(Note: revisits events posted in "First Salvo for the Sorceress" for Warfare in Jan. 2017)



"Daddy can I be a witch for Halldoween?"

I'm not sure how to respond to my 4 year old daughter Amethyst as she sits happily viewing "It's the Great Pumpkin Charlie Brown" DVD in our family's illegally converted garage hovel with no warranty of habitability. I choose logic first, hoping she doesn't have a follow up.

"Sweetheart, it's August right now. Halloween is in October."

The date is August 24 2016, the time: around 4 in the afternoon.

"Can I be a witch in Ockttober?"

Dammit... Don't mention money. Her Christmas birthday last year was bad enough breaking into Rite Aid. I was lucky to get off with a slap on the wrist.

"Why a witch, Amey? Wouldn't you rather be a princess instead?"

Lord knows your mother is witch enough _year round_. Rather not see my lil' angel follow suit.

Amey doesn't respond, she's too into the ending of the seasonal iconic peanuts cartoon. As the credits roll, she yawns.

"Uh oh...is it nap time?"

"Yup!"

I love Amey, especially when she's so easy. Not just easy, enthusiastic. She stands and skips two paces to the twin bed, hopping her cute little buns onto the matress before lying down and pulling the thin sheet up to her chin.

The image in my mind's eye squeezes my heart with a longing, a _need_, to see my Amey again.


(mood music)

"Should daddy take nappies too?"

"Yes!"

I laugh while I swing my legs up onto the couch. I shut my eyes.

I wake about an hour later to serenity in silence, assuming Amey is fast asleep on the bed. I remain lying on the couch and power up my smart phone, busying myself with online job hunting.

Not long after, I hear Holly arrive.

Following her regularly scheduled post-shift explosion, emasculation and pointing out that Amethyst had snuck off to the trailer without my knowing, we end with our mutual "Fuck you" and I allow myself to fall back asleep in frustration...

(revisit)

I awake, annoyed at the orange glow that shouldn't exist outside my window at this hour. I sit up, prepared to yell at the neighbor Joey to stop burning his fucking trash at night, except, he ain't burning trash.

Fuck is this now?

I yawn. I rub my eyes, then my face and I yawn again.

What is that, a fuckin' siren?

I take my time with a half-interested saunter. I round the illegal domicile we rent and I see the lights of the fire truck approach in the night...

Then I see my trailer in flames.

"No-no- NO! NO!!"

I'm over at the door in a flash. I grab the handle.

"FUUUUUCK!!"

It's red hot.

"YOU MOTHERFUCKER!! FUCK YOU!!"

I use my shirt to protect my fingers and I fling the fucker open. Flames whip out to feed upon the now greatest source of oxygen and singe my face.

"FUUUUCK!! FUUUUUUUUCK!!"

I look to the broken water spigot, I look to the second spigot the landlord illegally capped off two months ago. It hits me. A weakness I'd never experienced before or since flows through me. I drop to my knees.

There's nothing I can do...

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!"

(revisit end. elaboration)

By the time the fire fighters have extinguished the blaze there isn't much left of the trailer. The emergency medical response team works in conjunction to create safe entry for removal of what's left of my wife and daughter and a newly arrived animal control truck pulls up to remove the 14 feline fallen in kind. My words with one of the fire fighters during the battle had been sent and received loud and clear.

I'm led away by the same man and one of the response team spending a good half an hour being treated for first degree burns on my hands and interviewed.

We're approached by an investigator as I watch two stretchers being removed from the incinerated trailer innards. Animal control callously snatches and shoves kitty corpses into a large plastic trash bag. Bitch...fucking bitch.

I can feel I'm losing control over myself. I feel as if I need to hurt someone. The truth of what happened still has yet to set in. Right now I'm in a chaotic nightmare I cannot escape. I just wanna wake up.

The investigator begins as soon as the landlord Rudy Enriquez joins us. We're told of a sequence of events starting with faulty wiring at the breaker box leading to a surge, throwing of sparks and setting of detritus aflame at the scene. He notes a pile of half buried burned up oily rags in close proximity to the trailer that Rudy explains his sons must've left while using the backyard of the property as a vehicular "shop" earlier in the year.

In disbelief I push for further explanation, how the trailer itself had gone up so quickly. I'm told the connection to the trailer's propane had been loose, that the gas had been ignited and pushed through the piping to belch death into the trailer through the oven that had been in service. Like a flamethrower, the investigator describes, the interior of the trailer had been lit and both Holly and Amethyst had been on the bed in the back, trapped by both the fire and the malfunctioning emergency exit windows.

