She finishes the song and sighs softly, eyes unseeing as she looks out over the awed crowd. Every night it is the same old thing. She sings her heart out and, by the thousands, they pretend to understand. Tonight was such a night. They have not heard, but only because they never listen. Again she wonders why she even tries, and what difference would it make if she disappeared?

All these thoughts course through her mind in a matter of seconds, riding the fading beats of the final song. The crowd erupts into wild, hollow applause. Painting on her customary smile, she waves and steps back from the mic, taking a bow and calling out a thank you to the "We love you, Amy!"s that are pouring from unhearing, uncaring throats. With one final wave she slips back stage into the lonly dressing room, where the guards have to elbow her way through. Shutting the door behind her she leans back on it and closes her eyes.

"Another rough night, Ms. Amy?" Her eyes fly open at the soft spoken words, searching desparately for the speaker. Her gaze finds the shadows in the corner, an half-hidden form of a man sitting there just out of the light of her lamp. With a frown, she straightens and moves to her dressing table oppisite him, ignoring the flowers that adorn it, having long since gotten used to such frippery from her mindless fans.

"Back again I see. You are as bad as they are." She waves absently in the direction of the auditorium where they still scream for more. Grabbing soft cloth, she cleans the residue of preforming from her face, lays her elbows on the table and buries her face in her hands. "I can't do this again. You said they would understand me. You said you did. But no one does, especially you."

The man chuckles, his fingers caressing the crease of his pants. "But I never said when, precious Amy. Think back, perhaps you will remember more correctly."

She growls and turns suddenly, the previously ignored vase in her hands. As she perpares to throw it, he laughs again. "Ahhh, my little Amy. You do remember don't you? Back when you were young, unfettered, docile, bored. Has it been so awful with me?"

With a deep sigh she lowers the vase, turning and setting it upon the dressing table and straightening the roses. Catching her reflection in the mirror she locks eyes with herself and takes careful stock of who she sees. After a moment she groans softly, the image in the mirror changing, bringing her back to the life she thought she left behind. She turns to him again and whispers painfully, "Please, no." Turning back to the mirror, tears fill her eyes as the scene replays once again. "Why do you do this?" The anguish in her voice is heartbreaking, but he only laughs softly. "Why, for you. One must always remember thier humble beginnings." Closing her eyes she wills the memories to fade, but they only come again with brighter clarity then before.

She looks up though the dust, brushing her hair back from her face and hitching up the obscenely low neckline of the so-called "uniform" she wears. Shaking her head she delivers the contents of her tray to table 4. The man was already drunk, his eyes almost glowing under the faded light of the bar. As she collects her money, he grabs her about the waist and pulls her into his lap, whispering in her ear. She shakes her head and he simply laughs, calling over the manager and insisting. With a sigh she remains where she is, and begins to sing.

A soft haunting lullabye flows effortlessly from her, and the nearby tables go silent one by one. Her sulty voice, deepened by years of pain, caresses the beings of those that listen. Unable to look at the man who demanded this private concert of her, she lets her eyes trail over the room, catching the gaze of one hidden in the shadows. She can barely see his form as she concentrats on singing while keeping the mans hands where they belong, but she feels strangely drawn to him. The soft glittering of his eyes seem to echo her words, bringing them back to her with so much more meaning then she thought possible.

Ignoreing protest, she stands, still singing softly, hauntingly, while moving towards the man in the shadows. As her song fades, he speaks. "You have a beautiful voice, Ms. Amy. Continue." Without a second thought she starts again, not taking the time to concider how he knew her name, or why she obeyed. As she sings, he takes her hand, pulling her to a chair and allowing her to sit. He does not relinquish her hand, but instead runs his fingers over her wrist, leaving a strange, odd sensation, as if being instantly chilled by the smooth coldness of his skin. Lost in his eyes, her voice wavers and he falls still, as if waiting. As she resumes, his fingers do the same, a silent thrumming across her pulse as he listens.

The room about them seems to fade, leaving them alone among a hundred people. All other sounds ceased but for that of her voice, ringing almost unbearably loud in her ears in the sudden silence. The final notes of her song trail away, and he stills again, watching her a long moment before speaking softly, his words a song in themselves. "I can give you the world at your feet. Your songs will caresses the mind, and they will forget the passing of time. All you must do is say yes, and all of this pain is laid to rest. Many do not understand, many do not hear, but if one can take your hand, all is not lost, as you fear."

