Post by Thaddeus Duke on Jul 23, 2023 14:46:54 GMT -5
"Izzy," I wrote. "Stay put. I'll find you a safe place to stay when I return.
"T.J."
Finishing the note, I laid it beside her as she slept. Looking at her briefly, I wondered how long it had been since she felt safe and protected. Wanting to get out of Queens before sunrise, I didn't stay in thought very long. Making my exit quietly and quickly, I began to make my way through town. It was just past four in the morning and to walk to Great Neck would take several hours.
Outside of town, it became easier to move unnoticed. There were more wooded areas in which to hide yourself. Paradise Ridge sat on the northern coast of Long Island. The property itself was hidden away by forest on all three sides which is one of the reasons my parents bought it to begin with.
The trek was surprisingly uneventful. I’d tried to get there several times but each time, I’d been caught. Thing about fascists is they lack intelligence. That was always the key to my escape. See, I’m a wanted man. When the fascist regime determined my father had three kids instead of two, there had been a price on my capture ever since. Each time I showed my face here, more men were present the next.
Today though, I made it to the clearing. Peering through the branches near the treeline, I looked across the yard to the house. For a moment, I could see Minkah the dog playing with Mufasa the lion. I saw mom and Caty sunning themselves on the pier. I saw dad working in the stables with me and Frankie. Admittedly, it gave me great sadness. I don’t know whether mom and dad are alive. I don’t know for sure where Caty and Frankie are, or if they’re still alive at all.
“...e-e-e-e car-r-r-reful!” came that screeching voice. Immediately, I yelp out as the sound cripples me for a moment.
“What the…?” I asked myself quietly as the ringing inside my head began to dissipate.
“...-o-r-r-r-rry. Sorry,” came the voice again as I leaned against a tree.
“Dad?” I asked aloud quietly. “I know that’s you,” I concluded with a sniffle.
No response.
“When it goes down,” my father said three years ago. “You’ll need to find your way back here and dig it up.”
I stopped in real time as the memory came flooding back. “Why can’t I just keep it with me now?” I had asked him.
“T.J.,” he began. “There won’t be time. You’ll have to get out of here quickly.”
That day, I helped him bury a weather sealed box about a foot deep beneath a tree.
“What tree was it?” I asked myself aloud.
“...o-o-o-k for-r-r-r the Triad!” came my fathers voice.
My eyes suddenly burst open. About fifteen feet ahead of me, behind the stable was a tree. In its trunk, I watched my father carve a triangle. Hurrying over, I fell to my knees as I began to dig with my bare hands. It was tough at first, but the deeper I went, the easier it became. Soon, looking up at me from its shallow grave was the box.
Struggling at first, I pulled the box loose from its earthly resting place. Glued to the bottom was the key to the lock. Upon opening it, I was struck with fondness as inside it were some family pictures that I never thought I’d see again.
When people thought of my father, they mostly thought about the money, or the cars. The yacht, the plane, or his businesses. They thought that’s what made him tick. In reality, those things he enjoyed, but it was family at the root of everything. He grew up with none. His mother, my grandmother, was murdered when he was just a baby and my grandfather? They never got along too well.
When I was younger, I used to get curious about the family I never knew. He wouldn’t say much about his parents.
“Dad?” I remember saying once when I was about ten. “Can you tell me about my grandparents?” I asked him.
He stayed quiet for a minute as we laid beneath an old Ford Thunderbird he bought for me.
“What’s to tell?” he’d asked as he always had.
“I dunno,” I said sheepishly. Why I was afraid, I had no idea. My father wasn’t someone that his kids feared. He was loving and supportive, always. Dad often reminded us that we were the best thing to ever happen to him. Never once had he ever raised a hand to us and only when we really messed up would he even raise his voice. “You never really tell me anything,” I reminded him.
“I didn’t know my mother,” he said as he resumed turning his ratchet. “I learned a lot about her over the years and some have said that I’m a lot like her.”
“And grandpa?” I had asked.
