t let the company get in the way of what we do.
Yet, upon returning home, my neighbor was standing near our mailbox at the bottom of the hill. Elijah, often the caretaker of our children when we’re gone, looked at our home with a pensive gaze.
“Mr. Elijah,” I called to him, which seemed to startle him a little.
“Oh, hey,” he began, “I didn’t know when you’re going to be back.”
I looked at the house and came across the same realization as he did. The lights were off.
“Tara didn’t mention it?”
Elijah shook his head. “No, she just said that she was leaving.”
I grimaced.
“What’s wrong? It’s no problem, really. You know I love watching your little army,” Elijah joked.
“It’s not that. I just–” I dismissed the thought. “I’ll come with you.”
I didn’t think too much about it as I gathered the children. Perhaps she came to the show as well. I didn’t see her there, but she’s free to do what she needs to. Maybe she was plotting her own return incident. But what kept coming back to me was a simple question. Why didn’t she tell me? Even when she came back, the question pricked at my mind.
What were you up to, Tara Lutece?
━━━ ♠ ━━━
I don’t have a camera operator anymore. I ditched my last one a while ago so that he could go off and become a film director. I paid for his four years of college because scholarships were hard to come by. A year ago, I got a phone call from his mother in tears. She didn’t know who I was until she looked up my name. She didn’t understand why I did something so sweet for her son, but I helped their family out tremendously. Her son was the first one to be able to graduate from college. She sends me Christmas cards and a few toys for the newborn. Regardless of the thanks I get, I check in on him. He did go into a sewer with a protective crocodile.
I hope your grades are up, Ian. Your mother would be disappointed.
Nonetheless, I trek out to a hill blanketed in snow. I nearly lost my footing, which I’m glad the camera wasn’t on to see. I have a reputation to uphold. I scouted the area, seeing the river grazed by the rising sun. I set the camera up accordingly. Wrestlers of old had to record everything themselves, so they learned about cinematography. You made yourself marketable off your own efforts, so the top stars had either people do it for them or dedicate themselves to the craft. I was one of the latter.
Casanova English, that’s a name that I haven’t heard in a long time. I remember that my sister spoke to me about a place called VoW, Visionaries of Wrestling. You might know her. Artemis Kaiser. Yeah, she says that she helped you out of a bind. She texted me that she was excited that I would get to fight you. When I heard that, I couldn’t help but take notice. Of course, I’m a student of the game. I took my time, watching your film.
Here in Pro Wrestling Excellence, you have run through the charlatans. El Landerson, Victoria Lyons, and Kim Jeawoo were all appetizers, morsels. Wraith was the first person to be anything substantial. Even then, there’s still the hunger underneath. It’s festering, clawing out of your stomach, threatening to turn on you if you don’t satisfy it. I know that feeling because I’m living that feeling now.
Imagine if you will that you’re in my position. I’m waiting for my one true rival to finish up with some bullshit, just so we can get back to what we’re doing. We have to dabble with the foreplay all over again because we were both cockblocked. Of course, that means that I have to beef up my resume. I have to do things nice and proper. People get upset when former champions jump the line, but none of those people can beat me. But…I’ll play the game. And now I’m here. Against you.
Hello, I don’t think you know me. I’m sure you’re thinking of me as just an old face, trying to regain some notoriety. But for me? I see you as something of a depressing story. To paint the picture of this and why I’m going to beat you, I need to do one thing that you may not be comfortable with.
I continue the trek up the hill. A slab of stone sticks upright upon the peak, casting a shadow upon me as the sun lifts behind it. As I make my way up there, I noticed the fishing rod stuck in the snow, laying an useless line right above the water.
Let’s talk about fathers.
My father, Leon Vandyne was a monster not far from your father; he was just never caught for anything. In fact, he escaped to Canada to escape whatever wicked fate stalked him in Germany. I won’t recall what he did, how he did it, and how he ultimately felt. What mattered was if that strand of violence was in my DNA? It’s a question that I’ve played around with like a grizzle on bone. Am I only this way because of what my father has done before me? Or am I this way because I wanted to be and used him as an excuse? The answer to that question is one that I don’t think you found your way to.
Nevertheless, I worked on myself. I ran away from home. I found new friends. I made my way into wrestling like he did, but I didn’t use anything that he provided for me. I found my own trainer, who became like a father to me. I took the time to rip out all the rotting pieces of him that were nested within me. And now, I stand here as a free man. And through that, I found success beyond any expectation my father had for me.
And that’s why my name is synonymous with this place. And it’s why you’re going to lose me. You’re going to hurt me, I’m sure. You’re going to bring that so-called ultraviolence. You’re going to try to get into my head, but in the end? You’re going to walk out not only beaten, but also jealous.
Then you’ll ask yourself if you can be like me? Can you be a truly free man?
Your father was a complicated mess of a creature, wasn’t he? Yes, I’ve listened to the podcasts, the false provocative ones. Despite what they may say, they’re just as sanitized as anything published by a big company. It’s the essence of true crime these days. Clive Jones, the Cleaver Killer, was the sperm donor, and you’re inadvertently thriving off that fact. When he gifted your mother with you, he had already implanted the idea of violence well behind those pretty eyes of yours. Or that’s what we should be led to believe.
