(WWC #21): The Frontman.

Document
Cover Image

Tonight is the night… All eyes are on me and I know it. I watch this once empty and lifeless platform turn in to theatrics right before my eyes. Lights are set up, Sound equipment is set up, Roadies are just finishing sound check, the crowd starts to pour in, and I can’t help but wonder to myself “Should I just pack it up and go home?, Will these people understand me?, Am I going to make a laughing stock out of myself or be the next big thing?”. I look to my manager and he asks me what is wrong. I pull back my emotions and in a sarcastic tone ask “What if I was to call in sick today?”. I can see him get a look of concern on his face as he starts to lecture me. Although all I can hear him say is “These people worship you, You’re god, You can’t call in sick today.”.


 


I stand in silence a moment, snap back in to focus, and make my way towards the microphone. Everyone is watching without a sound as my guitarist starts playing a soft arpeggio, I start to accompany him with my soft voice, the thing that everybody is here to hear. No one has ever realized that my lyrics are a desperate plea for help, and a not just a gimmick. I’m real, My thoughts are real, and my words are real. The arpeggio starts to beak as I stand without a sound again as I intensely wait for the power chord progression just so I can scream “Burn the church and fucking kill me.”, over and over again as I shove my mic towards the crowd, and they repeat me, over and over again. Just like puppets dancing they follow my every move, repeat my every word, watch me do the same routine night after night.


 


After the show I have to deal with a slew of hate from individuals who believe that I’m morally corrupting their children, and single-handedly killing society, and I act out, again. As if just for the paparazzi eye I flip a bunch of mothers, fathers, grandfathers, and other concerned citizens the bird, and tell them to fuck themselves. I fear that these people will never know that I share the same concerns. I fear that my actions do more harm than good, and I fear that children see me as a role model. This is why I regret my own presence on stage. I fear that because of this I would be better off burning the pages of my existence.

Created: Mar 07, 2015

Tags: weekly writing challenge #21, weekly writing challenge, story

FritzKatt Document Media