Rock Star

Photo by Sam Moqadam on Unsplash

Today’s prompt was a musical one. Warsaw by Dessa. I listened to it several times and decided to address the prompt from the perspective of a rock star. For those who are new, this is Day 3 in the #writingsprintchallenge issued by @tuftin.reads on Instagram. Below is my take on this one.

I’m standing backstage, just behind the curtain.

Onstage the opening act is hitting their final number. The crowd is whipped up into a frenzy. The band eats it up. They’re young. They haven’t been sucked dry. There’s still some soul left in them. Pieces of themselves.

Not me. I’m buzzing. I hit it hard right before I go onstage. Something to carry me through. I’ve been at this so much longer. I can’t remember… How long ago did I start this nightmare? I remember it started as a dream.

Fame. Fortune. My name on the billboards. My songs on the lips of others. My songs—that was true once. Myself—that was true once, too.

Now nothing is mine—not my name, not my music, not my privacy…not my life.

I am no one. I am nothing. I am sucked dry.

I am fueled by nicotine, pharmaceuticals, sex, pain… Anything that will tell me I’m alive. But I am not—I am the walking dead.

I’m sorry that the young band on the stage will endure what I have endured. If they were smart, they’d drop out before it’s too late.

If I were smart, I’d drop out. But it is too late. There is nothing left.

The crowd roars and the band bows and walks off the stage triumphantly.

It’s my turn—meat for the feast.

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