Post by Eron Hunter on Nov 8, 2023 11:27:45 GMT -5
The night is still young.
He is sitting on the chair near the small wooden table writing his thoughts down. It is an old habit of his. He has always considered it important to reread his thoughts of long times ago and recent times too. The small lamp on his left throws a faint light above the table and on his paper. It is the twenty-first century, but Eron Hunter still prefers paper and pencil to write down, instead of a laptop and Microsoft Word. He takes a small sip out of the glass on his right. The whiskey bottle reads “Johnnie Walker”. He looks at it and smiles, his old friends used to call him like that because of his habit of taking long walks in the evening, seaside, in his old birth town.
And they would continue calling him like that if they knew about his life after he left town over a decade ago. He called himself “Vagabond” in his debut in the Wrestling scene, honoring his life and his life choices. He traveled the world at a young age, to fight the most arduous fights ever, but that is a known fact by now. Everyone and their mothers know about Eron Hunter and his life choices. In search of his dreams, his love for the fight, and his love for adventure, he became a vagabond, a hobo, a homeless at times.
Sleeping under a bridge?
Done.
Sleeping under the open night sky, with the stars as a blanket?
Done.
Sleeping in Five Star Hotels as a rich and made man?
Done that too.
What price are you willing to pay, to reach for the Star Ocean and grab your Dreams? Everyone says good things and writes wonderful things about Visions and the obligation to fight for them at every price possible, but very few men and women are willing to actually sacrifice everything they have, just so that they can be called successful Dreamers. Very few indeed are willing to abandon their achievements, just so that they can reach for their Ideals.
Eron Hunter is one of them.
Left everything behind just so that he could fight hunger, cold, and loneliness. Just so that he could become a fighter, a wrestler. And now that he has achieved just that? Even now that he is successful, a champion, and a Hall of Fame Inductee, some people badmouth him and his choices. But such people will forever exist, won't they? He shakes his head and continues writing. The lampshade looms over the A-four format. Eron takes another sip from the whiskey bottle and stops writing for an instant.
He prefers his loneliness to being in groups of people and listening to the white noise of what he considers useless chatter. People are social animals and it is said that social people live longer. He can accept that, just as he can accept the fact that he is an Introvert who prefers being all by his lonesome. He feels alright like that. The contact he has with people? It is concluded with the cheering of the fans in the wrestling arenas and the obligatory appearances in front of the media for short Photo sessions.
He is just like that, and he accepts that without second thoughts.
Everyone and Every fighter should accept his personality for what it is unless that very personality is a problem that threatens society as a whole. Eron Hunter is a fighter and an introvert and he accepts that wholesomely. He leans back on the chair, crosses his arms on his chest, and looks at the paper. He has loved ones too, people who think about him and care for him.
What are they doing right now?
Suddenly, as if someone heard his thoughts, the phone on his right rings. He looks at the name and listens to the voice that echoes in the room.
“Eron!
Dad…
…Dad is”
The whiskey glass falls on the floor and shatters into a thousand pieces.
Sicily
Italy
Twenty-two years ago.
The big, imposing man keeps on walking forward, without turning his head back. He just opens his hand, and a smaller hand grabs his little finger. The big man stops for an instant and smiles. He knows the small creature behind him, his only son is following him and has his whole attention directed towards his father. The big man takes a deep breath and then a mighty voice echoes around.
“Everyone in this world needs guidance at times, my son.
Everyone needs advice and everyone needs to rely on others, at times. If you want to be respected? If you want to be considered and respected you need to become powerful, so that the others need you, and then? Then you need to use that power to do good!
That is the way it should be, for a goodhearted man. And about the villains and the bad people? You should just ignore them instead of hating them and raging for no reason. Because indignation towards them is just taking notice and considering them for more than what they are. Ignoring them instead? That eliminates their existence. And you are good and calm to take the route of dreams. The route you want to follow.
I am not telling you to not fight evil.
You should fight evil with all your might. Just do not give more attention and consideration to those people, than they should have. As I said, raging about them just tells them that they have reached their goal. Fight them, by giving all you got in the fight, but do not waste time getting angry. Use your time to prepare instead.
And follow your dreams, my son.
