Title: "The Wizard"        

         At the Detroit International Airport, the rumble from the concourse train overhead pulled his eyes upward. There was a two-hour layover from Portland to the site of the first round of the Ultratitle Tournament. Overlays mean different things to different people. For some, they were a chance to rest between flights. For others, a brief one provided an opportunity to catch up on jogging abilities. For Lint Douglas, there was no rest. The mere presence of an airport terminal was as foreign now as the fast paced shuffle of business suits with their carry-ons. He had not been on a plane since his last wrestling appearance in 2002.

         He stirred in his seat. His heart rate was accelerated as he shuffled in his position. He couldn't rest. Nerves had set their sights on him. It had been so long, the uncertainty of what this upcoming world now meant kept him on edge. He second-guessed himself. Doubt was setting in. He couldn't let it control him.

         He grabbed his duffle and started walking. Between concourses B and C, and concourse A, an underground tunnel connected the two. It was lit only by changing ambient light peering through acrylic wall designs, and contained a background sound of organic noises. Even the most frantic of paces would be positively affected by the soothing nature of this area. He had passed through it a half hour earlier. Perhaps it would bring peace to his racing mind of worries.

         He wasn't ready for this. The call had been unexpected. It was a long shot proposal from an insider with connections to the wrestling world. It was a miracle he had even been able to track Lint down. People did not move to Maine to increase their public exposure. With a dropped call or no service ratio unsurpassed in the nation, people move there to disappear and create a new life. The new frontier of America was the originating soil from the founding. He didn't even own wrestling gear. His duffle was crammed with equipment rented out from NWA On Fire. They didn't even recognize him when he signed his name on the receipt.

         Coming upon the escalator down, Lint looked to his right and saw his reflection in the window. It startled him. The previous night was the shedding of years worth of growth and unkempt stubble. The hair that washed down the sink was the fragments of who he knew himself to be. The person in the reflection was an imposter. His reshaping of memories, forgotten and forced to assimilate.

         He looked down to his duffle, as though it were the security blanket of reassurance that he was doing the right thing. He had been quick to accept and make the phone calls needed to throw his name into the competition. It was compulsive and contrary to everything he was. But the call had arrived during a pursuit for an answer. This opportunity felt like the solution to a problem.

         Stepping into the tunnel, he walked a few yards into the middle walkway. The cascading lights flashed over and enveloped him in a wash of red and yellow tones while the chorus of music slowly infiltrated his senses. He could feel the apprehension begin to slide away. He closed his eyes. He could do this. Years ago, this worry was not possible for him. But in the present, this lifestyle did not exist. He would be rusty. More than rusty. He would be a novelty case, and would probably blow up within the five-minute mark of his scheduled match. He was still in shape. His line of work now required it. But his conditioning was for a whole separate regime. And there were the people. A spotlight of eyes looking at him. What was that experience like? Was the rushing blood flow adrenaline or butterflies? Or both?

         Enough. He opened his eyes to this self-doubt and took a deep breath. He held it and waited. And waited. He was within an hour of boarding a plane. There was no turning back. As he exhaled, he reached into his pocket and looked at a photograph he had packed on his person. This was his reassurance of a correct decision. If he could achieve this, it could be a whole new type of success.

         In his other pocket, he felt the vibration of his phone alert him of a text message. He put the photograph back into his pocket and reached into the other to retrieve the message.

         "u don't have 2 do this" it said.

         And as quickly as it was received, the phone began to ring from the same person. Lint let it ring twice, and then accepted the call. On the other line, a voice quietly greeted him. He pressed his ear to the phone and listened for a moment. The voice mixed together with the aura of sounds all around him.

         The red glow emanating from the acrylic flashed white and was replaced by a pulsating green cast. As the light fell upon his seated body, his face received the hue deep into his eye sockets. From a particular perspective, he resembled the image of the wizard from Oz, a powerfully perceived man whom a group of flawed yet determined people took a pilgrimage to see. Their hope was that he could rescue them from each of their specific predicaments. It turned out he was just a simple man playing a character, a persona needed to run his kingdom. One was needed with the other, he was one and both, at the same time.

         If Lint was going to save his own people, he had to embrace the reflection from earlier. The one that startled him. The image that travelers passed by as he sat there on the walkway floor. He could be both. But sometimes, only Zero was truly the answer.

         He took a deep breath and interrupted her on the phone. "I'm doing this," he said. "Not for myself. I have what I need. But, not everyone does." He paused, and she paused. He took the photograph back out of his pocket. The smile of optimistic hope from the prior night returned to his face. "That will change."

         She began to speak again. Unseen to her, he raised a hand in the air to protest.

         "Please," he said. "This is the only way. I am glad to do it."

         He looked ahead to the arm rail of the moving walkway. In the lower glass of its supporting walls, staring back at him was the man others assumed him to be. As he stared into this reflection, his anxiety and lack of recognition slowly gave way to assurance and acceptance.

         "Let me," he told her, while gazing at this reflection, "...be Zero."

         Live. Breathe. Die.