CD Piece
The Skin of a Man
The mist that encircled the lake at the edge of the home drifted along lazily as the children gathered in front of the small body of water. Their eyes cast fiercely to the drift of the ripples as they ebbed and flowed from one spot to the other. The eldest child, a girl with deep brown hair that fell in soft waves. Like many of the other children, she hadn’t cut her hair since she’d left the horror of her older life. This...paradise, was one in which she was free to be herself. Her eyes moved among the others beside her. There were the fledgelings, those that had recently arrived and were still nervous, like newborn deer. Those that had been there for some time, who were busying themselves gathering some of the fresh water into a bucket. A part of their chores, though partially unnecessary. It was more to give them purpose until they found a role in the home they liked, such as helping in the kitchen, or teaching the younger ones simple tasks like reading. And then there were the four like her. The oldest of the saved. Oldest was not exactly an accurate term for them. One of the youngest children in this group was in their rank, but they were the first to truly be saved by him. She dipped her palm into the water, watching her reflection shift and change before gasping as the ripples revealed the massive form of Eclipse looming behind her.
“You scared me.” She said with a soft pout, rushing up to hug him, as many of the other children did as well as soon as they saw him. His presence was illuminating. A light in the mist shrouded by a sickening sensation of wrong. His hand moved out, brushing through her hair before finding his place among the logs and stones that made up a nice sitting area, the children surrounding him.
“It’s funny you mention that. You all remember what I told you, right? It’s a quote by Lovecraft. The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is Fear. And the oldest and strongest fear is fear of the unknown. It’s an important quote, because it justifies that which all of us do. Take for example, wars. Wars are fought because we do not know of the culture of another nation, or how that nation will impact what we want. The fear of drugs was because we didn’t understand what those chemicals could do to people. The fear of the dark is just because we do not know what is lurking inside of it. Lovecraft had the right idea. The oldest and strongest fear is that of the unknown. And, in wrestling, it’s no different.”
His voice cracks a bit at the end of his statements. Rusty. Lack of use. For many years, as a child, he was silent and had sat in the glass walled cell of an asylum, either unable or refusing to speak. It was hard to remember anymore. A part of him, a deep growling thing, warns that it was because the child that he was, was weak. That without the being that growled and clawed at the edge of his psyche, that he wouldn’t have spoken at all. He doesn’t let it growl for too long though. There is nothing for this being to tear apart. So, it must be shoved down. And wait for its time to be unleashed. To strike. To claw and tear its way at its foes, as its desires will it to be.
“You are all aware I have a match?” He asked, which some of the children nodded, a few giving out excited whoops and cries. The four remained silent, their faces hardening with a strange sense of reality as to what they heard. It had been a long while since they had seen the patriarch fight actively. Long enough that they remembered just what kind of horrors and atrocities he could commit in the ring if he so desired it.
“This one is...unique. I’ll be opening the show along with several others. One has chosen to open his mouth, though like many that we’ve encountered, opening one's mouth doesn’t necessarily mean you are saying that much.” He joked, reaching into the small pack he had brought with him, and pulling out a trio of items. Furs it seemed. Patches of fur that still felt warm in his hand. The children crowded closer, as he pulled one free of the others, letting them run their hands along it softly as he nodded his head.
“An example. This is fur from a boar. A wild boar. Wild boars are dangerous, I know you all think that pigs are cute, but wild boars are violent and some of the most feral creatures in the forests. When they charge, they are reckless. They hurt all around them. But, Boar have something in common with our little family. They live in groups. That’s what makes them the most threatening, see an old boar will wander around by itself. Alone and unable to make sense of its surroundings. It’ll lash out violently, at even the slightest motion, and then huff away as if it triumphed. This boar...this boar is very much like Bam Miller. You see, I’ve heard about your exploits. Abandoned. Alone. A child that would have found a better outlet had he had a group to join into that could steer him from right and wrong. But you didn’t. Instead, like this wild boar. You lashed out. Your eyes, blinded by your own sense of violent impulses, latched onto the violence of this sport, and now you have a territory to roam. But, you’re reckless. A wild boar in a forest of wolves and bears. Without a group, you’re noisy and attract unwanted attention. You snuff at the bare roots around you, your eyes unable to see just what dangers lurk around you, with all the noise and bluster you’re making. It’s a shame I didn’t find you in Detroit...shame that I was as I am now, and you were still young. Then you may have had a chance. May have had the ability to survive. But this is a hunt you aren’t surviving, Miller. I would apologize, but your type doesn’t accept those, do they? You’re a man of action. Of resolve and conviction. You want to prove to everyone else in the arena, in the company. So be it, Old Boar. This hunt will be interesting, I can promise you that.”
