I own nothing, nothing, I just own the ideas.

Superstar: Justin Gabriel

Signifier Card: Temperance: Balance, moderation, combination, The Guardian Angel

Situation Card: Ten of Pentacles: family life, loss, household; or disharmony, discord, strife...Legacy

He had been running for some time now. It was early evening, just as the sun was setting. This was supposed to be a day like any other day, but not to him. The South African Stunner was remembering a tragedy that happened, something that made him question himself as a person.

Questioned why his father had to drink that day when Paul Lloyd Jr. was only eighteen years old. Questioned why Paul Sr. decided to drink and drive.

PJ, as he preferred to be called, came to a stop at a corner in the sidewalk he was going to cross the road when something caught his attention. He was standing under some oak trees that lined a park in Tampa.

"I haven't been in this area before." He said looking around.

Sure he hadn't, his mind was on the anniversary of his father's death to realize that he had gone farther north of where he usually went, by about a mile. Scanning around, PJ's attention was caught when he saw a father and a son playing American football in the park. This was something he missed.

"Vader, why did you have to leave me?" PJ asked stepping up underneath one of the oak trees, leaning against the rough bark. "I miss you so much."

The wind started to pick up, tossing PJ's perfect hair to and fro as if it were nothing.

Memories flooded him. Memories of when everything was alright, when it was fun to be with his father.

One that was prominent was when PJ was ten years old, and wanted to learn to wrestle just like his Pa, his vader, or father in Afrikaans.

Paul Sr. looked at the young boy who was growing fast.

"You want to learn," he says, laughing boisterously. "You show me what you already know."

They were standing in a ring at an outdoor park, much like the one PJ was standing in remembering, and that was when PJ found out what it meant to be a real wrestler. For hours PJ and Paul Sr. practiced together, PJ learning the proper ways to fall down on the ring. Like curling the head and learning to take a chest slap.

But PJ's memories lapsed to darker times, to the times when Paul Sr. suffered from his own sins. PJ learned early on that alcohol was okay, but in moderation, to balance the need to drink with the need to do something else.

PJ's mother, always known as Ma, asked her son to go to the local pub that was up the street, to get Paul Sr. It was supper time and Paul Sr. hadn't returned. PJ went out, a fresh faced sixteen year old. He ran down the street, his usual nature since he was on the school's rugby and football (soccer) teams. PJ was going to learn the dangers of alcohol first hand.

"Vader," PJ said, walking up to the man at the bar. "Vader, Moeder said its time to come home." He shook his father's shoulder, trying to get Paul Sr.'s attention.

"No, go home, boy." Paul Sr. said, shoving the boy's hand from his shoulder.

"But Vader, it's time to go. Moeder made your favorite meal." PJ touched his father's shoulder.

That seemed to snap something. Standing up, man met boy face to face. PJ didn't have a chance to anticipate the strike. The back of Paul Sr.'s hand struck PJ's face with such force the teenager stumbled back slightly.

"Go home, boy. This is a man's place, not a boy's."

Blood trickled from PJ's mouth where his father's ring had connected with his skin. Drunkards were laughing at the look on the young South African's face, calling him a little boy, not a man but a boy. In age he was a child but PJ felt like a man. He left feeling like he had failed his mother, himself even.

The family had fallen on hard times, with Paul Sr. suffering a career ending fractured back. He had healed physically, but emotionally he was a scarred man. He refused to go back to wrestling, promoting was being held out to him but Paul Sr. wanted back in the ring but neglected a wife and his son.

Shaking his head, PJ hadn't realized that he had been day dreaming, remembering memories that he had tried to hide.

"Vader, why did you have to drive drunk that night?" PJ asked while pushing himself off of the tree. "Why couldn't you have been strong to live to support me now?"

The father and son in the park were packing it in, ready to head home for dinner. The sun was getting low now, dusk was on the way and PJ declared that it was time to leave as well. In an attempt to turn around, to head south back homeward, PJ stopped when he heard the boy call out to him.

"Mister, hey mister! Are you Justin Gabriel?" The boy was standing on one side of the street, PJ on the other.

"I am." PJ smiled slightly, enjoying that his attention was drawn away from the harsh memories of his childhood.

"Dad, can I go shake Mr. Gabriel's hand?"

"Sure, kiddo, but look both ways when you cross." The father said opening the trunk of the white sadan.

The street wasn't big, just big enough for cars to park on the curb and still have enough room for cars to drive along. The boy looked both ways as PJ waited patiently on the other side of the street. When the boy did get over to him, PJ held out his hand.

"I'm sorry if I'm sweaty," the boy said. "I've been playing football with my dad."

"I'm probably sweaty too, I've been running for two hours now." PJ responded, looking at the boy's brown eyes. "Best be getting home, supper time soon, wouldn't it?"

"Oh yeah, we're having spaghetti tonight. Have a nice day, Mr. Gabriel."

But something was off, something that felt familiar at the same time. The sound of a motor came closer, too fast, down the road. Even if the boy had looked, he was in the middle of the street by the time that a large green SUV came rolling through the area. It had hit a trash can before veering towards the left, right towards the boy. The boy, he was standing in the path of a monster.

"Christopher!" The father yelled, but couldn't reach the boy fast enough.

All he saw one moment was his son standing in the road, then the SUV passed where he had been and then...

PJ had reached out in time, grabbed the boy by the arm, and pulled him back between a truck and another car parked on the curb. He had both arms wrapped around the boy's body, his back to the road, protecting the boy from any danger. Luckily for everyone, the SUV hadn't turned to the right, where they had been huddled together. PJ stood up, placing his hands on Christopher's shoulders and looked around. The SUV had turned off, heading towards a more populated street, which was followed by a large crash.

"Go to your Vader." The South African said, looking at the boy.

Off in a sprint PJ ran, taking the left street the SUV had gone towards. At this point he had his cell phone out, ready to call for an ambulance. All he saw was the SUV smashed up against a tree next to the main road. The driver's side door was ajar, dislodged in the crash more than likely, and the man in the driver's seat slumped over the steering wheel. Others, who had seen the crash, were coming to see what was wrong and to see if they could help.

"Is he alive?" Christopher's father asked, coming up behind PJ.

"He is but barely. At least he wore a seatbelt." PJ replied. "Make sure he doesn't move, I'm calling for help."

Dialing 911, PJ stood with Christopher, a hand on the boy's shoulder, trying to keep him from seeing anything. After he had given the area where the crash happened to the 911 operator, and informing them that the driver was intoxicated, he hung up. Not even six minutes later the first police officers were on the scene. And then the boy asked a question PJ was all too familiar with.

"Mr. Gabriel, why was the man driving like that?"

"He was drunk, he shouldn't have been driving if he was drinking."

The boy's brown eyes looked up at him. "Can people die from drunk driving?"

"Yes, they can." PJ nodded, sighing at the all too familiar scene.

"Then I'm not ever going to drink."

"You have to have balance in your life. Weigh the good with the bad. If you drink, don't drive. Drink in moderation too, you have to be level headed to do things." PJ said.

Christopher suddenly smiled. "Then you really are an angel, you protected me."

It was true, he really was an angel. To some more than others.