Famous

The old, dusty, cobwebbed mirror stood in the corner of the room, in it stood such a powerful force of hatred that the man in front of it clenched his fists in anger. He hated the creature in the mirror, the very creature that was staring back at him, fists clenched, long black messy hair strewn across his face, stained, faded white t-shirt clinging onto his practically skeletal frame, the demons of his past visibly haunting him, chasing him, determined that he should have no happiness, determined that no ray of sunshine should seep through the vast grey clouds which have presided over him since the ill fated day he was born unto a broken family, destined to forever feel the pain of his terrible upbringing. He was brilliant, he knew it, he had had school teachers tell him, physiatrists tell him, the man who ran the shop from where he would buy assorted items everyday because his house never gave him any nourishment…or attention. He had thrown it away, he knew this as well, in fact there was very little about his situation that he didn’t’t know, except how to escape from it. He had assumed when he was approached by an talent scout about the possibility of a record contract that this would be his escape, his way out, because music was an escape for him, it was his catharsis, his way of venting the anger and hatred he had for the world that had let him down.

He moved away from the mirror and looked around the room, his dream to make this place into something great had faded into obscurity he had let himself down once again. The curtains blocked all light and engulfed the room into total darkness, darkness his eyes had gotten used to in the four hours he had been sitting staring into the mirror. The furniture was ripped and dank, the endless party’s he had had during the years where coke obsessed pyromaniacs had set light to just about everything possible had left the whole of his mansion in ruins. He walked into the hallway, leaving the darkness behind him as the early morning sun shone threw the big Victorian window. He approached it and looked out to the garden. He had heard many things in his short life, many sayings, prophecies, proverbs, it never made any sense to him, not because he couldn’t understand it, he could, quite easily in fact but because, in his opinion, there were all false, said only in an attempt to keep the those who first uttered the words emboldened in the ranks of the greats throughout history. He never wanted to be famous; he just wanted a normal life, a good family, a happy home. He used to imagine having kids one day with a woman he truly loved, a love so fantastic that he would walk through walls for her, give everything to her and she would respond in kind with love to equal his own. The love he used to imagine was a love he had been unable to feel for anything he had encountered his whole life so far, a love he had never experienced, and a love he was desperate for.

The stairs creaked as he stumbled down them clinging weakly onto the banister in a vain attempt to keep him stable, like he really cared about stability, at the point he had reached in his life stability was no more than a fantasy. His foot slipped and he fell. He allowed himself a smile at the irony as he lay at the bottom of the stairs. Everything was a haze, it would be a while before he returned to a normal state and it said something for the depression he suffered that not even the constant intake of drugs worked anymore. He was high, stoned, any other word for the “feeling” that occurred after the intake of cocaine and heroin, both at the same time, that was how desperate he was to escape this feeling.

He made his way into the kitchen, looking for more drugs; his attention was drawn to the countertop covered in white powder and syringes. He sniffed lazily at the countertop but gave up; drugs weren’t doing what needed to be done so he would need to try something else. Feeling increasingly desperate to escape the demons which plagued him into insanity, he walked into the living room and over to the cupboard, years ago when he was just beginning to slip into the now familiar habits which accompany him throughout his day, a crazed fan had broken into his house and attacked him, begging for an autograph, since that day he kept a gun in every single room in the house except the kitchen which, for some bizarre reason, scared him. Perhaps this was because he was in the kitchen the night he first really let go of the last bastions of his sanity. He pulled out the berretta from the drawer and cocked it, staring intently at the shiny silver chamber he wondered if it was full, its hollowness resembled how he felt inside and he wondered if he should end a lifetime of misery or continue along this path of despair and darkness, would it eventually destroy him or would be win in the end and conquer all the feelings he has lived with. He shook his head merely for the hell of it rather than for particular reason. The resonant emptiness stung at him still as he carried his gun upstairs into the dark room were he felt his demons reside, he lay down on the cold floor and stared at the ceiling, his life was in ruins, he was better than this but it was all he knew now, the love he craved he would never receive, the shadow which stalked him was forever relentless. He would never escape it, his only way out was through this gun, this saviour, this knight in shining armour which would save him eventually, no, not eventually, now. He would do it now, no more drugs, no more disparity, no more anger, emptiness, no more hatred, now it all finished. He was still so high that everything happened on impulse. Well now this impulse would be his sweet release. He raised the gun level to him face and stared down the barrel, it is said that when someone faces death their lives flash before their eyes, loved ones, happy times, sad times, highlights, lowlights, as his finger squeezed the trigger though he seen none of this, he only seen the black empty void that was the only thing he ever knew and as it all ended for him he knew that he was free from his demons, the angels would guide him now into an afterlife greater than anything on Earth.