Ira Lowells
Stories (1/0)
The Fame
In my head, the crowd is already screaming out my name as I ignore my phone for the hundredth time. It's my daughter's first birthday, but I can't think about that now. The crowd needs me. I crave it. The beginning of the rush fills my veins and I breathe it in. Cameras flash and the beginning of the first song strikes through the air. My crew's lips are all moving at once, screaming the tasks my way, all depending on me, but I can't hear them; I can't hear my phone ring; I can't hear my wife shaking her head, but I can hear the roar of the crowd, "The Fame." It's all that matters. I run on to the stage, throwing my arms in the air, and scream at the top of my lungs. They chant my name, the name that belongs to "The Fame." It's not my real name, but that doesn't matter now. I sling my flaming red electric guitar over my shoulder, feeling the weight of the money in this one hunk of metal heavier than my house payment. The lyrics flow out of my mouth like second nature, like it's meant to be, and the fantasy of "The Fame" becomes reality. My body is numb. I feel nothing but the electricity under my feet that's beginning to wane. Leaving my crew behind mid-lyric, I throw my guitar to the ground and jump. I jump off the stage into the arms of the crowd. They don't know the real me, only this shell of a person, only "The Fame." I crave it, but it'll never be enough. They bring me back to the stage, and I perform like it could be the last. I'm free. It's everything I've always wanted, but it'll never be enough.
By Ira Lowells6 years ago in Humans