Look forward to the horizon, and reach for your goals, with a pure heart and honesty in your mind and eyes.”
The big man and his son.
A father and his creature.
A loving parent and his follower
Just like it always is.
Days later
He falls slowly asleep, as the frail light of early dawn starts scratching away the blackness of the night. His heart and his mind wander to the Hunter Villa, in Sicilian soil, and he sees everyone as he flies through the house. His cousins and brethren. After some wandering, he finds himself in front of his mother's room. He softly pushes the door and sees her, she has fallen asleep too.
Guess she was tired from the tears.
Eron Hunter sighs and his heart becomes heavy.
He will fly towards Sicily tomorrow, but until then he can only be present there in his dreams. He misses everyone and is sure everyone misses him. He is saddened but in the end, happy too, happy for the fact that they are there and will hold Father in their hearts. And guess that is the only way to immortality for humans; leave behind people who remember you and love you even if you are gone. We are not immortal, our deeds make us such. Our deeds make us memorable and his father had done many good actions in his life. People adored and respected him.
Thus he lives on
In the minds and hearts of the people.
If that is not true richness, then nothing is.
Palermo
Late evening.
The pub was full. It was the weekend and people from all around the city came in to have a drink, eat something fast, and chat with known and unknown. Social structure is important for human beings and social contact is important for human health. They say that people who lead a social life live longer and happier lives—social norms and programming are important for social structure. So everything evolves around important social rituals like family contact and norms and friends and known contact and norms.
She was a barmaid at the pub and had been working there for years serving drinks and food to clients. She knew everything about the laws as mentioned above of social life. She hadn’t been to college and had had to work since an early age, but the life of a barmaid had helped her to know people well. She had no master's degree in Psychology, but her critical eye and intelligence had built her into an ideal human knower.
The atmosphere was inflammable. Some were watching football and cheering for their team while consuming alcoholic beverages. Others chatted in front of a drink about their friends and work, others did whatever they wanted to do while getting drunk. It was the weekend and people did everything to forget about the stress of the week left behind. Music was high too, giving the incendiary air a tone of liveliness.
Nothing new
Same old, same old weekend
She was about to stretch her arms and sigh in boredom. Suddenly her eyes caught sight of a somewhat unusual scene. A young man staring at the whiskey glass, as if he was about to start an intense monologue about life and existence. Nothing new at first, a usual customer drinking his drink and avoiding human contact, interested only in his beverage and his thoughts, nothing else. But she was smart and had a keen eye for human psychology.
His eyes
Emanated a deep sadness. Uncontrolled and solitary.
He was just a young man drinking his drink on a weekend evening in a pub, but he seemed out of place. She knew how to distinguish a character from another character, very well indeed. The young man did not belong here, his whole being was out of place. He seemed like a lone wolf surrounded by a pack of wolves. Something very contradictory and interesting indeed. His long hair, raven black, and his face unscarred from life, associated with his sad eyes and the aura of a stranger amidst many.
Interesting.
She walked towards the solitary spot, near the bar, where he was sitting, and filled his half-empty glass of whiskey anew. Then and only then he raised his head and stared her in the eyes. A deeply saddened look in the eyes of a human being. She felt troubled and intimidated indeed.
He starred at her for some more seconds and then nodded
“Thank You”
The trip had been long and tiresome. I felt weary and exhausted from the flight. Strange thing to say from a former highflyer, who fought resembling an Albatross. It was not merely the long trip of over ten hours, it was everything happening at once. The loss of Father, the loss to Armand Von Krauss, and the new challenge lying in front of me. From the desk of schemes in his arsenal, Von Krauss had chosen the worst possible challenge for Eron Hunter, for me. I lived and died for the fight and the stronger the adversary, the stronger my will to fight.
But how do you manage if your opponent is a snot-nosed punk, green behind the ears, whippersnapper? How do you deal with the fact that you are damned to win this very fight? She was what, eighteen? Not a goddamn fight under her belt and doomed to fight a legend. Eron Hunter was a Hall of Famer and a World Champion. It would not have been that bad if they were fighting for a championship, then she would have earned her spot by defeating others before him. But the fact was that she had no goddamn clue about the squared circle, and was put there merely to humiliate him.