Really, I just think your father and your mother have done you a disservice that has become my problem to deal with. In my return match, I’m not only being presented with a hot prospect that our company should nurture, I’m going to have to solve this inheritance problem for you. It may be by design, but the fact that you had to deal with so many 2nd gen failures hasn't done you any favors.
Now before you spew off a diatribe about my supposed privilege, being second generation and all, I feel as though I should dissect who my father is. I was candid about how my father raised me, but I never got into who he was as a person. Certainly, he was heavy handed in his training, which veiled other abuse, but who was he to anyone that wasn’t his children? Or his wrestling associates?
You might think that Pro Wrestling Excellence is a breeding ground for the entitled, but then they gave you to me.
I’m different from what you’ve faced prior. The biggest test you had was Wraith, and he wasn’t fit enough to stand across from me. Ironically, I’m the Father of Pro Wrestling Excellence. It has been my responsibility to see to this federation’s health and growth. But when those at the helm of business decide that you can’t come and see what’s around, they get stuck with braggadocious things like you.
Do you think that you’re special because you’re not like the other girls?
As I approached the headstone, I saw the name of my father, Leonidas von Licht, staring back at me. A false name given to hide disturbing facts. I shook my head as I reached down, resting something at the foot of the stone. As I stood up, I pulled out from a bag I had carried with me, the remnants of his cane. I had destroyed it to alienate myself from his influence. What pieces were left would now live in the bottom of the river, gone from me forever.
There are plenty of wrestlers like you. I’m two steps away from it myself. I used to run with an army of them. And besides, it’s a story that professional wrestling is wrought with. You said it yourself. Everyone seems to have ties to violence in wrestling. But you operate with your head up high, thinking you’re above the rest of the masses. You call yourself the Unprofessional as if it means anything beyond that you’re full of yourself. So, I took the time to analyze you, to get to know you, and now I’ve come to a conclusion.
I think you’re acting out because you don’t have control over your world like you think you do. You’re either delusional or you’re lying to yourself every day. You wear your trauma like armor, but when you tear that off, you’re just the same, scared boy wanting to keep your mother safe from the big, bad, predatory men. In the end, you couldn’t even do that. That’s the crux of your life, that inability to have control over anything.
That’s what I have. That’s what made me the unstoppable machine that stood on top of wrestling. And sure, I’ve slipped. I’ve lost one match, but when I came back, the whole entire company was back around my finger like a good, little bitch. They had to force me out just so that I wouldn’t emasculate Issak Otto. But in the end, I get what I want. I will wait for the charade that is Joe vs. Allen to happen, then I will get back to what wasn’t finished.
You, on the other hand, Cassidy? You’re not there yet. Even if we excuse the disgusting life you live, your career has still been in shambles. Back in VoW, Ziu Zhong was your kryptonite. He ended your first World Championship reign, humbled you, and put a dent in that Modern Day Messiah ideology you so childishly had. Your second reign was left at the mercy of Seth Iser, where a technicality kept your reign alive. It was by the virtue of your management that you remained champ–another thing out of your control. In Project: Honor, you had those like MYOJIN able to put you down and then watch as they eclipsed your entire career. Even now, you have created a safe haven for yourself in CU:LT, but only time will tell if the same thing will happen to you again.
The reason that I bring this up is to propose a pattern. You dial yourself up to be at the top of something, and then can’t do anything but watch as it falls to pieces in your hands. No matter how you try to scoop it up and hold it tight, you’re left with nothing. You’re here with nothing, wanting your chance at everything. But what you need to do in this match is pray for survival, which is something you have never done before. I implore you to try it. It’ll be the first thing you do to escape your lineage and become something greater.
I walked back to where the camera was. In my pocket, I pressed a button, sparking the tiny explosive that I had constructed. The headstone broke into pieces, falling into the water below.
Because just like he did for all those women in Canada, the worst thing your father did was murder any hope you had of survival. Just without the cleaver embedded in your skull. While you struggle to maintain the semblance of togetherness, you’ve been led to me. Now I have pointed out these things about you because in the end, it’s your weakness. Pointing out the fallacies of you at my standing, as a legend of this company, it may force you to look in the mirror. Ultimately, I don’t see this as a warm-up. I see it as an opportunity to help you. As I said, PWE should nurture you unlike VoW did. And I should be the first to do so.
So let me help you cleanse yourself of these false personas. Because if you continue to live by the virtues that your father produced? I will slaughter you. I will rip you out of Pro Wrestling Excellence like I have done with so many before you. Because we don’t have time for the overblown rhetoric that you’re producing. And this is the only way that I can help you.
So I don’t want the Unprofessional. I don’t want the Modern Day Messiah. I don’t want the Orphanage.
I just want you to be yourself, even if that means breaking you to do it.
With the headstone gone, the sun would rise without interference, and the river could display its true beauty. The only thing that I believe is that I may have upset the fish, trying to live peacefully there.