“My dad was…” he paused. It wasn’t easy for him to talk about them. He loved and cherished his mother so much that it gave him physical pain to talk about her. His father though, Frankie told me dad hated him.
“Like which one do you take after?” I pressed him while also kind of letting him off the hook.
“Talon, I’m a melting pot,” he answered. “I am the best parts of my mother, and the absolute worst of my father.”
Family is what made him who he truly was. My dad was fiercely protective. No one and nothing would harm us if he still had a beating heart. He’d said many times as I was growing up that he’d gladly give his own life if it meant we’d live. I never had any reason to doubt him. I was never there to see it myself, but Frankie used to tell me stories. He told me of the times that Frankie’s life was in danger and dad would enter some sort of… I don’t know what to call it. He became a different person. He was a fair man, but if you threatened his family, he became someone ruthless and cold. He became… I guess… his father’s son.
Snapping back to reality, the sadness faded as I looked through the pictures. Tears rolled down my cheeks as I thought about them fondly. While my goal is to find them, I don’t know that any of them are still alive. Below the pictures, rested some threads my mom made, and a set of greaves. As I reminisced and placed the greaves on my forearms, I momentarily forgot where I was until I heard a familiar but muffled roar nearby.
“Mufasa,” I said aloud and looked up.
“...a-a-atch behi-i-i-nd you,” my father said just as I stood up. It was too late. Hard thumping footsteps came from behind and as I turned, all I saw was the momentary glare of the sun off the blade of a shovel.
And then?
Darkness...
The more things change, the more they stay the same. No matter where I go, no matter what I do, no matter how much time I take away from the ring, I still stay on top and I remain on top of my game. That’s the true mark of excellence. That’s what it means to be a diamond standard.
Since the moment I stepped into this industry all I ever did was exceed expectations. All I ever did was turn heads. XWF… IIW… OCW… TPW… Triad… The logo doesn’t matter. The name doesn’t matter. The colors don’t matter. What matters is that I have this unnatural ability to make you love or hate me the moment I open my mouth and I promise you the reaction you give me, is the one I intended to receive.
They can say whatever they want about me and none of that matters, either. No picture they’ll paint, no word or phrase that they’ll utter tells the true story of Thaddeus Duke. Arrogant… cocky… rich boy… pretty boy… They try them all and they fail each and every time. Why? While I may be all of those things, I don’t just tell you how good I am, I show you it any time my name is on a card. I’m so damn good at what I do, that ‘good’ has been disqualified as a qualifier. I am what people should aspire to be. I know how that sounds, but that doesn’t make it any less true.
I.
Am.
Legend.
There are many young bucks in this industry, not just me. Some have the makings to be huge stars, but most? They’re run of the mill and average. Just like that new hall of famer that so few have ever heard of. It’s amazing what staying in one place, in one bubble where you’re entirely protected and propped up, can do for an average competitor. Kiss enough ass, play enough politics and you too can become a hall of famer. That’s never been my style. You’ll never find me playin’ politics and you surely won’t find me kissin’ ass.
The point of that is to say that no matter how good I am, despite having a hall of fame career I’ll never be in a hall of fame anywhere no matter how deserving I am. Truth be told, it used to bother me. Now, I’ve embraced the fact that I’m better than most. I’ve embraced the fact that creating silence is my goal. No matter who is placed in front of me, like dominos, they all fall down, one by one. For years they opened their mouths and made their fun, insulting me at every turn. That’s never been my game, but I get it. Those without a leg to stand on will always try the tired and lame insult route.
If by some chance I did fail, you’ve never seen me pull a Helen. You’ve never seen me insult and berate another competitor because they did what needed to be done. You’ve never seen me unhinged because someone got the better of me. Granted, it so seldom happens. So many in this business can’t handle defeat. They allow a loss to define them rather than taking a rough patch and turning it into a positive. I’ve had them too, but the difference is I take my failures and turn them into my next string of a dozen victories.
I’m just built differently than most and barely anyone sees it until it’s too late. Instead, they attack me the same way they do everyone else except, just as I’ve proven time and again for seven years, is that I’m not like everyone else.
