The roaring crowds came to life the second they recognized who I was, cheering, clapping, pretty much going nuts. I didn't pay much attention to them. Lately, whenever I preformed, I tuned out the audience, those groupies never really mattered. It was the songs, the music, the dance moves, that did.
I ran over to the mike, and screamed the same words as always. "New York, are you ready to rock tonight?"
The neon signs shoke, along with the magazine pictures of me, and they screamed yes. Like always. So, I tuned them out, and went to my castle on a cloud.
Two and a half hours, later, I was covered in sweat and exhausted. But, the tingle in my throat made it all worth while. It was a wonderful feeling, and I didn't mind all of the sacarfices that I had made in the last year.
I slumped down in the makeup chair. I looked in the mirror, beyond my bleached blond hair, the eyeliner, and the shiny lips. That girl wasn't me. I missed those days when I'd play at my school's talent show, when all the teachers said your going to be famous, and then you'll one day miss this small town. At that time, I just laughed. Now, I'd do anything to go back to that moment in time. I missed my friends. This life was too lonely.
My mother, face emotionless due to botox, came into the room. "Good job, tonight, hun. We sold out another show!" She kissed me on the cheek. "Now, lets go. We have another sold-out show in Hartford."
I sighed, and nodded. My life was turning into a bunch of sold out concerts. Man, I miss the life I had, the friends I left behind. I wasn't a normal girl, even though I sung about it. Normal girls got to have friends, and never felt like their mothers used them for money, or men. Normal girls didn't have magazines telling them who they should date, without ever meeting them. Normal girls could even think about dating.
Normal girls would want this. I want to leave it.
The seagulls flew all around me. Damn birds. Their squawking got on my damn nerves. I couldn't concentrate on the music. It didn't flow naturally, like normal. It sounded like a bunch of mashed up pieces of metal crunched themselves together, and called themselves music. I was ashamed to call it music, but the people kept coming, and dropping dollar bills in my case. Man, I wanted to show them what I really sounded like. Damn birds. They ruin everything.
A car with the windows pulled down drove by, playing the loud, horrible music of Melanie Davis. Man, how could anyone like her? Her music lacked the emotion, and her personality was like a piece of dry toast, needed something more than what the magazines wanted to say.
I sighed, and gave up. I put my guitar away, and blasted my ipod, loud, emotional music, coming from the speakers. Now this was music. I was one to detest anything pop culture made.
But lately, I've been feeling alone. Nothing mattered to me, I just wanted to feel loved. Maybe love would spark something, for me to write. I looked at my tattered notebook, filled with crap that meant nothing. This music was crap. But, then again, they put crap like Melanie Davis' pop music on the radio. So, maybe it wasn't too bad.