He chuckles softly and stands, pulling her again to her feet. "I am not a song writer, nor a poet. They will understand, sweet Amy, if we but give them time. But if you do not come, they will never hear, and your pain is for nothing." He reaches for her, running a nail down the side of her neck, his fingertips resting at the hollow of her throat. "Will you come?"

As she nods, he tips his head as if to kiss her, bringing his lips to her throat. She moves to pull away, and succeeds only in being pulled closer, wrapped firmly in his iron-like embrace. Glancing around in sudden fear, she sees nothing she recognizes, the bar she slaved in having disappeared, leaving in its place naught but a grassy meadow, surrounded by the ring of trees between which they now stand. With a cry of fear, she fights, only to be held tighter against him, his breath warm against her neck, whispering assurances across her ear.

His soft words permeate slowly, sinking into her the promise of understanding, of a lifetime of fulfilling her main desire, her love of song. Relaxing slowly against him as his lips travel a trail of fire across her shoulder, he asks again, "Will you come?" At her nod, she feels his teeth graze across her neck, nipping slightly. A soundless moan trails into a sudden cry as his fangs sink suddenly, piercing her skin. She stiffens against him a moment, her fear warm as it slides down his throat, her pulse deafening in thier ears.

Tears fill her eyes, streaming down her face in a steady torrent as she sags against him, whimpering softly as memories soar past her mind as surely as her blood down his throat. Her father, her husband, the wounds, the bruises all careening through her mind in painful flashes, each seeming to be another lash of her fathers belt, her lovers knife. The beating of her heart slows with the most recent of memories, her form sagging against him as her eyes fall closed.

As she reliquishes control to looming death, a sudden sweetness is pressed against her lips. The warmth of the liquid at her mouth is enticingly sweet, a metalic saltiness on the tip of her tongue. As the coppery liquid flows into her mouth, she latches on without a thought, drinking deeply of the wrist that pulses with the warmth of her life. Greedy swallows lend return of the visions, but different then before. From the hated little girl comes visions of a powerful man, one who makes dreams come true, working them carefully into his plan, bending them to his will.

With an angry cry she pulls away, wiping the blood from her mouth with distaste, horror, revulsion. He merely watches her, that irritating, condecending smile on his face. Moving towards her he wraps her in his arms and kisses her forehead. "You, Ms. Amy, are going to be a star. A fighter such as you can be no less. We will conquer millions together you and I, and the world will bow at your feet, while I feast at it's throat."

The images fade to her reflection once again as her head falls forward, cradled in her arms as she cries. The man in the shadows comes foward, laying an almost comforting hand on her shoulder. "Sweet little Amy, you still feel so much pain. Do you still not understand? Have I not given you all I promised? The very world worships you, your voice, your song. Even now they scream again to have you fulfill them, make them whole. Every one with a dream wants to be in your place right now, to have the adoration of millions. You've got it all, but you still have learned nothing. Let it go. All of it."

Lifting her tearstained face, she finds him gone again. With a growl she flings the vase against the wall, enjoying the satisfying crash of broken glass. Still fighting to understand, she jumps as the guard bangs the 5 minute warning on her door. Readying herself, she moves out to the stage on time, looking over the sea of adoring faces, each there again to pretend to hear her. As she stands silent, the crowd slowly stills, as if awaiting a miracle, or perhaps salvation. Shaking her head, she feels empty, knowing she has nothing but death. Seeing the steady advance of shadows, she starts to sing. Clinging to the last shred of her humanity, she closes her eyes as the cheers drown out the victems screams.

I wanted to feel something
To be something
To see something
I wanted to find
One thing that was mine
And leave this behind
But I can't find my way
To get far away
And bury these days
Fantasy
Once reality
Becomes such a parody
If I could find
One thing that was mine
I'd leave this behind
But I can't find my way
To get far these days
If shining
Or if shaking
It's reality faking
If I could find
One thing that was mine
I'd leave this behind
But I can't find my way
To get far away
And bury these days
(Untitled, Copyright Fuel, 1998)




Copyright EAM98

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