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| Abandonment - Retribution; Dante Saffron | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Nov 17 2016, 02:23 AM (29 Views) | |
| Donnie | Nov 17 2016, 02:23 AM Post #1 |
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Abandonment Eleanor sat on the burgundy chair, her bare feet folded up underneath her, her posture cockeyed as she flipped through the pages of the magazine. She tried to ignore her son, Dante, who ran and romped in front of her. He was just over two years old now. He had a full head of black hair, no different than his raven haired mother. When she looked at him, she also saw his jawline and nose, both of which belonged to her. There was so much of her in Dante, she could hardly fathom it. It was these features, seeing herself in him that made these last two years at least somewhat tolerable. She likened it to seeing all her better parts improved upon. But those eyes. The piercing, emerald green, they were eyes that sent shivers down her spine. Try as she might, she couldn't shake the memories that flooded her every time she looked into Dante's eyes and saw the eyes of her attacker; Dante's father. Dante climbed up on the small, wooden, carved toddler chair and flew off with an elbow to the chest of Father Nathan McKenzie, and then he giggled as Nathan feigned injury. Nathan had been the saving grace for both her and Dante. Nathan loved Dante as his own son, treated her as a daughter. She could live many lifetimes and would never pay back his kindness. And the way Dante looked at Nathan; in Dante's mind, this man, this priest, was his father, not some stranger on the street who forced himself upon his mother on the streets of New York. And Eleanor knew that Nathan would never abandon him. Dante ran to her and climbed up on her lap. "Don't look me in the eyes" she thought to herself. It always ruined the moment. He didn't. He grabbed her by the neck and gave her a wrenching hug and then kissed her on the cheek. "Watch mommy," he said. He hopped down and sprinted across the room, his arms up like claws. He let out a growl like only a toddler can and jumped into Nathan's chest "attacking" him. Nathan spilled over backward and grunted in a play of being hurt. Dante giggled more. It wasn't that she didn’t love her son. She did love Dante. She loved him very much. But she hated him, too. This is what tore her apart inside. He was so small, so innocent, and so loving. It broke her heart to feel the way she did about him. It wasn't his fault, but yet she couldn't get past it no matter how hard she tried. "Monster, monster," Dante growled as he pummeled Nathan. Nathan in turn let out a playful yelp and attempted to hide himself. She prayed he wouldn't come to hate her for it as he grew older, but she knew it was for the best. She'd went over it, tore herself up over it time and time again over the past few weeks. Back in her room, she had a small bag packed and stashed beneath her bed. He was better off without her anyway. She was little good to him, and she couldn't heal with Dante around. He would be in good hands with Nathan. He'd do right by Dante, she knew. She always knew that. She fought back a sob and then lifted the magazine to shield her face as a tear dribbled down her cheek. It broke her heart to think that tonight, while they slept, she was going to walk out and abandon her son. She needed the separation though. She had to move past this. She had to heal herself, and once she could cope she could only hope that her son would accept her back in his life after what she was about to do him. So that night, in the early hours of the morning with Dante safely asleep in his bed, she left her son behind, and she left a piece of her behind with a heavy heart, unsure if she'd ever see him again or not. Retribution A myth and a legend. The two terms are interconvertible. Legends have been around since the dawn of time. The old myths of lore have been passed down from generation to generation since the dawn of man, while new legends have been born and blossomed into mythos. These myths and legends typically have a semblance of truth at the core of them but the design is shrouded in lies and deception. So why, then, does man feel the need to pursue and create these legends of old and new? Could it be because of the volition to exploit the mythos? There’s a myth about the Witch of Endor. The legend goes King Saul went to the Witch of Endor seeking answers on how to defeat the Philistines. In response, she summoned the ghost of the prophet Samuel. Rather than to aid Saul in his conquest, he prophesied that he would be defeated and join his three sons in the afterlife. The next day in the battle, Saul was wounded and, out of fear, stabbed himself, thus making the prophecy true. I tell of this legend because it is very much like another myth of modern times. The myth of James Jacobs, or Captain Howdy as he is known world wide. In his own right, James Jacobs has become a legend and a myth in this business. His name is uttered with both fear and reverence. Everywhere he’s stepped foot, he has burned his path and left pain and destruction in his wake as he’s obtained countless championships. He has turned himself into a god of sorts in an industry that lacks any real heroes or villains anymore. James Jacobs has earned his legend and made himself into a myth. But just like the legend of the Witch of Endor, James Jacobs has done something equally tremendous. He’s created a self fulfilling prophecy by instilling fear in his opponents. I’ve heard the rumors and susurrations from our so called “peers”. The name Howdy paralyzes them with fear and trepidation because they believe in the legend. It plagues their minds and shrouds their thoughts to the point that it no longer becomes about winning, it becomes about merely surviving. He’s become such a legend that he’s won before the bell rings. But legends are built on lies and legends fade with time. I’ve stood in that ring with James Jacobs twice now and twice I’ve failed to be impressed. I don’t see the Most Dangerous Man in Redemption. I fail to catch a glimpse of the legend or the myth. Is he impressive? In his own way, yes, but the hype does not live up to the truth. Truth is, legends die, and when a man buys into his own mythos he fades quicker than most. Therein lies the weakness of Howdy; his own hubris. That is where he and I differ in so many ways. He believes in his own legend and he revels in it. He has built a legacy by gaining pleasure through inflicting pain and suffering unto others. He gains a certain gaiety in the mental and physical anguish of others. I gain no pleasure from inflicting pain unto others. Am I good at it? Yes. But pleasure? No. I’ve felt pain no man can ever understand. I have suffered my entire life. My own existence has created suffering. No, unlike James Jacobs, I don’t inflict pain to drive my own sadistic pleasure; I inflict pain because I must. Captain Howdy would like to boast and stake claim that he will break me. These words ring hollow, however, because I was broken years ago and put back together. Nothing he can do could be worse than what I’ve experienced in my existence, for I am truly the Forsaken and The Fallen. James Jacobs would be best served to be leery of me. He’s never went to war with someone like me. He may have dubbed himself the Most Dangerous Man in Redemption, but long ago I was dubbed the Most Feared Man in Redemption. He can have his whispers. He can derive his pleasure from their pain. He can build his own legacy and buy into his own charismatic and twisted hype. Because while his is the name they utter, I’m the name they whisper because they dare not say it. He’s the man they want to merely survive against, while I’m the man they can’t even look in the eye. Why? I don’t care about championships, I don’t care about winning or losing. It’s all arbitrary. Once Howdy has broken a man, he has gotten what he came for. When I’ve broken a man, what I want is still out of my grasp. He can have his pleasure from pain. I want my retribution. I won’t stop until I get my retribution. |
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7:16 PM Jul 11
