[A Moment of weakness before a moment of strength.]
[It's burned into my mind. I'll never forget what was going through my head before, during and after I set foot into that fire. And even now, whether I've been out of that flame for minutes, days or even years, I can still feel it scorching my skin, and searing into my being like a horrible sunburn. Where am I? "A dimension not of sight or sound, but of mind.". Was it a near death experience that brought me here, or am I dead already? Floating so high above my corporeal body, dancing with thought and emotion to make sense of what brought me here; I can see the paramedics becoming more and more confused as to what could possibly be the reason for this sudden catatonic state resting on the fine line between alive or dead all from a distance of a few feet above and to the right. To say this is not what I expected would be an understatement. The video cameras will show it, the record books will read it, and Anton Rayge will recall it fondly, but the truth is I caused it to happen. Fate can't decide my life, I can, and in an act of rebellion against what seemed to be my destiny, and with the little help of a more forceful lunge than Anton Rayge could provide in his throw, skin met flame in an instant sending me here. The pain of the burn was intense for only a moment, as the paramedics at ringside rushed the ring quickly enough while still providing an adequate show for the fans to put out the flame still ripping across my back, face and chest. Something strange inside me was triggered once the fire touched my body, and then the only thing I could feel was the subconscious combining with the conscious; The mind becoming the soul and vice versa.]
[This is not a nice feeling.]
[I could feel it all, a second of pain drawn out into a seeming eternity. In my ever-loving wisdom I brought this upon myself and now I want to take it back. I want to take that one wrong math equation and erase it from the chalkboard. But the fatal mistake will now forever haunt me, literally. With nothing to do but to feel this guilt, this pain, coupled with the inability to cease thinking this way, I am doomed in every sense of the word. This is hell. And so on I roast, realizing the very last thing I foresaw was where that fire was going to take me and leave me. I can look down and see that now the ambulance has made it's way onto the main road leading to the hospital, the occupants working feverishly to correct the problem despite not even knowing what it is. Am I still dying or is this my mind reliving the very last my body visited without my heart beating. I can try to think back before these moments, but I can never move past thinking about the idiocy in my actions. What relevance did Anton Rayge have to your life at that space in time is all I can ask myself. I know you knew you were better than him, so why let him have the misguided satisfaction of claiming a win over you, you idiot. My mind drifts over these thoughts all the while feeling something beyond even the worst pain. It is the pain that never lets me forget the mistake of just giving up with discouragement over a man who just didn't seem to understand logic. Rayge's idiocy created bigger idiocy in me by believing I was doing what was best for myself. If I could slap the idea out of my head now, I would and then some.]
[And there I am on the operating table.]
[How do I see this? Why do I see it? The anger of not just having blackness swells in me, seemingly only causing the flames to burn even more about me. In all intensive purposes I should feel nothing and I should think nothing at this state, however I do. The pain wracks a body I don't seem to have, and the thoughts can only think in broken bits and pieces of tangible thought.