Goddamn Armand Von Krauss!
What a Vile Human Being.
He slammed his fist on the table and rose up. He needed a breath of fresh air and a drink. He hadn’t seen Mother yet, since arriving at the Villa. She had not been feeling very strong, the maid said, and he wanted to avoid stressing her more than she could handle. He would see her in the morning, right now he couldn’t handle that too. It was too much for his weary soul and saddened heart.
He called a taxi and went out to wait for it.
Destination Palermo.
A trip to the city would do him good.
He was back home, surrounded by beloved ones and people who were important to him. And they loved and respected him and his dreams. He left them behind, twelve years ago, in search of himself and his destiny. He wanted to be the strongest possible fighter, ever. And he had managed to do just that. In six years of Professional Wrestling, he had become more than others had accomplished in an entire career.
Now? Now his whole imperium could fall in front of Armand Von Krauss and his schemes. He shook his head and lit a cigarette; how to handle the young girl Dresden situation? If he violated her dreams and her love for the wrestling world by curb-stomping her to defeat he could not forgive it to himself. If he let her win, his whole competitive spirit would fall to pieces. If he tolerated her, into making her appear more than she could be in the wrestling circle, they would call him a scheme maker, just like Von Krauss.
The situation was delicate and requested his whole attention. He could not allow himself to fall for Armand’s traps and he could not afford to treat the young competitor lightly. When things come, they come all at once. That is life, as beautiful and resplendent as it can be, as harmfully vile and despicable it can turn in other moments.
The taxi stopped in front of the Pub.
He had asked Eron for directions and the young man had just asked the taxi driver to bring him to the best pub he knew in the city. And there they were. He stepped out of the car, the fresh breeze caressed his face for some instants, short ones before he pushed the pub’s door and the atmosphere clashed with his spirit. The noise was high and the music was high enough. The usual full pub atmosphere of a Saturday night. Nothing dramatic for any used customer, but Eron Hunter was not one of them. He, Hunter, was an introvert by nature and the sole pub he knew were the small motel rooms in which he felt calm and consumed alcohol and cigarettes.
But tonight was different
As different as his nature would allow it to be. The pub was full, but even in this situation he watched out to not come into contact with anyone he didn’t know, and he didn’t know anyone in there. He looked out for a calm spot, secluded and quiet, and sat there, ordered a whiskey, and started sipping on it slowly.
Not looking out for anyone
Minding his own business
Until she appeared in front of him.
Black hair and blue eyes, a muse from the past, a woman worth poetry. He looked her in the eyes as she filled his glass and all he could say was…
“Thank You”
Alma
A Spanish name for an Italian girl. And it means “Soul” in English.
How have you been, old man? I am sorry that things went out of the way between us, sometimes, and I am sorry I have disappointed you at times. I know I should have been here to run the family’s business, but chose to follow my destiny. I am hurt that I couldn’t apologize to you for this, but I know you forgave me a long time ago. And you should know I have forgiven you for your shortcomings. I am sorry, Father. Sorry that you had to leave so soon, although it is a never-accepted fact, for a child, to see his parent go from this world.
All I can do is stand here, near your resting place, and caress your photograph. You stare at me, from the picture, with forgiving eyes, ready to teach me another of your lessons. And I am here to take them as they come, Dad.
I promise I will follow your advice, as I heard it from you, a long time ago.
You know, I met this girl and she seems beautiful not only on the outside. It is strange how life decides to go on, even in the most sad and hurtful moments. You are here, resting now, and I talk to you about her. Is it shameless? Apologies if it is so. I just want you to know I have not given up on life, even in the most fierce occurrences.
He looked at the grave and then around him, it was the middle of the night and the wind played a sad tune in his ears. He caressed the photograph again and then sat down, on the ground close to his father’s resting place.
A profound sadness engulfed his heart.
Life.
It is so fierce, at times, that it takes our breath away. But we should never stop believing in our stories and our loved ones. Even if they depart, they are there with us, in our hearts. And all we can do is be grateful for the moments we got to spend with them.
He took a small bottle out of his overcoat pocket and took a small sip of whiskey from it.
Life.
His father would live on, within his son, because that is how life is. We live forever in the minds of those we have loved and who love us back.
