Post by lizzieh on Mar 8, 2008 15:22:42 GMT -5
And when you swallow, I hope you taste what you have become.
Oh, could she taste it. She could just stand on the edge of her big wooden stage and hold her arms out forever, just so she could taste the sweetness of their loving applause. And when she shut her green eyes, she could see it too. The house was full, and millions of people were dressed up in black and white Victorian style outfits, throwing roses upon her feet. Her mother was in the front row, looking as lively as ever. Her father stood at her side, no assistant, no cell phone in site. He was here for her. And finally, Zack was there, crying because his sister had finally done it. After twenty-one years of working her fingers to the bone, of skipping shopping days, dates, marriage, she had finally become the world’s greatest artistic vision. As she smiled down upon them all, they all quickly faded, and only one remained. He was standing in the center of all the rows, just staring at her with a smirk upon his face. “You’re a star honey, a big star.” Her father's voice rang in her ears like hellfire;She zeroed in on the gun in his hands.All she had to hear was a shot to make her quickly open her eyes and take a step back from the edge.
No one was with her.
No flowers dangled at her feet.
No fathers in view.
And worst of all, there was no innocent in this room. There never had been. The air no longer held the warm glow she could see when she closed her eyes, there was only a small cloud of dust and a spotlight at center stage. That’s where she was going to stand in a few minutes, center stage. In front of no one, and just for warm up she was going to do a monologue of her own liking, and she had to stand in one spot and not move at all. A very small spot, where really there was no way out. Just in. Kind of like the black hole she created long ago for herself. This is the defining moment of whether she really will stay like this forever. The bar hoping, drunk, overly flirty, sometimes whorish, and always silly child. A suicidal scene that is waiting to happen. This was just Stella’s persona that she threw back at the whole world, because being a social outcast never seemed to fit her beauty well. She felt a little odd, still thinking of herself as the diva that once put fear in some girl’s shoes and heat in men’s pants. But it was truer now then it had ever been, because now, well, now she doesn’t have to worry about making it to classes. Just going to her work everyday, and living her life.
Finally, her feet took her to the spotlight, and she stood overly still when the rays hit her. This one seemed to be burning more then normal.
“Can you dim it Moe?” She called out, but he seemed not to hear. She sighed, wondering why on earth they had a semi-deaf sound guy. It was irony at it’s highest.
Letting air come out of her mouth once again, she straightened her stance, and locked her eyes upon the blackness.
“A couple hundred years ago Benjamin Franklin shared with the world the secret of his success. Never leave that 'til tomorrow, which you can do today. This is the man who discovered electricity; you'd think we'd pay more attention to what he had to say.” She moved her hands wildly as she spoke, lighting her face up just so, she seemed like a actor on TV, knowing everything that is going to happen for it did. Truth was, Stella was just winging it like she always did, through her work and her life. Both got harder every time she woke herself up in the morning but yet she continued.
“I don't know why we put things off, but if I had to guess it has a lot to do with fear. Fear of failure, fear of pain, fear of rejection.” Beat. “Sometimes the fear if just of making a decision. Because... What if you're wrong? What if you make a mistake you can't undo? Whatever it is we're afraid of, one thing holds true: That by the time the pain of not doing the thing gets worse than the fear of doing it, it can feel like we're carrying around a giant tumor. And you thought I was speaking metaphorically... 'The early bird catches the worm. 'A stitch in time saves nine.' 'He who hesitates is lost.' We can't pretend we haven't been told.” Overly fake laugh.
“We've all heard the proverbs, heard the philosophers, and heard our grandparents warning us about wasted time; heard the poets urging us to seize the day. Still, sometimes we have to see for ourselves. We have to make our own mistakes. We have to learn our own lessons. We have to sweep today's possibility under tomorrow’s rug until we can't anymore. Until we finally understand for ourselves what Benjamin Franklin meant. That knowing is better than wondering. That waking is better than sleeping. And that even the biggest failure, even the worst most intractable mistake, beats the hell out of not trying.”
That was it. That was all Stella would utter under that one spotlight, for soon afterwards it dimmed, and the houselights came up upon her. She was still alone in a room. All alone on the stage. Just ever so alone in this world and the next.
“I swear I should have been a dancer.” She muttered, letting the paper of other things she had to do fall to the floor. As she stomped towards the edge of the stage to sit, her overly loud black high heels clicked on the floor as her Pink gathered tube dress didn’t move an inch. Slowly the girl sat down, and then she did the world’s oddest thing. She started to dig into her breast, as If searching for gold. Finally, she pulls out two things, a hot pink rhinestone sidekick and a hello kitty ipod. Yes, Stella did have a hello kitty ipod, and it bothered her not. Hello Kitty was still the utmost highest of couture, so Stella put the ipod on full blast, stuck one of the hot pink ear phones into her ear, and flipped open her sidekick. She had seven missed calls, thirteen text messages, and eighteen IM’s. Rolling her eyes, she replied to about two people from her text, and then threw it back down again. None of those people really cared about her, just what came with.
“Whatever.” Her overly clear-glossed lips formed a slight frown, and then she closed her eyes once again. They were dusted with a cream base, and on the sides she had a half hot pink overcoat. It was stunning how a train wreck could make itself look so good.
With a loud thud, Stella slammed her head back on the wooden planks, and just lay there until she was needed; but that was the problem, she was never really needed. And as her legs hung over the edge of the stage, her hands rested loosed upon her chest, phone interlocked between them, her curly brunette hair going all over the place, and the hello kitty ipod next to her head, the poor girl looked dead.
And for the first time in a long time, she looked happy.
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