Helen, Glum, or Cortes, none of them matter. It’s me that matters. No one prepares for Glum, no one prepares for Cortes like facing me requires preparation. Doubt me if you must, but one only needs to look at Penelope and Pinkston. Every trick in the book was pulled out and still… still… it was my hand raised in victory. By the time the bell rings, I’ve studied the tape. I know exactly where I am and who I’m facing. I know what to expect and when to expect it.
Them? They’re still guessing. They’re still pretending I’m like everyone else and that… that has always been key. Treating me differently because I am different… that’s how you beat me. That’s why Triad, like everywhere else I’ve been, is always the Thaddeus Duke Show.
“...a-a-ake up!” I heard. My brain was fogged over. I could hear. Sometimes I could see. Mostly, I’m faded.
“...a-a-ake up, Talon!” he commanded. “...i-i-ill… Still wo-r-r-rk to be done.”
“Who do we have here?” asked my assailant.
Opening my eyes, I could see him knelt beside me, looking through my family pictures. Briefly I thought back to the day they came. My mother boarded a ship the day prior. Uncle Sebastian and Aunt Sloane were due the next day to take Caty to safety.
They never made it.
“Talon Duke!?” he said excitedly. “Man that reward will be nice.
“You Duke’s are hard to kill, you know that?” he asked as I lay there. “Your father… probably finished off by sharks, but your sister put up a good fight. She gave it up eventually.”
Inspired by video games from my fathers youth, these greaves aren’t just decorations. They’re entirely functional.
“More fight than you,” he said as he brought his face next to mine.
Triggering the mechanism, I drove the spring loaded dagger into the man’s neck. His eyes grew wide instantly as his blood squirted from behind his fingers. Pushing him away from me, he laid on his back as his life began to flicker. I take no pride in anyone I’ve killed. This one… is different.
“...ro-o-o-at. Throat,” came my father’s voice.
Standing over the dying man I dropped to my knees on either side of him. “You’re right,” I said to him. “We are hard to kill.
“But you weren’t.”
Once more I drove the blade inside him. In the throat just like my father said. A few seconds later, I was back on my feet. With the man’s blood soaking through my clothes, I stripped to nothing right there beside him before pulling on the red, white and blue threads my mother made for me.
I don’t know how many men are inside my house, but I’m about to find out.
"T.J."
Finishing the note, I laid it beside her as she slept. Looking at her briefly, I wondered how long it had been since she felt safe and protected. Wanting to get out of Queens before sunrise, I didn't stay in thought very long. Making my exit quietly and quickly, I began to make my way through town. It was just past four in the morning and to walk to Great Neck would take several hours.
Outside of town, it became easier to move unnoticed. There were more wooded areas in which to hide yourself. Paradise Ridge sat on the northern coast of Long Island. The property itself was hidden away by forest on all three sides which is one of the reasons my parents bought it to begin with.
The trek was surprisingly uneventful. I’d tried to get there several times but each time, I’d been caught. Thing about fascists is they lack intelligence. That was always the key to my escape. See, I’m a wanted man. When the fascist regime determined my father had three kids instead of two, there had been a price on my capture ever since. Each time I showed my face here, more men were present the next.
Today though, I made it to the clearing. Peering through the branches near the treeline, I looked across the yard to the house. For a moment, I could see Minkah the dog playing with Mufasa the lion. I saw mom and Caty sunning themselves on the pier. I saw dad working in the stables with me and Frankie. Admittedly, it gave me great sadness. I don’t know whether mom and dad are alive. I don’t know for sure where Caty and Frankie are, or if they’re still alive at all.
“...e-e-e-e car-r-r-reful!” came that screeching voice. Immediately, I yelp out as the sound cripples me for a moment.
“What the…?” I asked myself quietly as the ringing inside my head began to dissipate.
“...-o-r-r-r-rry. Sorry,” came the voice again as I leaned against a tree.
“Dad?” I asked aloud quietly. “I know that’s you,” I concluded with a sniffle.
No response.
“When it goes down,” my father said three years ago. “You’ll need to find your way back here and dig it up.”
