He lies on the bed as the engines rumble beneath him. The constant noise takes his mind to a place of meditation. It is soothing to his tortured soul, and he knows that it will only last for a few more minutes. That is when he hears a knock at the door.
He sits up and feels his head spin from the whiskey and the pills. Hands rub his eyes, and he thinks to himself,
“Didn’t I do this last night?”
He lifts himself and walks to the mirror. His hair is long. His eyes are tired. He searches for what he needs and finds it on the counter. Rolling up a bill, he bends over and places it to his nose. He looks back into the mirror. His eyes are stronger, but they do not know who they are looking at. Who is this guy in the mirror? When this began, he was young and energetic. Now, his face is showing its age.
“That’s fine. Let your hair fall in your face, and they will never know the difference.”
He goes to the closet and rips through the clothes hanging within. What is it going to be tonight? They expect it to look a certain way, but any combination will do. He grabs what he needs, puts it on, and looks in the mirror. Only he could get away with this. Hell, if he was a normal person and walked down the street like this people would look at him like he was crazy. He is not a normal person, and he is not walking down the street.
He stares at himself in the mirror. Who is this guy? Where did I go? There is another knock on the door.
He is not ready. He wants to close his eyes, but he cannot. They are waiting for him just like last night and the night before. He is tired, but he cannot rest. He takes another hit and opens the door. It is a small space, and a few people are crammed inside. There is a blonde here and a brunette there. Actually, he recognizes the brunette. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he thinks she had been in his bed. He smiles at her in case she was. Some guy slaps him on the back as he walks past.
He steps down the stairs and feels the cold night air. It wakes him up, and he knows that it is close. People surround him as he walks across the pavement and into the building. They walk down a sterile corridor, and he knows what is waiting at the end. He can hear the sounds echo through the hallway. As they get closer, the sounds get louder.
People line the hallway. Some are wearing suits and ties. Others are like him – old people trying to look young. They take pictures. They yell his name. They reach out to touch him.
As he walks down the hall, he can feel his energy building. It is not the drugs. It is not memories of the brunette. It is the sound at the end of the hall. He knows what is waiting for him, and he knows it is what he needs. He can hear it more clearly. They are chanting his name. They are stomping their feet. They want him, and he needs them. He needs the chants. He needs the adoration.
Finally, he gets to the stairs. As he puts his foot on the first step, the music starts. It is loud. It is powerful. It drives the crowd insane. It energizes him. This is why he is here. This is why he exists. He runs up the stairs and into the bright lights. The crowd screams.
He is energized. He is young again. Before he hit the stage, he was a tired old man. Now, he is a god. He is a Rock Star.