E
EAho
Guest
[font color=navy]"A heretic is a man who sees with his own eyes." - Gotthold Ephraim Lessing[/font]
(FADE IN)
In a pair of black warm-up pants and a faded blue t-shirt Evan Aho slouches against the bottom turnbuckle. His basement ring has only a couple lights on giving it a dungeon-esque feel. He rests his head against a fist propped on the bottom rope while his other arm is dangles over the CSWA World Championship draped across his knee. His eyes rest on the middle of the canvas. His voice is a careless whisper.
AHO - After the match, I stepped into the locker room with every wrestler in the company already there. It's not the first time in my life that I've had all eyes on me.
But that night, for the first time in my life, I looked right back at them. I went all the way around the room, from face to face. Each pair of eyes that swept over me and the belt on my shoulder, I met as a challenge. I locked my gaze and stared a hole through each one of them. I wanted to see inside, I wanted to see their souls.
He pauses for an inordinate amount of time, seemingly reflecting.
In their eyes I saw so much. I saw appreciation. I saw envy. I saw hope. Frustration. Joy. Pain. Approval. Rage...
His eyes flicker to the camera for a moment then slip back down to the ground.
I had seen enough.
It wasn't doing them any good. It wasn't doing me any good. I let my eyes drift back to the floor. There was some applause and pats on the back on the way to my locker, but I could feel the chagrin in some of it.
Aho closes his eyes and absently runs his fingers over his forehead.
My pause at the door probably only lasted a couple of seconds. It was longer than I ever wanted, but just enough to teach me what I needed to know.
He looks up to the camera.
What they get caught up in, I have no part. What fuels them...weakens them. Where the entire CSWA roster runs hot or cold, I'm on. I won't stop.
(FADE OUT)