Judas Yorick

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In some choked recess of his brain runs a nonstop video loop. In it Jester Yorick "sees" his parents lying in a pool of blood. A child, looking innocent and somehow familiar, is standing over them; the sticky blood under his sneakers making sickeningly soft squishing sounds as he steps gingerly over and around the bodies.

He hears screams at the door, sees adults in uniforms coming his way -- and then nothing -- until he wakes up in a room recognizable to him only by its absence of color. Except, that is, for the bloody brownish red scrapes on the walls. Blood. His blood. He can't control the grin that spreads across his face as he tells the story.

It's the story he told today. It's probably not the story he'll tell tomorrow. If it really happened I cannot say, but it is part of his reality, part of what drives him to such venomous lengths in the ring. Wrestling does help relieve the aggression, at least for a while.