Episode I

[ozura]

“The chattering of fans, the echoes, the boo’s, the cheers, reactionary to what pops and silent to what… doesn’t.

You want to feed off the energy, you want to chew on the reactions. You get a little taste, and now you just can’t help to want more.”

In a hallway sits a man, torn down and emotionally checked out. Evidently this is clear with the posture and body language that drapes over his frame as he sits on a cold metal chair. The man, Ozura to be precise is the only person in these narrow corridors. Sounds of nothing coming forward, these halls are silent, except for the sound of the man’s voice.

“Or, maybe you don’t.”

“Maybe you’ve already been down this path, you’ve already walked down this road. Night after night you gave it your all, and night after night you just break a little bit more.”

We pan-in and view the hands and arms of Ozura. Marks , scars, and discoloration capture our eyes, each with a different story to tell.

“I know the ups; I know the downs. I know that feeling of getting your hand raised, winning the match, having all of that hard work pay off. You’re building yourself up, you’re fighting for what you believe in… you’re unstoppable.

Then reality hits, it grabs your head and smothers your face into the mat. You gasp for air, but night after night it’s the same thing, the same feeling.

And every night it gets just a little bit harder to stand back on your feet.”

The scars on Oz’s hands evermore into focus as the marks begin to truly stand out. The off colorization of the marks has no titles, but say many words.

Grief, anguish, stress, a list that could continuously go on. Possibly splinters from broken tables and lacerations from their metal underbelly. Unhealed brushing against steel cages, ruptured blood vessels from brutal impacts. Holes, wounds, cuts with no attempt at seeking proper medical intervention. It’s all just a collective of collateral damage that one takes while living this kind of life

“But hey….

Just believe in your path, believe in your purpose.Or at least that’s what they would all tell you.

Feeding you hope, but the meal is nothing more than a false reality. Not all of us share the same journey. They lie to us; they tell us how important we are and push us out the door.

They paint pictures of luxury and fame, a dream of title reigns, being loved by fans, and leaving a legacy that is nothing short of immortality.

But they’re lies….. we can’t all be legends

This road plated by gold bricks they describe ahead of us….. Simply, doesn’t exist.

The stones are cracked, weeds sprouting out, they have weathered, they have lost their shine. The path is dark, scary, and filled with victims….

My warning, turn back if you can, before you end up like me.”