Born and raised in Detroit, Judah was a construction foreman, in a long line of construction workers. A no-nonsense kind of man, he appreciated hard work and getting his hands dirty. You weren't a man if you didn't know how to properly identify tools and know how to use them, change a tire or defend yourself in a fight. He was old school. The last of the cowboys, some might call him. A good meal after a fulfilling day of rigorous, manual labor joined by the knowledge of a job well done, accented with a can of cold beer; American of course, is all that Judah needed. The main priorities in life, what's important and mattered above all else in the book of Judah, were his family and his truck.


When Zane was born; his baby boy, he had such high hopes, those flew out the window the day that Zane turned thirteen, picked up skateboarding, started hanging around with a group of hooligans, and listening to punk rock. After that each year brought a new disappointment. Till Zane moved out on his own and then he just prepared himself for the day he would get that phone call, informing him that his son had died. Due to a drug overdose most likely. Such a waste of potential.


Then Zane relocated to Manhattan, out of the clear blue and took up working in a morgue. Judah never asked why his son did this but he assumed it was gang and drug related. On the bright side, Zane seemed to have obtained a new lease on life and appeared to be succeeding and doing well for himself. Which was the best that Judah could have hoped for Zane, by this point. Still he was proud of his son, for cleaning up his act and finally getting serious. If he only knew the truth.

Natasha Norrison (Nikolaev)

Natasha came to America with her parents from Moscow, when she was a very, small girl. Strong willed, independent, tough as nails but also immensely protective and caring. She believed in maintaining pride in heritage and ancestry. The owner of her own restaurant that specialized in Russian cuisine. Cooking was her life's passion and it showed, the proof was definitely in the creation because a person could seriously, get addicted to her meals. The only things she applied the same effort toward was her gardening and bee keeping.


When she gave birth to her son Zane it was the greatest day of her life and forever in her eyes, he could do no wrong. Always sticking up for him and defending his integrity, even during his worst moments in life. She went toe to toe with her husband on many a night for this very reason, with the same resolve and strength as a prize fighter. Nothing could ever sway her opinion of her son, not even when he moved out and took up a questionable lifestyle. Instead she merely took up knitting to pass the time on restless nights, when she would worry so much that she couldn't sleep.


When she heard that Zane relocated to Manhattan, it broke her heart to hear that he traveled so far away, she didn't understand why her son would make such a sudden decision but trusted his judgement. After awhile, it became apparent that he had made a good call, he was working a steady job and seemed to have tamed that wild spirit that had overtaken him. At long last her son finally grew up and became the man that she knew he was destined to become. Imagine what she might think, if she knew that the thing that brought that transformation into reality was his death?




"So this is where you're living?"


I watched my father as he strolled around my apartment, his eyes scanning every inch.


"Yep, this is the place, I've lived here for three years now."


"Has it been that long? Huh? You would think that in all that time you would have extended an invite to us, so that we could check the place out?"


"Yeah, I know, sorry about that, I've just been busy with work. It wasn't intentional."


My father started knocking on the wood fixture of a doorway. For reasons I couldn't fathom, not even in my wildest imagination.


"Really? You get an intake of that many dead bodies in your morgue, that you can't set aside and schedule even a fraction of a moment for your parents?"


He turned to me.


"Are there multiple, mass murders going on everyday in Manhattan? Do New Yorkers take part in the Purge but do it on a more than yearly basis? Or wait. Lemme guess. The apocalypse happened and no one told me about it. That guy moaning in the gangway of your apartment wasn't drunk, he was undead, right?"


"No... I... I..."


"You... you... you know, I know your secret, right?"


"You do?"


Swallowing hard, I nervously chewed my bottom lip.


"What's the secret that you believe that you know?"


With a hearty chuckle, my father walked up to me and looked at me in mocked disbelief.


"Are you really going to make me say it? You can't even admit it to my face, now that I'm standing here, right in front of you. Wow. Okay. Fine. I'll say it. Your mother and I, know that you're a professional wrestler."


Oh thank god.


"It's really quite the performance. You pretend to be a zombie and beat people up for the entertainment of a bunch of screaming, deranged psychos."


Ha! Pretend. I wish...


"Are you on the drugs again Zane cause I can't see why any sober, clear thinking individual would willingly do what you do."


"Oh for Pete's sake, give it a rest already, Judah."


Finally, my mom intervened. Taking a hold of my hand, she then directed my face toward her with her free hand.


"We just wanted to make sure that you're safe. That's all. Are you okay, Zaney? This wrestling business that you've gotten yourself into, is it about money? Are you tight on funds? Did something happen? Do you need money? Judah get your wallet."


I could literally feel my father rolling his eyes. Despite not being able to see him. This was how my mom was though, she couldn't help it and I adored her for how much she cared. I reached up and took her hand away from my face.


"No, mom. I don't need money. I'm fine, really. Wrestling is actually my second job, I do it because I enjoy it. And no..."


An eye roll of my own, intentionally done in the direction of my father, so he could see it full on.


"It's not because I'm on drugs. I made the decision to entertain the psychos, a hundred percent soberly and do you know what? It's the best choice that I have ever made. Ever. I majorly kick ass at it too and if you watched me wrestle you would know that. But no, all you seen was that I'm a zombie."


Purposeful pause. In a way this felt like a confession, even if they didn't know or value it, for what it truly was.


