Livin life is but a dream……
Hard times is all we see……..

The smell of fresh air was priceless. His eyes glazed and teary thinking back he stood alone.

The word alone sent shivers down his back, he was almost that now. His mind would not let him think that was complete. If so then he would fall to despair.

Hate took over so easily and the strongest held it back, some would argue the Strongest accepted it in its waves. Who knew?

Everything hit you when you’d been wounded. Your senses were heightened. But this state was temporary, after it you would become numb. Numbness was despair

James Breeze had lost his fiancé and his child. She had left with his newborn. His decision to wrestle rather than settle down had made her bitter and her heart had turned to darkness. His life sources had left. What was left? Some would know, understand. All that is left after Hope is Death or Hatred

Which would you choose?

Breeze chose Hatred. Once named as The White Tiger of Hope it all seemed so hopeless now. He had chose wrestling unaware of the extreme measure of consequences it would lead to. He would stick to his choice, if not then the unknown sacrifice would not be a sacrifice but a waste. That he could not bare

So he stood here on this hill, the view of the sea glistening with the Sun’s rays reflected on the dead eyes of James Breeze. Once filled with light they now stood as dark as the night herself. He cried inside, he would stop crying and begin screaming. A wounded animal retaliates and the victims of his rage and pain would be at the OWC. A federation which sounded like the thousands of others. It could very well be, but there was hope. Although unclear it had to be there that this place was something special. A new breed, it could be. Breeze had not chosen prematurely. He had thought long about his new home. This place was the place that seemed to call him.

He would go to it as you would go to water if dehydrated. It could bring back his desire. It could feed his rage. Somewhere to vent his hate. If so then he would repay them with his dedication.

The lush grass he stood on was located on a beach with a cliff above it. He had been driving towards the arena where the OWC superstars currently resided. There he would also find the President of the OWC. He called him exactly that, President of the OWC. He neither knew his name nor cared. They would give each other something, an exchange. Both would benefit. Breeze would be paid in money and people, the President would be paid in entertainment. And also sweat, blood and maybe tears. Although the latter you could never be sure.

He moved away from the edge of the cliff, silently contemplating jumping off of it. He laughed at the idea, Suicide was for the weak. He moved back into his Ferrari. Not an uncommon car for wrestlers of his stature and success. He had worked hard for the money he had. He knew before it was in his hand it meant nothing. He drove down the road, his eyes unfocused yet the road was empty. He felt strange as the engine roared in his mind and hunger in his mouth. He was light headed yet he continued.

He came to a halt soon enough as the arena stood in front of him, its base as strong as a mountain and its structure almost as large. He moved into the car park after paying a small fee and showing a security officer his pass, which he received not long before the start of his drive.

He walked through the halls of the OWC, seeing some wrestlers, mostly staff. The atmosphere seemed tranquil and organized. He liked the kind of mood it had offered to him. He was a professional and sloppy and shifty work was not appreciated on his part.  

This trip would be short, he was to make a speech. A request even to the OWC roster to see if anyone would take up his challenge. He moved to a room which he had been told to go too.

From there he followed the instructions of some people, none that would stand out in a crowd. He sat down in front of a camera. It seemed so clinical. It was always that way to begin with. He sighed and looked up at the camera. He had done enough interviews to know how to conduct one. He would keep this one short and sweet. Nothing else was needed at this point.

The camera started to record

James Breeze: To all the OWC superstars that may be coincidentally watching this broadcast. I implore you to take up a challenge. No malice involved at this point from my part. Yet I would like to start here against an opponent, any opponent to get me started. Who you are is irrelevant. Take up the challenge if you wish, if you don’t so then don’t. I would appreciate anyone with the courage to step up. I could come out with bullshit about how I’m the best and about how your face will bleed and your hope dashed. But I won’t, We’ve all heard the crap too many times. So I’ve said it straight. Take it how you want it. I hope one at least will reply to this simple request. If not then someone will be forced against me. Either way its not that big a deal for me. This is an opportunity for you, not the reverse

With that James Breeze stood up and walked from the room

He was a simple man, leading a complex life. In a World Class Federation, it was almost humorous

He sighed in a melodramatic manner. His sad eyes looked at things before him. Competition would return his desire. He hoped…

We all did that, right?

FADE OUT