Rudy denies any knowledge of the illegally hooked up breaker box that caused it all. As he spins his fibs...

Swirling about in my head are unseen images describing, as I can only imagine, and do, what it must have been like for Holly and Amey inside the trailer. Watching in utter horror as the fire blew open the oven lid and burst out to ignite the hide-a-couch a mere foot across from the oven opening and near the edge of the bed.

I picture those of our cats not immediately burnt scattering.

I hear my girls screaming.

I watch them coughing and choking.

I watch the remaining cats succumb to the smoke as Holly tries to open the emergency windows in futility.

I witness the two of them holding together in terror before the fire and heat begin cooking them alive.

My wife.

My 4 year old daughter.

My reasons for living.

Cooking alive.

A well of anger and darkness rises within me as I attempt to force tears from dry ducts and a heart I no longer believe exists. I don't understand why I can't feel the grief and I begin to tremble as adrenaline fills me to the brim, ruthless rage rearing as never before, the build up of traumatic events since April of 2003 refusing to remain within me any longer.

'Kill him.'

Out of nowhere I launch myself at Rudy Enriquez, former self professed decorated amateur boxer. I level him with a single right haymaker, driving his senior spic ass to the sandy desert floor. I raise my right steel toe Red Wing boot with the intent to crush his fucking skull and as I drop it I find myself being pulled from behind, forced to miss.

I spin from the grip of the fire fighter and I attack HIM in revenge. A hard one-TWO sends him backpedaling and I follow up with a flurry of punches that drop him to his ass before I straddle and unleash Hell as I lay into him.

It takes a second fire fighter and the two responding deputies on the scene to peel me from my prey and cuff me.

I'm led to the back seat of their patrol SUV and there I sit cursing, spitting, kicking. A few minutes later I "calm down" and cease my struggle.

I realize I've just done what Jimmy O'Connor would've never done in his right mind. I address the issue of my dead heart and inability to cry in grief I can't seem to tap or feel and I come to the conclusion that what was left of my former self has died and whomever...WHATEVER I am now is all that's left over.

I say goodbye to Jimmy O'Connor...

..and I accept the creation of the devil I've become......



......Jim......



......fucking......



......Caedus......



The date is August 24 2016. The time is 9:48 PM PST and I will never...


.......ever......



.......be the same again.

TBC
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"The Birth of Caedus"




-Wednesday, March 15 2017 9:00 PM Local-

-Arena Zagreb-



I find myself stirring from my malicious memories and staring at my vicious visage in the dressing room mirror.

In a few hours Wednesday Night Warfare will be set upon the Croatian crowd, the semi finals of Lethal Lottery IV commencing to what will hopefully be the destruction of Bourbon and Scully and the advancement of both Trax and I to the final two bouts at the PPV...and while I'm as ready as I'll ever be to step into that ring and face two of my greatest foes I've had thus far to challenge me, I'd allowed myself to ponder on the contest to be held a few days hence back in California for Fucking Savage in which I'll be squaring off for the second time against Muddy Waters with my XWF Television Title on the line.

Muddy Waters. The man whose own daughter Dolly was currently being held, incarcerated for usage of performance enhancement drugs when last I'd checked. The man who has done nothing in my opinion to see that his daughter be freed. The deadbeat fucking dad with whom I simultaneously share a common theme of fatherhood and lack of relation with a man allowing his daughter to suffer while I myself would've done and would do anything to prevent my own from the same.

'Muddy doesn't seem willing to open fire first what with the hectic schedule he's got in comparison to your own. Show that prick what commitment and determination are all about.'

I ready my phone for promo.

.....................................

"Weeeeeell...for the second time in a month it seems you've found reason to detour from what should be your prioritized task at hand, Muddy. Stepping into the ring with me for the Federweight Title at the return of Anarchy wasn't enough, now you've got your sights set on my TV strap? Tell me...when will Dolly deserve a bit of that attention from the man she unfortunately must call father? You sow tit lickin' sack o' shit...you make me fuckin' sick. You ain't worth her heart.

I noticed you hated my final promo preceeding our previous match up. Was that your feeble attempt to deny my, as far as I'm concerned, apt accusations of your failure to protect that little girl or was it simply a response to incredible frustration over your stupidity in overlooking your right to upload a double dose of donnybrook? Don't blame ME for your idiocy, dickhead. Aim that cow spunk covered shit stench of a finger at yourself. And the fans had YOUR back in the match? _I'm_ bullshit?? Must not have been a solid parental figure among them to throw support behind a bastard like you, Muddy, as opposed to cheering the true hero in that ring for fuckin' you up that crusty country asshole of yours."

