Like a Rolling Stone...

Roleplay Roleplay by FOZZY OZBOURNE
On Mon, Oct09, 2017 12:29pm America/Phoenix
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Like a Rolling Stone...
"Just before I fall asleep and when I'm really bored. I lay down and think for awhile until I fall into a semi hypnotic state of sub-consciousness, some call it daydreaming, some call it just purely spacing out. But I feel like I'm not here and it doesn't matter because I'm sick of putting myself in boring situations and conversations. Just every day basic sitcom happenings, some call it thinking but when I'm in this particular state of mind I forget to think and it becomes strictly observatory. I notice things very sensitively like if I focus really hard I can see small transparent blotches of debris on the outer shell of my eyes. I can only follow it as my eye moves downward, it's like watching film footage of amoeba or jelly like plankton under a mircoscope. 

....And when I close my eyes and look up to the sun, the bright orange redness radiates a intense picture of blood cells or what I think are blood cells. They are moving very rapidly and again I can only focus for so long before my eyes strain and I have to look away from the sun into a pillow and rub my eyes hard. Then I see tiny spheres of sparkling light, some call them stars which only stay for a second then as my eyes focus again amongst the water or tears from rubbing. I open my eyes then look up to the sky away from the sun and forget about stupid little squiggy things moving on the outer layer of my eyes or the close up blood cells in my eye lids. I stare at the sky with peripheral vision and not trying but just happening to make out all kinds of faces objects statues in the clouds. I can do the same with the wood grain of the paneling on my walls. Once I saw Jesus on a tortilla shell....."

Fozzy puts the pen down beside the notepad and leans back on his chair slightly staring at the words he just wrote on his desk. Jibberish non sense, perhaps just a simple observation while under the influence as Fozzy continues to stare. His surroundings suggest he is at home in British Columbia Canada. Personal photos and accomplishments litter the wooden walls, the interior surrounding him reminds us of a luxury cabin. A bottle of whiskey already cracked open and half gone sits right beside the notepad as Fozzy begins to reach for it. Bob Dylan's Like a Rolling Stone plays in the background as he take a swig from the bottle and sets it back down.

The last edition of Fury saw Fozzy successfully debut in WWX against Luke Jairus. Like always Fozzy didn't go over well with the crowd but their reaction hardly matters to him. Very rarely throughout his storied career have the fans sided with Fozzy Ozbourne except maybe to kiss his ass for a photo and a autograph. After Fury was a 5 hour flight from New Orleans to Vancouver then another 3 hour drive to Fozzy's remote location. No house shows no press no nothing, just time to rest and relax until the next match. Each coming match more important than the next. Momentum in this business is vital, getting on a winning hot streak is key especially if you're looking to add some gold to your legacy.

Fozzy keeps replaying the match in his mind focusing on the key elements that made him successful. Analyzing on what he could do to improve. Constantly evolving one's game is how you keep the competitive edge. He takes another swig of whiskey from the bottle and gets up out of the chair as the chorus of the song kicks in. Fozzy sings out loud.


Fozzy bobs and weaves to the song kinda staggering about walking around the living room of his home. A solitary celebration of his first victory in WWX as only a introvert like Fozzy could have. But curiosity begins to take hold as he wonders if his next match is booked yet. He stumbles over to the computer that has on the music that is being played and logs onto WWXOnline. com. After a few moments he finds the information he is looking for. He sits there in front of the computer for a moment looking at the match card for Fury. Thoughts come to mind as he stares emotionless at the screen.

"Opening match? ME? Curtain jerking? Luke Jairus gets a shot for the #1 contendership over me? I just beat his ass 1 2 3 no problem."

Fozzy shakes his head in disbelief and takes another shot of whiskey and gets up to walk over back to the desk he was at. He sits back down placing the bottle of whiskey beside the notepad. He picks up the pen and begins writing again.

"Uncertainty like opening your eyes wide in the dark then closing them hard then open and blinded by the sparkling silver dots created from pressure on the corneas, squint, roll, focus, then your blind again but at least you saw light somehow. Maybe the light was stored in the sockets or held in the iris or clung to the tips of all the nerves and veins. Then your eyes close again and an artificial light appears before the eyelids, probably just a light bulb or a blowtorch. Jesus it's hot. My lashes and brows are curling up and melting emitting the worst smell of burnt hair and thru the red transparency of the light in my eyelids I can see a close up view of blood cells move as I move my eyes back and forth like footage of a documentary of amoeba and plankton jelly like life forms moving. Man they must be small I can't feel them, my eyes must be able to see things MORE clearly than I had expected. It's like a mircoscope but it doesn't matter anymore cause they set me on fire now. Yup I'm sure of it I'm on fire. God damn it."

The scene fades as Fozzy takes another drink of whiskey reading over what he just wrote.


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