It would be a long sleepless night.
He is sitting on the chair near the small wooden table writing his thoughts down. It is an old habit of his. He has always considered it important to reread his thoughts of long times ago and recent times too. The small lamp on his left throws a faint light above the table and on his paper. It is the twenty-first century, but Eron Hunter still prefers paper and pencil to write down, instead of a laptop and Microsoft Word. He takes a small sip out of the glass on his right. The whiskey bottle reads “Johnnie Walker”. He looks at it and smiles, his old friends used to call him like that because of his habit of taking long walks in the evening, seaside, in his old birth town.
And they would continue calling him like that if they knew about his life after he left town over a decade ago. He called himself “Vagabond” in his debut in the Wrestling scene, honoring his life and his life choices. He traveled the world at a young age, to fight the most arduous fights ever, but that is a known fact by now. Everyone and their mothers know about Eron Hunter and his life choices. In search of his dreams, his love for the fight, and his love for adventure, he became a vagabond, a hobo, a homeless at times.
Sleeping under a bridge?
Done.
Sleeping under the open night sky, with the stars as a blanket?
Done.
Sleeping in Five Star Hotels as a rich and made man?
Done that too.
What price are you willing to pay, to reach for the Star Ocean and grab your Dreams? Everyone says good things and writes wonderful things about Visions and the obligation to fight for them at every price possible, but very few men and women are willing to actually sacrifice everything they have, just so that they can be called successful Dreamers. Very few indeed are willing to abandon their achievements, just so that they can reach for their Ideals.
Eron Hunter is one of them.
Left everything behind just so that he could fight hunger, cold, and loneliness. Just so that he could become a fighter, a wrestler. And now that he has achieved just that? Even now that he is successful, a champion, and a Hall of Fame Inductee, some people badmouth him and his choices. But such people will forever exist, won't they? He shakes his head and continues writing. The lampshade looms over the A-four format. Eron takes another sip from the whiskey bottle and stops writing for an instant.
He prefers his loneliness to being in groups of people and listening to the white noise of what he considers useless chatter. People are social animals and it is said that social people live longer. He can accept that, just as he can accept the fact that he is an Introvert who prefers being all by his lonesome. He feels alright like that. The contact he has with people? It is concluded with the cheering of the fans in the wrestling arenas and the obligatory appearances in front of the media for short Photo sessions.
He is just like that, and he accepts that without second thoughts.
Everyone and Every fighter should accept his personality for what it is unless that very personality is a problem that threatens society as a whole. Eron Hunter is a fighter and an introvert and he accepts that wholesomely. He leans back on the chair, crosses his arms on his chest, and looks at the paper. He has loved ones too, people who think about him and care for him.
What are they doing right now?
Suddenly, as if someone heard his thoughts, the phone on his right rings. He looks at the name and listens to the voice that echoes in the room.
“Eron!
Dad…
…Dad is”
The whiskey glass falls on the floor and shatters into a thousand pieces.
***
Sicily
Italy
Twenty-two years ago.
The big, imposing man keeps on walking forward, without turning his head back. He just opens his hand, and a smaller hand grabs his little finger. The big man stops for an instant and smiles. He knows the small creature behind him, his only son is following him and has his whole attention directed towards his father. The big man takes a deep breath and then a mighty voice echoes around.
“Everyone in this world needs guidance at times, my son.
Everyone needs advice and everyone needs to rely on others, at times. If you want to be respected? If you want to be considered and respected you need to become powerful, so that the others need you, and then? Then you need to use that power to do good!
That is the way it should be, for a goodhearted man. And about the villains and the bad people? You should just ignore them instead of hating them and raging for no reason. Because indignation towards them is just taking notice and considering them for more than what they are. Ignoring them instead? That eliminates their existence. And you are good and calm to take the route of dreams. The route you want to follow.
I am not telling you to not fight evil.
You should fight evil with all your might. Just do not give more attention and consideration to those people, than they should have. As I said, raging about them just tells them that they have reached their goal. Fight them, by giving all you got in the fight, but do not waste time getting angry. Use your time to prepare instead.
And follow your dreams, my son.
Look forward to the horizon, and reach for your goals, with a pure heart and honesty in your mind and eyes.”