With a soft sigh he moved his hand out, dropping the fur onto the ground, where ashes remained. The remnants of a small fire pit. His fingers moved along the two furs still in his hand, before pulling free a much thicker coat of it. Black, and wirey. Designed for cover and insulation. Black bear. One of the children squeaked excitedly, racing forward and running their hands against it, before looking up with rapt attention.
“That’s black bear fur right?!” He shouted, his voice stuttering partially. Manuel Hage. Another recent addition, but one that Eclipse had grown to cherish. Always curious. Always wanting to learn and grow as a person.
“That’s right Manuel. This is black bear fur. Now, black bears are interesting. They’re smaller, for a bear. And don’t have nearly the same reputation as brown bears, or grizzly bears. But, they can fight just as fierce as any other bear. They can, anyway. They are more likely to run from a challenge. Which is what I think Kevin Deane is liable to do. I may have heard nothing from you Kevin, but you’re type isn’t all that uncommon. Your muscalirity is a ruse. A mask to hide your own insecurities. You were picked on by your father as a child weren’t you? Told to excel. To be better than your peers so you wouldn’t wind up a disappointment to the family. That sounds about right. You choose wrestling to...what...life a higher life? To make enough money to be able to afford your happiness, am I correct in my assumptions? You chose not to speak. That’s fine. I’ll accept that fate of yours. Here’s a big question for you, Kevin Deane. The nickname. Killer. Are you aware of what that means? Or have you butchered that phrase to refer to how you fight in the ring? Because this is what it means to be a killer. Wake up, every day, and destroy everything and anything around you. A whirling dervish of destruction and devastation. Killers don’t style their hair. Killers don’t select the perfect sunglasses for the day. A workout for a killer is the act itself. You are a black bear, standing next to your much more dangerous cousins and trying to pretend like you’re the fiercest predator. I don’t know which is going to be worse for you, the fall in the ring, or the fall from grace. Do let me know, “Killer”. I’m sure it will be most interesting to listen to.”
He dropped the fur into the pit, with far less care than the previous one, notably irritated. The last fur however, he rolled in his fingers. Greying in parts. Its scent still laden on his fingers. The children all recognized this smell. This fur. Wolves were common around their home, and Eclipse often warned that they wouldn’t hesitate to pick off one of the children if they weren’t shown the respect they were owed. A wolf wasn’t afraid of man. A wolf was afraid of a gun. And the children didn’t have any. He lifted the fur up to the fading light of the sun, looking at its coloration a little closer.
“An old wolf still has sharp teeth. That’s a lesson that one needs to learn, if they are to live where they roam. I respect old wolves. Respect the old in a profession where men die young. And that’s what you are John Tolly. An old wolf. Titles and accolades all dripping off of your name, like an overflowing privy. Rather interesting, truly. I respect you for your accomplishments. And now you’re back in the company where you made your name known to the world, and at the expense of us young cubs, will make your mark with a victory and proceed ever onward to greater glory. I’d assume that was the plan. But, know this, old wolf. My respect only goes so far. You see, I respect your accomplishments. But they mean nothing to me. Accolades mean nothing to me. Hall of fames and awards mean nothing. Hell, Titles mean nothing to me. Gold fades away and proves worthless. Paper disintegrates. But, do you know what lasts forever? People remembering you. People fearing you. That’s what gets remembered. I’ve seen many old wolves like you, who have nothing to their memory but their title wins. I don’t want to be like you at all, John. I don’t want to be remembered for a title reign or an accolade. I want to be remembered forever, for one thing. I made those around me that deserved...afraid. I made those around me that were already afraid, terrified. And, when the dust settles and the dawn dies, your glory days as pack alpha will be over. And a new generation will feast upon the flesh from your bones. Your time is done, Franchise. This will be an era, unlike one you’ve ever seen.”
His hand lifted over the other furs, before releasing the wolf fur into the pit, watching it descend slowly, being picked back up by the wind before falling again. His hand went back into the pack, removing a matchstick as some of the children gathered bits of leaves and sticks to build up the fire pit dutifully. The oldest girl, the first of the four, moved closer to Eclipse, looking up at him with narrowed eyes.
“It’s waking up, isn’t it?” She asked softly as he twirled the matchstick around in his fingers. His eyes turned to her. Fatherly love shifting in his gaze, twisting into a malignant force that simply desired to consume the world in its madness, before shifting back.
“Good a time as any for it to come out. I have to make a good first impression. And there is no better impression than fear.” He responded. With a deft motion he struck the match against the rocks, watching as it lit up before depositing it into the fire pit. The flame roared to life in a few moments, sparking at first before blazing to life as the children watched it. Eclipse himself looked into the flames. His eyes focused on the fire. On the vision he saw in the fire. The twisted mask, smiling back at him.
“Scared yet?”