"Do you know how hard I bust my ass in those fights or the effort that I put into them, do you even care? I've won almost every fight that I've been in and carried championship gold. I've got another opportunity to achieve a title again, coming up this Saturday. Guess what? I'm taking that title because I know I can. I'm that confident. That confidence isn't unwarranted either. God... you would think that with all the hard work and dedication a sport like wrestling takes, you would appreciate it but you can't cause its me that's doing it. Fuck. Here I thought this was something that you might actually be proud of. Silly me, I guess."


Epic sigh. Wow. I had a lot of pent up aggression from failing to live up to his standards. Wait. Why is he laughing?


"I am proud of you."


"You are?"


"Yeah! Of course I am! Are you kidding me? I've seen just about every fight you have ever been in."


"It's true, he has. He even makes them change the channel on the tv at the bar when he's there, so he doesn't miss your matches."


"Heck yeah. One time those pussies were watching golf. No one wants to drink and watch golf. No one wants to watch golf period. The people playing golf don't even want to be playing it. It's a shit sport and I'll be damned if you convince me otherwise. Hey, you weren't kidding though, you are a total badass in that ring. The way you have the crowd eating out of the palm of your hand, while you dominate your opponent. Some of those guys are fucking big too. I didn't know you had it in you. Quite frankly, I would have expected you to come out of the closet before I ever anticipated a career in wrestling. You aren't gay, are you? Well even if you are, that's fine by me cause I know if anyone gives you shit for it, you can beat the crap outta them."


"Thanks. Hold on... no, I'm not gay. Also... huh? Then what was all that shit you were giving me?"


"I was busting your balls for not telling us. Come on, the one thing that I would think was cool that you got into, and you keep it to yourself. That's not cool, man. So I had to come here and harass you."


"I played a part in it too. Was I convincing? I threw in the money thing to make it seem convincing."


"So you both came here to call me out for not telling you that I'm a professional wrestler?"


"Yeah. That and your mom has a thing. Her sister moved to Brooklyn and we're on our way to see her new place, I figured that we'd drop by and see you first. Since you haven't invited us here on your own, I took the initiative for you and decided to show up unannounced. Oh and to take you to dinner cause knowing you, there's nothing in the fridge for us to eat."


He had no idea.


"Actually, I do have food but you're right, we should go out and eat. Catch up. I would love nothing more. In fact, it'll be my treat and I insist on it, so don't even try to say that you won't accept my offer."


"Now normally, I would based on principal alone but I think you owe us a meal or two. Go for it. Buy us dinner with that fancy wrestling money that you earned."


"Sounds like a plan, let me text someone first and then..."


Then there came a knock at my door. With a soft laugh, I shook my head and braced myself for presenting the most awkward request ever. Frankie greeted me with a grin, when I opened the door. A grin that I returned as I pulled her in for a hug. Whispering in her ear.


"How would you like to go out to eat?"


"Sounds good."


She gave a confused sort of laugh and I didn't let her go, instead I continued. Still whispering.


"There's a catch, my parents are coming too."


Yikes. Did I really say those words out loud?




"Your grasp of who and what I am is staggering to say the least. Even after I spell it out for you. You still don't fucking get it. How? We both speak the same language. I can understand you when I hear the ignorance coming out of your mouth and yet, when I talk it's like you're either hearing something else or you can't comprehend what I'm saying. You don't retaliate or respond to my statements."


"No."


"Instead you come at me with some nonsense about me not feeling emotions. I don't even know how you came to that conclusion. Never once did I utter that blatant malarkey. In my last promo I even admitted that I can feel pain. All I said was that it didn't affect me like the living. I can power through most pain and injuries... drastic injuries, don't put me out of commission. "


"You say that you can do the same thing, that nothing will stop you but that's because you're clearly talking out of your ass. You're stupid. If your arm is ripped out of its socket, torn clean right off of your body, you're going down and you are most assuredly bleeding to death. If my arm gets severed, fuck it if they both get taken, I won't die. It'll just really suck cause then I'd have to get them sewn back on later. Eventually they'd reattach themselves to my body and then the stitches could be removed. I'd be good as new after that though. I'm sorta like a snowman like that. Get it now, dum dum? We are not the same."


"You're taking me seriously now? That's funny because I'm not taking you seriously at all. One doesn't take the town jester seriously. The fool. Yammering away like he doesn't have a lick of sense in his head. Speaking simply to speak, with no rhyme or reason to his words. Someone completely inebriated that's also coked out of their mind or a mental patient, would sound more put together in the head than you do."


"Talking about how you know where you made your error before and won't be making it again. Please. Don't be ridiculous. You know nothing. That's why you couldn't specifically state what it was that you did wrong. You couldn't because you don't know. But I do. Would you like me to clue you in? I'll do it anyway, even if you don't want me to. Your mistake was that you thought that you would win and look at that, you're committing the same blunder, yet again. Hence proving that you didn't learn a fucking thing."


"Here's what's going to happen tomorrow. I'm going to enter that ring. You'll try and put me down. Give it all you got. Really put forth every bit of your very last effort to end me. All done in vain. All for naught. Then I'll rage out and tear you apart. Shred you until your flesh is in literal ribbons. Till the blood and human gore is thickly caked under my nails and the ring is soaked deep in crimson."


"You had better pray I stop there and merely pin you for your title. Cause I can't say that I won't take your life tomorrow night. An abomination like me, cannot make such promises, when it knows full well that it will not be in control. Make no mistake. Tomorrow night, the monster will be unleashed."


"You should probably let your wife know that she might be a widow on Sunday and to prepare your children for the loss of their father. Just in case."

1x X-Treme Champ
1x Hart Champion
1x SOTM November 2018