The big man and his son.
A father and his creature.
A loving parent and his follower
Just like it always is.
***
Days later
He falls slowly asleep, as the frail light of early dawn starts scratching away the blackness of the night. His heart and his mind wander to the Hunter Villa, in Sicilian soil, and he sees everyone as he flies through the house. His cousins and brethren. After some wandering, he finds himself in front of his mother's room. He softly pushes the door and sees her, she has fallen asleep too.
Guess she was tired from the tears.
Eron Hunter sighs and his heart becomes heavy.
He will fly towards Sicily tomorrow, but until then he can only be present there in his dreams. He misses everyone and is sure everyone misses him. He is saddened but in the end, happy too, happy for the fact that they are there and will hold Father in their hearts. And guess that is the only way to immortality for humans; leave behind people who remember you and love you even if you are gone. We are not immortal, our deeds make us such. Our deeds make us memorable and his father had done many good actions in his life. People adored and respected him.
Thus he lives on
In the minds and hearts of the people.
If that is not true richness, then nothing is.
***
Palermo
Late evening.
The pub was full. It was the weekend and people from all around the city came in to have a drink, eat something fast, and chat with known and unknown. Social structure is important for human beings and social contact is important for human health. They say that people who lead a social life live longer and happier lives—social norms and programming are important for social structure. So everything evolves around important social rituals like family contact and norms and friends and known contact and norms.
She was a barmaid at the pub and had been working there for years serving drinks and food to clients. She knew everything about the laws as mentioned above of social life. She hadn’t been to college and had had to work since an early age, but the life of a barmaid had helped her to know people well. She had no master's degree in Psychology, but her critical eye and intelligence had built her into an ideal human knower.
The atmosphere was inflammable. Some were watching football and cheering for their team while consuming alcoholic beverages. Others chatted in front of a drink about their friends and work, others did whatever they wanted to do while getting drunk. It was the weekend and people did everything to forget about the stress of the week left behind. Music was high too, giving the incendiary air a tone of liveliness.
Nothing new
Same old, same old weekend
She was about to stretch her arms and sigh in boredom. Suddenly her eyes caught sight of a somewhat unusual scene. A young man staring at the whiskey glass, as if he was about to start an intense monologue about life and existence. Nothing new at first, a usual customer drinking his drink and avoiding human contact, interested only in his beverage and his thoughts, nothing else. But she was smart and had a keen eye for human psychology.
His eyes
Emanated a deep sadness. Uncontrolled and solitary.
He was just a young man drinking his drink on a weekend evening in a pub, but he seemed out of place. She knew how to distinguish a character from another character, very well indeed. The young man did not belong here, his whole being was out of place. He seemed like a lone wolf surrounded by a pack of wolves. Something very contradictory and interesting indeed. His long hair, raven black, and his face unscarred from life, associated with his sad eyes and the aura of a stranger amidst many.
Interesting.
She walked towards the solitary spot, near the bar, where he was sitting, and filled his half-empty glass of whiskey anew. Then and only then he raised his head and stared her in the eyes. A deeply saddened look in the eyes of a human being. She felt troubled and intimidated indeed.
He starred at her for some more seconds and then nodded
“Thank You”
***
The trip had been long and tiresome. I felt weary and exhausted from the flight. Strange thing to say from a former highflyer, who fought resembling an Albatross. It was not merely the long trip of over ten hours, it was everything happening at once. The loss of Father, the loss to Armand Von Krauss, and the new challenge lying in front of me. From the desk of schemes in his arsenal, Von Krauss had chosen the worst possible challenge for Eron Hunter, for me. I lived and died for the fight and the stronger the adversary, the stronger my will to fight.
But how do you manage if your opponent is a snot-nosed punk, green behind the ears, whippersnapper? How do you deal with the fact that you are damned to win this very fight? She was what, eighteen? Not a goddamn fight under her belt and doomed to fight a legend. Eron Hunter was a Hall of Famer and a World Champion. It would not have been that bad if they were fighting for a championship, then she would have earned her spot by defeating others before him. But the fact was that she had no goddamn clue about the squared circle, and was put there merely to humiliate him.
Goddamn Armand Von Krauss!