I stopped in real time as the memory came flooding back. “Why can’t I just keep it with me now?” I had asked him.
“T.J.,” he began. “There won’t be time. You’ll have to get out of here quickly.”
That day, I helped him bury a weather sealed box about a foot deep beneath a tree.
“What tree was it?” I asked myself aloud.
“...o-o-o-k for-r-r-r the Triad!” came my fathers voice.
My eyes suddenly burst open. About fifteen feet ahead of me, behind the stable was a tree. In its trunk, I watched my father carve a triangle. Hurrying over, I fell to my knees as I began to dig with my bare hands. It was tough at first, but the deeper I went, the easier it became. Soon, looking up at me from its shallow grave was the box.
Struggling at first, I pulled the box loose from its earthly resting place. Glued to the bottom was the key to the lock. Upon opening it, I was struck with fondness as inside it were some family pictures that I never thought I’d see again.
When people thought of my father, they mostly thought about the money, or the cars. The yacht, the plane, or his businesses. They thought that’s what made him tick. In reality, those things he enjoyed, but it was family at the root of everything. He grew up with none. His mother, my grandmother, was murdered when he was just a baby and my grandfather? They never got along too well.
When I was younger, I used to get curious about the family I never knew. He wouldn’t say much about his parents.
“Dad?” I remember saying once when I was about ten. “Can you tell me about my grandparents?” I asked him.
He stayed quiet for a minute as we laid beneath an old Ford Thunderbird he bought for me.
“What’s to tell?” he’d asked as he always had.
“I dunno,” I said sheepishly. Why I was afraid, I had no idea. My father wasn’t someone that his kids feared. He was loving and supportive, always. Dad often reminded us that we were the best thing to ever happen to him. Never once had he ever raised a hand to us and only when we really messed up would he even raise his voice. “You never really tell me anything,” I reminded him.
“I didn’t know my mother,” he said as he resumed turning his ratchet. “I learned a lot about her over the years and some have said that I’m a lot like her.”
“And grandpa?” I had asked.
“My dad was…” he paused. It wasn’t easy for him to talk about them. He loved and cherished his mother so much that it gave him physical pain to talk about her. His father though, Frankie told me dad hated him.
“Like which one do you take after?” I pressed him while also kind of letting him off the hook.
“Talon, I’m a melting pot,” he answered. “I am the best parts of my mother, and the absolute worst of my father.”
Family is what made him who he truly was. My dad was fiercely protective. No one and nothing would harm us if he still had a beating heart. He’d said many times as I was growing up that he’d gladly give his own life if it meant we’d live. I never had any reason to doubt him. I was never there to see it myself, but Frankie used to tell me stories. He told me of the times that Frankie’s life was in danger and dad would enter some sort of… I don’t know what to call it. He became a different person. He was a fair man, but if you threatened his family, he became someone ruthless and cold. He became… I guess… his father’s son.
“Mufasa,” I said aloud and looked up.
“...a-a-atch behi-i-i-nd you,” my father said just as I stood up. It was too late. Hard thumping footsteps came from behind and as I turned, all I saw was the momentary glare of the sun off the blade of a shovel.
And then?
Darkness...
The more things change, the more they stay the same. No matter where I go, no matter what I do, no matter how much time I take away from the ring, I still stay on top and I remain on top of my game. That’s the true mark of excellence. That’s what it means to be a diamond standard.
Since the moment I stepped into this industry all I ever did was exceed expectations. All I ever did was turn heads. XWF… IIW… OCW… TPW… Triad… The logo doesn’t matter. The name doesn’t matter. The colors don’t matter. What matters is that I have this unnatural ability to make you love or hate me the moment I open my mouth and I promise you the reaction you give me, is the one I intended to receive.
They can say whatever they want about me and none of that matters, either. No picture they’ll paint, no word or phrase that they’ll utter tells the true story of Thaddeus Duke. Arrogant… cocky… rich boy… pretty boy… They try them all and they fail each and every time. Why? While I may be all of those things, I don’t just tell you how good I am, I show you it any time my name is on a card. I’m so damn good at what I do, that ‘good’ has been disqualified as a qualifier. I am what people should aspire to be. I know how that sounds, but that doesn’t make it any less true.
