turn on the bright lights

sort of like a post i did ages ago. also a result of reading dorian gray. this is one of my ideas that i am maybe looking into expanding to be a full novel….we’ll see!

——————-

the stage lights up like a slab of white crystal, protruding in to the centre of the crowd. the crowd disappeared into darkness as the lights dim to a minimum, excentuating the flashes of photo-journalists and kids of their smart phones taking snaps. the air was filled with the snap-snap-snap and blink-blink-blink, nearly saturated with excitement. tonight the world would be seeing the new collection from valerie glamour for the very first time.

the first model hits the stage and the music picks up. a veritable soundscape of noise. she walks in time with the bass, as if every step she takes shakes the earth. the exquisite black dress hugs her luscious curves, showing them off. strutting to the center of the stage, she poses, the cameras crowding around her. never does an expression touch her face. like a work of art, she stands there, petrified so that she might live forever in photo. the lights reflect off the silver jewelry around, blinding some members of the crowd. turning off, she returns backstage, and another female model takes her place. then another male model, dressed in this year’s apparent ‘style’. he looks like a drag queen.

and then the final exhibit, the man called the modern day adonis. perfection. daniel green takes to the stage. the crowd goes wild. cameras and flashes capture the exception sight of him in just jeans and an open white shirt, showing off his carved chest. he reached the end of the stage, and as a final stage piece, ripped off his shirt. the flashes and subsequent shadows serve to emphasis the already well defined shape of his body, and shine his white teeth as he grinned into the crowd.

the cameras did not quite capture the missing teeth, or the stain of brown. they failed to see the the stretch marks and the lose skin that hung off the skeleton of a man, or the cuts all over his face from shaving drunk that morning. neither did the cameras catch the shape of his matted hair that he tried to hard to style every morning. nor did they see the needle marks, or the hole where the bridge of his nose used to be, worn away from drug use. on his arm was an infected needle wound, right out of that film, all purple and black. he looked in pain, moving the arm awkwardly. turning to walk back and return backstage, his leg gave way. walking out, he had been leaning on it gently; tentatively, as if he knew something was going to happen.

the stage met his face with considerable force, the perspex that formed the surface breaking leading his face to crash into the strip lights beneath. he was barely conscience by this point, his mind recoiling at the horror of his situation. the smell of burning flesh permeated the air as the hot strip light burnt away at his cheek. tears rolled down this scarred cheek, dripping down on to the light, evaporating with a sizzling sound and diffusing into the air.

it’s said we are all our own worst critics, but daniel green was something else.

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