What a Vile Human Being.
He slammed his fist on the table and rose up. He needed a breath of fresh air and a drink. He hadn’t seen Mother yet, since arriving at the Villa. She had not been feeling very strong, the maid said, and he wanted to avoid stressing her more than she could handle. He would see her in the morning, right now he couldn’t handle that too. It was too much for his weary soul and saddened heart.
He called a taxi and went out to wait for it.
Destination Palermo.
A trip to the city would do him good.
He was back home, surrounded by beloved ones and people who were important to him. And they loved and respected him and his dreams. He left them behind, twelve years ago, in search of himself and his destiny. He wanted to be the strongest possible fighter, ever. And he had managed to do just that. In six years of Professional Wrestling, he had become more than others had accomplished in an entire career.
Now? Now his whole imperium could fall in front of Armand Von Krauss and his schemes. He shook his head and lit a cigarette; how to handle the young girl Dresden situation? If he violated her dreams and her love for the wrestling world by curb-stomping her to defeat he could not forgive it to himself. If he let her win, his whole competitive spirit would fall to pieces. If he tolerated her, into making her appear more than she could be in the wrestling circle, they would call him a scheme maker, just like Von Krauss.
The situation was delicate and requested his whole attention. He could not allow himself to fall for Armand’s traps and he could not afford to treat the young competitor lightly. When things come, they come all at once. That is life, as beautiful and resplendent as it can be, as harmfully vile and despicable it can turn in other moments.
The taxi stopped in front of the Pub.
He had asked Eron for directions and the young man had just asked the taxi driver to bring him to the best pub he knew in the city. And there they were. He stepped out of the car, the fresh breeze caressed his face for some instants, short ones before he pushed the pub’s door and the atmosphere clashed with his spirit. The noise was high and the music was high enough. The usual full pub atmosphere of a Saturday night. Nothing dramatic for any used customer, but Eron Hunter was not one of them. He, Hunter, was an introvert by nature and the sole pub he knew were the small motel rooms in which he felt calm and consumed alcohol and cigarettes.
But tonight was different
As different as his nature would allow it to be. The pub was full, but even in this situation he watched out to not come into contact with anyone he didn’t know, and he didn’t know anyone in there. He looked out for a calm spot, secluded and quiet, and sat there, ordered a whiskey, and started sipping on it slowly.
Not looking out for anyone
Minding his own business
Until she appeared in front of him.
Black hair and blue eyes, a muse from the past, a woman worth poetry. He looked her in the eyes as she filled his glass and all he could say was…
“Thank You”
***
Alma
A Spanish name for an Italian girl. And it means “Soul” in English.
How have you been, old man? I am sorry that things went out of the way between us, sometimes, and I am sorry I have disappointed you at times. I know I should have been here to run the family’s business, but chose to follow my destiny. I am hurt that I couldn’t apologize to you for this, but I know you forgave me a long time ago. And you should know I have forgiven you for your shortcomings. I am sorry, Father. Sorry that you had to leave so soon, although it is a never-accepted fact, for a child, to see his parent go from this world.
All I can do is stand here, near your resting place, and caress your photograph. You stare at me, from the picture, with forgiving eyes, ready to teach me another of your lessons. And I am here to take them as they come, Dad.
I promise I will follow your advice, as I heard it from you, a long time ago.
You know, I met this girl and she seems beautiful not only on the outside. It is strange how life decides to go on, even in the most sad and hurtful moments. You are here, resting now, and I talk to you about her. Is it shameless? Apologies if it is so. I just want you to know I have not given up on life, even in the most fierce occurrences.
He looked at the grave and then around him, it was the middle of the night and the wind played a sad tune in his ears. He caressed the photograph again and then sat down, on the ground close to his father’s resting place.
A profound sadness engulfed his heart.
Life.
It is so fierce, at times, that it takes our breath away. But we should never stop believing in our stories and our loved ones. Even if they depart, they are there with us, in our hearts. And all we can do is be grateful for the moments we got to spend with them.
He took a small bottle out of his overcoat pocket and took a small sip of whiskey from it.
Life.
His father would live on, within his son, because that is how life is. We live forever in the minds of those we have loved and who love us back.
It would be a long sleepless night.
