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[[ Between rays of light and a surface. Behind that rusty hinged door. Growing as the sun goes down. Using the dying beams to manipulate what you see into... whatever. What do Shadows tell us? Are they left to midnight mysteries? Is there a meaning to what we think we saw, but maybe didn't? Can a 'Ghost' cast a shadow to show us where not to go? Dark shapes can mean more than a trick played on external vision. Do we need sight at all, to see what's coming? Can a Shadow Prophecy shed light on the answers? ]]
We see Gabe Reno in the center of a room; in full meditation pose. It appears as though Gabe is already in North Korea where the Pay-Per-View will be held in less than two weeks. The Amazonian, Grace, stands guard in the background at the opening to the flat. Asian fans and robes line the room. Small bowls of something on plates to his right, a smoking incense type stick wicking scent into the room to his left. His eyelids flicker. Opening to reveal the storm contained far within him. Learning to control the Shadow of Chaos... with the illumination of Radicality.
HUMMMMMMMMM...
A deep toned hymn originates from his diaphragm. As if he is trying to summon the power to accomplish a task. Grace looks on puzzled. But allows him his play time. Reno lifts the lid of an old wooden box just in front of him, and pulls out a piece of silky black cloth. Unfolding it from its perfect lines of symmetry, he begins a ritualistic set of hand maneuvers, ending with him holding the straight cloth adjacent to his face. He wraps it around his eyes and ears. Relying now only on his 'Radical' senses for whatever may happen next. His hands twitch holding a pair of chop sticks. The buzzing of a fly can be heard. A quick snap of the chop sticks. He can feel nothing. A miss. Breathing in through the nose and out through the mouth. Calm and centered. Another snap. Again, nothing. A long sigh, followed by catching himself in a bad breathing habit, and adjusting to the correct posture.
Eye of the MONGOOSE...
The annoying buzzing of failing surrounds his head. Just then, it stops for an instant. The fly has landed to examine his bare leg. Crawling from place to place as if taunting his ability to catch it. He centers himself and begins to imagine the fly has the small face of Chris Chaos. It taunts him with "what are you gonna do Gabe", and "you can't catch me, naa, naa, naa... na, na, naaaa". The fury deep inside starts to shake his foundation. He is losing control little by little.
Listen to the WIND...
With one snap of the sticks, Gabe listens as the small fly gasps in the air nearby. It is hard to hear, but he has those type of instincts. A skill level that only the masters before him have achieved. Now imagining the smushed face of his opponent between the wooden cell that now holds him. The tiny Chaos face begins to scream in Gabe's mind... "No! Don't take my BELT GABE, Please... have mercccyyy... give me one more chance... don't do this! WAAAIITTTT!"
Not today FRIEND...
He throws the fly still embedded between the two chop sticks across the room in one motion. Reality begins to slow down the motion just long enough to see the annoying pesky wings flicker and the defeated tiny fly Chaos face looking at the camera, caught between expressions of terror and rage. The angled shot freezes right there. Narration leads the scene forward.
Eulogies have never been my thing. What do you say, how can you? It's either glossed over or ignored entirely, or worse yet, offensive. People can tell if you knew the person or are just "bullshitting because no one else would do it". I've been roped into a few. My friends dad died in high school. I had to face people after agreeing to 'say a few words', and instead, listen to the speaker say that I was the one giving the Eulogy itself. I shit bricks. Big ones. I felt like I wouldn't have enough room to improvise my way out of it. I said what I could. Family shook my hand after with wet trails down the cheeks... people who thanked me. I mean, they thanked me for making a goodbye just a little bit easier. Years later, one of my wife's cousins past away. Cancer of the brain. We went to see her in her final days, but she was already gone when we arrived. Such is life. It never gives you the time for what you planned, only for what it has. Who knows what beginnings or ends will be trending according to that? It's unpredictable. Like me. Though, those things have prepared me to say what I need to in this, a new equally sad, but authentically vital occasion.
Chris Chaos...
He was a good man.
The frozen Chris fly in the shot reanimates, moving backwards at warp speed as this and all else is rewinded in front of us. Gabe at the grocery store. Gabe at a TV interview. Gabe drinking in the face of depression. Gabe jumping on a trampoline. Gabe... admiring Chris Chaos for the first time. The narration continues...