'Why must YOU open fire first?'

"What's the reasoning behind remaining silent since the Savage card hit the roster, , as if you don't have plenty of ammo to lay into me first with what I hit you with pre-Anarchy? What a fuckin' pussy. Can't find the courage or the time to levy the opening swing huh? Even though I, a TRUE XWF competitor, am entering combat week in and week out, YOU can't find the time while doing NOTHING to step up to the plate like the tough guy you perceive yourself to be? Don't try to claim you're playing it fair, I can take care of myself, Muddy. I'd have been just fine had you decided to nut up and refused to shut up while Trax and I were taking on our opponents in promo. What you're doing is padding your ammo belt of shells with as much trash talk response as you can before you have to open your mouth. Do I sound like a hypocrite? Probably. Do I give a fuck? No, I don't. Everything I do, every tactic I use, every strategy I follow, aligns with what MUST be done to preserve my reign and continue my momentum unabated. When I'm able, I have no problem being the first to move a piece on the chessboard of the XWF battleground. Take now for example...the man who should be on his hands and knees attempting to catch his breath is instead standing tall in the face of stamina drainage and the somehow pseudo legendary status of yourself...another bit of your being that you don't deserve. I'm unafraid. Unwilling to give ground. Unwilling to accept defeat. While you...you're unwilling to allow your own pathetic ego to give way to courage.

I realize you gave me quite a bit of trouble in our previous fight...that was your one opportunity to capitalize and you blew it, imbecile. With your tale of the tape at 6'2 225, very similar in size to Scully himself, combined with my experience pertaining to your ability in the ring I now know exactly what to expect in Caedus v Muddy II. It's too bad you endured only a slight TASTE of what I'M capable of in that match...now, you've got a knowledgeable opponent to enter into combat with for the second time and your own inexperience will cost you dearly. You should've turned the match down, dipshit. Not just in favor of Dolly...in favor of preserving what little you have left in context with pride. I'll be stripping it away on Saturday.

What else is there to say at this point in time given your lack of spine? There aren't enough happenings in recent XWF history to allow me much in pursuit of researching you any further than I already have. I notice you've still yet to update your roster page on the official site, still carrying the handle of 'Reverend' despite your attempts to insult my intelligence before Anarchy AND your words backstage of needing to change it following your DEFEAT. When exactly will you commit yourself to this promotion and your own identity Muddy? Along the same line of thought...how have you even earned two successive shots at my two titles while being such a lazy motherfucker? Seems to me you not only allow your daughter to suffer through Hell but you appear comfortable in using her cred and riding her wake to some modicum of further 'success' and fame in the XWF. You're not only one of the worst fathers I've ever come across but you're one of the worst human beings I've ever had the DISHONOR of knowing to some degree.

What can I expect in your response? You calling ME a terrible father in light of my own daughter Amethyst's accidental death? Another pointless documentary on the line of autistic kids you've sired with a few pics of ugly chicks thrown in for humor and good measure? YOU not taking ME seriously? Then, lemme guess, you unleash your rumored talent at trash talking upon my head, right? Bring it the fuck on, Muddy, ALL of it. Bring your age contradicting fascination with stock meme photos and/or stolen Facebook pics. Bring your bullshit stories and peckerwood yuckfest. Bring what you believe to be enough shit talk to take me down as my sixth Television Title defense. By now...you MUST know exactly who I am as a name and what I'm capable of. Despite that, I know enough of you to expect you to toss that aside thinking YOU'LL be the one to wrestle the gold away and show your Muddy-buddies in the back that you've figured out the formula for success against Caedus. Bring it. I dare you. I'm not afraid of you, cocksucker and in taking the first shot I've proven that.

Now...as the serious competitor that I am I'm afraid I've no choice but to end this opening salvo and prepare as best I can for my match with Trax against two other XWF vets who actually DO try, Muddy. You go right ahead and take your time shootin' back, camp it out or come at me immediately...it makes no difference to me. Fuck lazy, yellow hacks. I'm Jim Caedus...I'll be ripping you a new rectum and doing my best to prove once again my justification on proudly holding the XWF Television Championship come Savage. See you soon..."
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

I stop recording. I clear my mind of Muddy and raise to begin my stretches and warm-up for my upcoming round 3 war.

Apologies to my foes...but it'll take a lot more than what I've had to power through already to rob me of my steam. If I've limits in endurance I've not discovered them yet.

TBC