I.
Am.
Legend.
There are many young bucks in this industry, not just me. Some have the makings to be huge stars, but most? They’re run of the mill and average. Just like that new hall of famer that so few have ever heard of. It’s amazing what staying in one place, in one bubble where you’re entirely protected and propped up, can do for an average competitor. Kiss enough ass, play enough politics and you too can become a hall of famer. That’s never been my style. You’ll never find me playin’ politics and you surely won’t find me kissin’ ass.
The point of that is to say that no matter how good I am, despite having a hall of fame career I’ll never be in a hall of fame anywhere no matter how deserving I am. Truth be told, it used to bother me. Now, I’ve embraced the fact that I’m better than most. I’ve embraced the fact that creating silence is my goal. No matter who is placed in front of me, like dominos, they all fall down, one by one. For years they opened their mouths and made their fun, insulting me at every turn. That’s never been my game, but I get it. Those without a leg to stand on will always try the tired and lame insult route.
If by some chance I did fail, you’ve never seen me pull a Helen. You’ve never seen me insult and berate another competitor because they did what needed to be done. You’ve never seen me unhinged because someone got the better of me. Granted, it so seldom happens. So many in this business can’t handle defeat. They allow a loss to define them rather than taking a rough patch and turning it into a positive. I’ve had them too, but the difference is I take my failures and turn them into my next string of a dozen victories.
I’m just built differently than most and barely anyone sees it until it’s too late. Instead, they attack me the same way they do everyone else except, just as I’ve proven time and again for seven years, is that I’m not like everyone else.
Helen, Glum, or Cortes, none of them matter. It’s me that matters. No one prepares for Glum, no one prepares for Cortes like facing me requires preparation. Doubt me if you must, but one only needs to look at Penelope and Pinkston. Every trick in the book was pulled out and still… still… it was my hand raised in victory. By the time the bell rings, I’ve studied the tape. I know exactly where I am and who I’m facing. I know what to expect and when to expect it.
Them? They’re still guessing. They’re still pretending I’m like everyone else and that… that has always been key. Treating me differently because I am different… that’s how you beat me. That’s why Triad, like everywhere else I’ve been, is always the Thaddeus Duke Show.
“...a-a-ake up!” I heard. My brain was fogged over. I could hear. Sometimes I could see. Mostly, I’m faded.
“...a-a-ake up, Talon!” he commanded. “...i-i-ill… Still wo-r-r-rk to be done.”
“Who do we have here?” asked my assailant.
Opening my eyes, I could see him knelt beside me, looking through my family pictures. Briefly I thought back to the day they came. My mother boarded a ship the day prior. Uncle Sebastian and Aunt Sloane were due the next day to take Caty to safety.
They never made it.
“Talon Duke!?” he said excitedly. “Man that reward will be nice.
“You Duke’s are hard to kill, you know that?” he asked as I lay there. “Your father… probably finished off by sharks, but your sister put up a good fight. She gave it up eventually.”
Inspired by video games from my fathers youth, these greaves aren’t just decorations. They’re entirely functional.
“More fight than you,” he said as he brought his face next to mine.
Triggering the mechanism, I drove the spring loaded dagger into the man’s neck. His eyes grew wide instantly as his blood squirted from behind his fingers. Pushing him away from me, he laid on his back as his life began to flicker. I take no pride in anyone I’ve killed. This one… is different.
“...ro-o-o-at. Throat,” came my father’s voice.
Standing over the dying man I dropped to my knees on either side of him. “You’re right,” I said to him. “We are hard to kill.
“But you weren’t.”
Once more I drove the blade inside him. In the throat just like my father said. A few seconds later, I was back on my feet. With the man’s blood soaking through my clothes, I stripped to nothing right there beside him before pulling on the red, white and blue threads my mother made for me.
I don’t know how many men are inside my house, but I’m about to find out.