Father

[Mason St. Croix]

Nearly a hundred people gathered outside at the Georgia Veterans Memorial Cemetery as a light rain fell from the sky and guns were fired into the air. Part of the crowd sat in pews under a canopy that protected a casket that was draped in an American Flag next to an open grave from the wind and rain. Others stood, many in various military attire. An Army Chaplain stepped up to a podium and began to speak.

Chaplain: Please bow your heads and join me in prayer.

The mourners, both those under the canopy and the ones standing in the rain lowered their heads.

Chaplain: O God, by whose mercy the faithful departed find rest, look kindly on this veteran who would have gladly given his life in the service of his country. Grant that through the passion, death, and resurrection of your Son they may share in the joy of your heavenly kingdom and rejoice in you with your saints forever. We ask this through Christ our Lord.

As soon as the Chaplain finished his prayer two uniformed men with various medals pinned to their chests removed the flag from the casket.

Chaplain: We will now present the folded flag to the oldest child of the deceased.

The two uniformed men finish folding the flag and one of them takes it and walks to end of the first pew and hands it to a very grief stricken Mason St. Croix.

Flag Bearer: On behalf of the President of the United States, the United States Army, and a grateful nation, please accept this flag as a symbol of our appreciation for your loved one's honorable and faithful service.

Suddenly a bolt of lightning strikes the canopy and the scene goes black but immediately reopens Mason sitting in a chair in a hospital room, his face ghostly white and sweat beaded up on his brow.

“The dream again?”

Mason looks in the direction the voice came from and sitting up in a hospital a bed is his father George, the bruises around his neck from being hung by Angel Blake very apparent.

Mason: Yeah, everytime I try to sleep it happens.

George: Well I ain’t dead. You need some rest, Mason. If you’d take your ass home and try to sleep in an actual bed instead of that damn chair it might help. The doctors have already told you I’m gonna be fine, boy. It’ll take a lot more than some painted up freak to end General George St. Croix, ain’t you learned that by now?

Mason tries to force a smile.

Mason: It ain’t that, I know you’re too tough for your own damn good but I’m just afraid he’ll try something again to get in my head before our match.

George: In here? They’ve got this place locked down like Fort Knox. Go home and get some rest kid.

Mason stands up and walks over to his father's bedside and looks down at him.

Mason: You sure?

George: Yes, you ain’t doing me any good sitting over there snoring and farting anyway.

Mason laughs as he bends down and hugs his Dad before standing back up.

Mason: I love you, you grouchy old cuss.

George: I love you too, son.

Mason walks out of the room and starts to make his way towards the elevator when he’s stopped by one of the doctors.

Doctor: Mr. St. Croix, do you have a moment?

Mason: Sure Doc, what is it?

Doctor: We’ve noticed some things about your father since he’s been here that suggest he may be suffering from neuropsychological issues. Before the accident that brought him here to begin with had he been doing anything odd? Acting erratic, impulsive?

Mason appears deep in thought for a second and sighs.

Mason: He’s been “dating” a lot, and going on spur of the moment trips. I didn’t think anything of it though, I just thought it was a phase. Do you think he has Alzheimer’s?

Doctor: I’m not saying that, he’s just done some things that concern me and I think we should really run some tests.

Mason: Absolutely. Do whatever you need to.

Doctor: That’s the thing, we’ve tried. He refuses, he doesn’t think there’s anything wrong and there very well may not be but we thought maybe if you talked to him you could convince him just to let us check him out. We can’t force him to have the tests.

Mason: He’s pretty stubborn, but I can try.

Mason turns to go back to his father’s room but the doctor stops him again.

Doctor: I didn’t mean now, it’s late and you’re obviously tired. Just talk to him when you can, I don’t think it’s anything you should be overly worried about but we’d just like to take some precautions because if there is something going on with his brain it’s always best to catch it early.

Mason: I’ll be back first thing in the morning. Thanks for letting me know.

Doctor: No problem, Mr. St. Croix, get some rest.

Mason continues towards the elevator as the scene fades.

I’m just a man.

I know every man has his limits and there comes a point where you try to go beyond those limits and you end up broken. Our esteemed Imperial Champion claims to be unbreakable, but every man can be broken. Most people who watched Extreme Endurance saw the conclusion of The Compound match between Angel Blake and myself as my breaking point.

I was beaten but not broken.

Careers have been ended due to far less than what Angel and I put ourselves through at the Compound. Lesser men would have never come back, but for all the hatred I harbor for Angel Blake the one good thing I can say is he doesn’t know how to quit, and why should he, he won right?

Neither of us won, we both left that night with scars that will last the rest of our lives and contrary to what he tried to lead people to believe in the weeks following the match, I’m still breathing. So his record might show a W but he knows he didn’t get the job done and he never will.

Especially after taking it to a personal level beyond anything I could have ever imagined.

Let’s talk about the man you hung at Sacrifice. His name is General George St. Croix Jr. He was born February 1st, 1949 in Warner Robins, Georgia. He volunteered for the Army the day he turned eighteen and promptly left for Vietnam where he spent the next eight years. He came home in ‘75 after we pulled our troops out of there and would remain in the Army until he turned 55 working his way all the way to one of the highest ranks possible.

My father swam through rivers of blood, fighting a war we lost, a war that people hated him for being a part of and he did it with pride, he did it with valor, and he did it with unmatched courage. Courage you Angel Blake don’t possess. You nearly ended his life, for what? To get in my head, to give yourself an advantage over me mentally because you’ve felt my rage before and you know you can’t handle me PHYSICALLY?

You’re a fucking coward, Angel.

At October Revolution, inside the match you created, you’ll have no way to escape. Your hordes of disciples that I’ve proven on multiple occasions pose me no threat to me can’t save you. I’m going to break you and then I’m going to hang you like you hung my father...my earthly father as you call him. He’s my only father, because you’re just a delusional, sick little man who needs a dose of reality and when that noose tightens around your neck and you’re gasping for air, begging for someone to cut your down then maybe you’ll realize what I’ve been saying all along.

You’re just a man.