[ WP ] A prowrestler accidentally kills his opponent in a staged fight , and gives the audience a heart-wrenching speech .

... The lights go out. The Gigan-tron flares to life, showing, in graphic and unedited detail, the moment the Blue Flame lost his life. He stood atop the bottom-right turnbuckle, prepared, one would assume, to perform his signature cork-screw moon-sault. The Rising Flame Pillar, he called it, a flashy attack of the type once called'high-risk maneuvers'. That's when Blackfire, feuding with his former compatriot from the stable known as The Flames of Hades, rushed the ropes. He was only supposed to shake them, and Blue Flame was supposed to wobble, before falling and landing ass-first on the aforementioned turnbuckle. The pain would be nearly as bad as what he conveyed to the audience, but that was a part of the game. 
 
 Instead, he lost his balance, standing completely up, and fell backward. This has happened many times in the past, the difference though, was in how he landed. His left foot slipped somehow, preventing him from leaping clear of the steel steps beneath him. He caught the last step as he fell, on his neck, breaking it instantly. The crowd stopped chanting immediately and completely. Blackfire was catatonic, knowing instantly, from his years of training and observation what just happened. 
 
 The next scenes were brief flashes of what happened next. Blackfire screaming, *screaming* for medical help, and not stopping till the paramedics on call rushed the ring. Blue Flame's motionless body loaded with utmost care onto the stretcher, neck immobilized. Blackfire grabbing his hair in disbelief, then tearing it out in anguish. Vomit. Panning shots of traumatized children, some with Blue Flame masks. 
 
 The screen went black. 
 
 `` Harrison Dyson, the man known as The Blue Flame,'' the announcer started opening the show one week after the tragedy, `` Has died in a horrible accident. Our condolences go out to the friends and loved ones, to his wife and children, to all the superstars who called him brother, and to UWF fans the world over. Now, we ask that everyone in the audience please rise and observe a moment of silence, as the bell tolls ten times in honor of The Blue Flame''. 
 
 After the tolling of the bell, a montage of the great moments in the career of one of the fastest rising stars in the company. Incubus' *Pardon Me* fittingly played over it. Once it ended, the lights rose again, and in the middle of the ring, dressed in a simple black button-down, was Rich Rizan, the man called Blackfire. His luxurious hair was shaved nearly completely, and he sported a week's worth of stubble. His eyes were puffy and bloodshot, and his face seemed ready to break with emotion. 
 
 When the fans saw him, he stood, for ten long minutes, enduring their genuine hatred. He had become a `` heel'' in the last few months, the reason The Flames of Hades broke up, in fact, but even children knew it was mostly an act. No, this was the anger of real events. They hated him, even if they knew, deep down, he had n't intended for his friend to die. The mic was at his mouth, ready to speak at any moment, but he waited calmly for the boos to die down. At the top of the entrance, half the cast of the UWF stood, most wearing blue armbands with black letters spelling Blue Flame, in solidarity with the man about to speak. The first thing he did was point to them. 
 
 `` You see that?'' he said, when at last he spoke. `` Those men and women up there, are my family. They would not have allowed me into this building if they had even the slightest reason to think I did anything intentional,'' His voice was raspy, as though he'd been crying non-stop the entire week. The funeral was just the day prior. 
 
 `` My name is Richard Rizan. Blackfire is gone. Blue Flame... No, Harry Dyson, and myself, may have had our differences, both in the real world, and exaggerated for television, but he too was my brother. We in this business...'' Richard's hand dropped, and for a long moment he seemed overwhelmed by emotion. His legs suddenly weak, he walked over to and leaned on the ropes for support, very near the turnbuckle where his friend stood, at the literal and figurative height of his game, just seven days ago. 
 
 `` We in this business,'' he started again, pointedly ignoring the smattering of boos still coming up, `` live by a code. The code says that we put our lives on the line every night to entertain you people. Everything we do,'fake' as some of you may think, is very real. Failure to properly perform a move can be fatal. That's why we hold each other to the highest standards of professionalism. We train like our lives depend on it, because they do. But even still, we do n't always succeed. Backs have been broken, quads torn, spleens punctured, paralysis inflicted -- those are the risks we take as performers. 
 
 `` I came here to give you what you deserve,'' He continued, `` an answer. Why did I kill my friend?'' A new chorus of boos erupted from that, which he anticipated. He felt he deserved that hate, to wear it like a cloak. 
 
 `` I loved that man like a brother!'' His voice broke, and tears now streamed down his face without end. `` I failed him that night. I hit his foot instead of the rope. If you replay that moment, you'll see it. I was tired; we had been going for 45 minutes. I did n't flare my arms out wide enough. But that is no excuse! His other foot got caught on something, otherwise he would have jumped. He may have broken his ankle or leg, but he'd still be with us. 
 
 `` I blame myself, even if no one that matters does. I grew up in this business with Harry -- We both came out of the Midwestern League together. If any one of you thinks you're more heartbroken than I am, you're mistaken. I can take your boos, but what I ca n't take, is the idea that I wanted to hurt that man for real,'' He cried unabashedly, but stared defiantly at an audience that hated him. Slowly though, they were going quiet. 
 
 `` I know that probably most of you get it. You know that this was an accident. If you're booing, it's only because you're hurting. You lost a good man. Your children lost a hero, someone they could cheer for, and look up to. You do n't blame me any more than they do,'' he pointed again to the other wrestlers, some weeping openly, others consoling or being consoled. 
 
 `` Nevertheless, even if they forgive me, I may never forgive myself. My fellow superstars have told me repeatedly not to beat myself up over it, to not over-think a situation I had no control of. They begged me not to make the announcement I came to make''. One of the `` Buff-ettes'', the trademarked name for the female talent, shook her head vigorously before being wrapped up by another wrestler. 
 
 ``... That's right. Blackfire is no more. Rich Rizan is no longer a member of the UWF roster. I am announcing my resignation from the company, effective immediately,'' If nothing could stun the crowd into silence before, that certainly did. Suddenly, all those that remained angry in the face of his moving speech were now sympathetic. They understood: wanting him gone, and actually having it, it seemed, were two different things. 
 
 `` I ca n't keep coming into this ring and remembering what happened,'' he continued, now numb it seemed, from pouring his heart out, `` and I ca n't look at you all, thinking that all you see in me is the moment Blue Flame fell to his death. It would n't be fair to any of us. What happens from here on, I... have n't really thought about. But for now, I think this is the best for everybody. I'm sorry. Goodbye.'' He dropped the mic and left the ring, slowly trudging up the ramp to a chorus of `` Flam-mie! Flam-mie!'' chants as Blue Flame's intro music played. 
 
 The blonde Buff-ette that objected to his quitting, in a blue and white spandex two-piece, tried to reach out for him, but he was having none of it. His piece spoken, he was inconsolable once more, and needed to be alone. It was a long, long road ahead of him. How would he survive? Wrestling was all he knew. But that was also a peril of the game.
