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It took 4 million years for man to change enough to end up where he is today...It took Jacob Star 20 minutes.
A graveyard, similar to the one that Garbiel Steele was standing in earlier. Hundreds of gravstones, lineages of families, marked upon the faces of stone and marble. During the Christmas Season these friends and family are remembered most and their loss is felt the strongest. You can remember your Grandmother holding you on her lap, while your brother tears open a present on the floor. You smile, ear to ear, as you're handed one of your own. It only takes a second for you to shred the wrapping, sitting in your hands is a brand new dumptruck. You grandmother leans down and whispers in your ear. "Merry Christmas". Your smile widens, you're lost for words, your only response is to reach up, wrap your arms around her neck and give her a giant hug.
Shane Jackson stands at the closed gates of the graveyard. A cool wind blows across the the headstones and through the gates, it tears at Shane's face and disturbs his long duster. Shane's hands are buried deep in his pockets, protecting them from the elements. One hand is carfully placed against the Polaroid photograph that Shane picked out of the dirt in Tulsa Oklahoma.
Shane: Have you ever listened to the wind? It almost sounds like a song, like a woman pouring her heart into music.
Shane's words seem to spur something in your ears. As the winds continues to blow you are able to pick up a song, riding on it's waves. A woman's voice plays in your ears as her song swirls around you.
Shane reaches out and places a hand on one of the bars of the cemetary gates. He carefully pushes the gate open and steps into the graveyard.
Shane: I must give a hand to Jacob Star. He's performed a feat that few people have ever been able to do and I hope he comes around at some point and realises that he's been given a gift. Wether he feels he deserves it or not, he should still wear it with pride and I wish him all the best.
Again, the womans voice plays on the wind.
Shane: Since Star picked up the title I've had several people come up to me and tell me I should take a shot at it, that I should take a run a Jacob and the CWF Title. I don't want to. I don't care to. I have no desire to. I imposed an exile, from the World Title, on myself for a reason. I didn't feel I measured up to the standards that have been set for it. When I decide to break my own glass ceiling and step back up to the World Title everyone will know. I won't keep it a secret. Don't think that a hundred people coming up to me and saying I should be a contender for Jacob's belt is going to change my mind. I'll know when I'm ready.
Shane walks along the weathered dirt path that leads through the center of the cemetary. As he passes gravesites he tries to catch a glimpse of the names etched into the headstones. He tries to imagine what each person looked like, though he knows he can never be right about their image, he tries, if only to honor them for a second.
Shane: How many people visit their resting loved ones at Christmas time? In the season of giving how many people take the time to give a few minutes to those long past. In my mind I can hear the unvisited crying as they wish to see the faces of their children and brothers. They crave attention as much as anyone, just because you can't hug them doesn't mean they don't need you love.
Another gust of wind and the woman's melody's are carried through the graveyard.
Shane comes to a stop next to a gravestone maked "Sterling". He drops to one knee, and places his hand on the face of the gravestone. He stares at the gravestone for a moment, then looks up and smiles. There's a sudden flash of light and the everything goes black.
You can't see or hear anything. You reach out in front of you but you can't extend your arm, there's something in the way. A wall? Suddenly in front of you you can hear scratching. It gets close and closer but you don't understand what it is. You don't understand what's happening or why. You hear a faint voice echoing in your head. A woman's voice.
In your mind the voice dies off just long enough for you to realise the scratching is closer than ever. It stops, and a new sound takes it's place. There's a crack, like wood splintering. A string of moonlight suddenly breaks through the darkness, blinding you. Another crack and the moon light becomes broader, you have to hold your hand to your eyes to sheild them. Again there's the sound of splintering wood, then you feel something, a hand. It grabs you by the arm and pulls you up. Up out of the grave, out of the coffin, and out of your own mortality, or so you think. Again you hear the woman's voice, as if she's standing next to you, whispering in your ear.
You're lost for words. You can do nothing but hug the man that saved you from your silent tomb. You don't remember how you got there, but you do know it scared you beyond anything you've ever faced before. As you pull away from the hug you look at the man who pulled you from the grave. He smiles, as if pleased, like he's completed a job that he was destined for. Then, to your surprise, from the man's back a pair of white wings suddenly explode. They tear through the fabric at the back of his jacket and extend straight out, on either side.
As you stare at the angel, he opens his mouth and speaks to you.
You never saw it coming. Did you? He caught you off guard and you underestimated him. It started small and you thought you could contain it, before you realised what was happening it exploded in your face and you found yourself here.
You blinded yourself to all but what you wanted, and what you thought was best. You friends tried to help but you pushed them away. They tried to throw you a life jacket but you knocked it back. You wanted to do it on your own, you didn't know how to ask for help.
Take your last look at this place. You won't remember if we leave.
You look down at your gravestone and you suddenly understand who you are. Your name screams back at you as your life, for the last time, comes flooding into your memory. You can't escape your fate, it's carved, clear as day on your headstone. Sterling. You now know the name of the angel that stand in front of you.
Shane: I pulled you from your grave and gave you a chance at a great life. I gave you the gold and the fame to make yourself great, but what have you done with it? Perhaps it's time I took my gifts back, perhaps you're not ready for them yet.
It's now that you realise that you won't ascend to the heavens. You were only brought back long enough to be told your great mistake in life. You understand that you never lived up to what you were given. Slowly you step back into your grave, and lay back into you coffin. Above you Shane stands, his wings now folded on his back. In you minds the woman's voice strikes up again.
Shane: Enjoy your rest, perhaps in another life you'll make more of what people so generously give you.
Each of the splintered pieces of the coffin are replace, and you're plunged back into the endless darkness of death. You can hear the dirt being piled back into your grave. You close your eyes and accept the fate you've drawn yourself into. As you close your eyes there's a sudden flash of white light
Shane's kneeled over the grave site marked "Sterling". At his feet it appears as if the dirt has been untouched. Grass covers the ground infront of the headstone. On the wind the voice still sings.
Shane: Paul Sterling has yet to understand what has been showered upon him. He doesn't see what's happening behind his back because his eyes are blocked by the shine on the face of his gold belt. He needs to lift his head and stop staring at his reflection. He need to take a look to his left and right and make sure he knows who his friends are and who's about to plunge a dagger into his back. Listen to the wind Paul. You need to understand that the gold around your waist can protect you if you know how to use it right.
One last time the woman's voice echo's across the landscape of the graveyard.
Shane stands from the gravesite and stares down one last time at the headstone. Slowly he turns and walks back up the dirt path he entered on. As he disappears from sight the headstone with the name "Sterling" becomes crystal clear.
Sterling, Robert James
1925-2000