I mean, I was never 100%, but from what I saw he seemed okay. He never barbecued in his backyard. You can't trust a man like that. What was really weird, is that he had all the utensils. An apron with a funny anecdote. A big hat. But never once did I see meat of any kind, prepared to cook or not. Look, I know what you're thinking. This is some grand backdoor scheme to call Chris Chaos a in SOME way... and I'm not debating any of that. But for the love of America, put a fucking hot dog or a pre-frozen patty on your grill and light up. So now your downfall of not knowing who you are includes maybe not being full-American? Chris Chaos, the anti-American? What next, are we going to hear a tape that reveals you're a racist? Wow, you could go full Hogan. Never go full Hogan, bro. Well, face, heel, tweener, queer, it doesn't really matter to me how you align yourself now, or really, ever. Be what you wanna be Chris, have no regrets. OR EXCUSES. I don't wanna hear it. I can already imagine the river of "But's" and "Um's" in an attempt to make the ill-informed listen. Maybe if you can sway a few votes right off the bat it will matter? Why not, right?
Sad.
You're a waste of oxygen, you know that? You make me sick. I get nauseated when I see a banner for this match. Here we go tarnishing my empire to make Chaos feel better about himself losing the Title. Let's all stop what we are doing and address Chris' emotional plight.
Yeah...
Let's not.
A large marquee somewhere in North Korea shows with Korean print on the side, Chris Chaos and Gabe Reno blown up to be larger than the city, and battling in a destructive hell storm with no regard for other human life.
It's easy to overlook beautiful art like that when the darkness creeps in. What's it like, Chaos? To know you are at the end of a road. You may never return to it again... must be humbling. Maybe the hope disguises it right now. But you will never escape it. You are it. Finished in the analogs of victory. Banished to house shows and independent circuit appearances like the Jake the Snake's of the world. Hey, Jake was once a great in-ring performer. Until booze and being a slithering idiot conquered his life. But he makes a living. You will too. People will still buy your merchandise, even though you don't understand the language or what it says. Some wrestlers make long careers out of being an Icon there. Of course, it's nothing like being one here. It's nothing like standing in an XWF ring and scrolling across thousands upon thousands of fans in the largest arena in the world. So soak it in April 1st. You can get familiar with the culture for your next career phase, but it will be the last time you draw at the top of any meaningful event in XWF. I'll see to it. I'll have your named erased from cards and event flyers. Replaced with 'Absence of Chaos' scratch and sniff stickers that smell like... rot. What does rot smell like? That's easy; the worsening current condition of Chris Chaos.
A video of Chris Chaos plays reading "In Memorium" across the bottom featuring his biggest tantrums, and finest hours. The final reel shows a man with his head in his hands, then chars burning up and off the screen.
Maybe for your funeral, the speakers will already be determined. Hell, maybe you will have scripted exactly what they will say so that your ego-tistical self can hear each speech before you actually die. Maybe your 'Ghost' will make another appearance. Not the one you drag to Lethal Lotto to lose with, the one thereafter. When the shadows have taken you to a final resting place. An outline. Just a contour is left, Chris. There are worse things that admitting it is all over. Life goes on. Or does it? When all you are is wrapped up in one single possession like a Championship... it tends to ruin you. Look at the epic falls of guys like Bruno Sammartino. Held it for years. Pretty soon he just wanted to get rid of the damn thing. The weight of carrying it around was a burden. Like it clearly is for you. Billy Graham couldn't take not being the top dog anymore either. They gave up. Never to be seen or heard from again. Bruno, Billy... Chris. Just the next in a long line of men who once were but couldn't continue to be. That's not so bad. When the shadows come to take you, you can tell them all about how great you are. They will listen. You just might need to blow them first.
The stop motion of the fly thrown after being captured by Gabe's chopsticks, with the face of Chris Chaos, comes back into view. The motion slowly speed back into reality. The fly hits the wall, leaving behind guts of what it used to be. Then, tumbles into a dying pathetic snowball to the ground, the shocked tiny Chaotic face still barely moving... stepped on by the Amazonian, Grace's large boots. Smeared onto the floor, then picked up and tossed into the garbage bin. Gabe begins to make noises in his crossed leg sitting position.
The Shadow Prophecy...
It Has Spoken.
.
☆
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in SOME way... and I'm not debating any of that. But for the love of America, put a fucking hot dog or a pre-frozen patty on your grill and light up. So now your downfall of not knowing who you are includes maybe not being full-American? Chris Chaos, the anti-American? What next, are we going to hear a tape that reveals you're a racist? Wow, you could go full Hogan. Never go full Hogan, bro. Well, face, heel, tweener, queer, it doesn't really matter to me how you align yourself now, or really, ever. Be what you wanna be Chris, have no regrets. OR EXCUSES. I don't wanna hear it. I can already imagine the river of "But's" and "Um's" in an attempt to make the ill-informed listen. Maybe if you can sway a few votes right off the bat it will matter? Why not, right? 
![[Image: 4H375RW.png?6]](http://i.imgur.com/4H375RW.png?6)
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