Metus

I don’t like fame. I mean, I really, really don’t like it. Have I mentioned how much I didn’t like it? Cause I don’t. Not at all. Sure, I got to meet kick-ass people like Cinema Bizarre and Tokio-Flippin-Hotel, but this was just dumb.

What, you might ask, is so dumb about it? Well I’ll tell you. Or maybe I won’t. But perhaps I should, merely for the sake of chapter-length, for I highly doubt that you’d be satisfied if I ended the chapter here, am I right?

Now where was I, I got distracted. Oh right, I’m supposed to tell you what’s so dumb about fame. To start off, it isn’t that you were practically not allowed to eat, I rather enjoyed watching my waist line shrink, and because I’m not an idiot, I knew when to stop before I had an anorexia problem. Plus, who could live without a little ice-cream once in a while? Who I ask you!?! It is also not that the paparazzi (which were often drunk and balding. Have I mentioned that before?) followed you around like vultures (this isn’t to say I particularly like the paparazzi, they honestly scared the shiz-nitz out of me). It is not—oh forget it, I might as well just tell you what it is.

It is the simple and inescapable fact that fame goes away. What nerve does the world possibly possess that give them the right to throw you away like a used tissue just because you don’t do what they want?!? I hope that after reading that line that you would remember, as I have, a lovely scene from Clue in which Mrs. White is describing her former husbands. ^.^

In any case, this chapter should probably go somewhere, no? Then, oh reader, I will oblige and tell you what happened:

I’d awoken to loud and irritating pounding on the door, and to my surprise, alone. I suppose I should have expected it, and was kind of glad, because I awoke with a severe case of Dragon-breath and hair to match it. That’s what I get for going to sleep with a bunch of gunk in my hair.

“Intrude.” I called, trying to match the lovely acting of Jim Carrey, but if you ask anyone I know, they will take great delight in telling you about my superior lack of acting skillzles. Both Lexi and Melanie walked in, ready and dressed, but with looks that definitely clash with my cheery mood.

“Hey Lor…” Lexi asked, taking a cautionary step forward.

I raised my eyebrow. “What?”

“Well…” Melanie started.

“Well what?” I asked, getting slightly pissed.

“I may have had the slightest slip of tongue…”

I sat up. “And what, exactly, does that mean?”

Since Melanie didn’t look like she was going to tell me, my oh-so-subtle sister stepped up. “You have an interview in half an hour regarding your new book.”

I’d successfully kept my jaw from dropping. Melanie looked like she was going to melt into the wall at any moment, anything to get out of the room. The room was silent for a minute, tension spreading through the air like an acidic virus, boiling my skin from the inside out.

“I don’t have a new book.”

No one said anything, making the ring of the phone sound like it would wake some unseen beast that would then come an eat us. I ended up answering it since Lexi and Melanie looked like they just involuntarily released their bowels.

“Hello, Lor?”

“This is Lor.”

“Hey, this is *insert studio name here* and we’re so happy you could come on such short notice. Our interview with *insert celebrity name here* had to be canceled and we needed to fill the slot.”

“Oh it’s not a problem.” I replied, trying my best at sounding cheery and not totally pissed.

“So, just so we have a bit of background information, what is your work-in-progress about?”

“Well, it’s something that really just popped into my head.” I said, glad I had inherited my family’s famous make-shit-up-on-the-spot gene. “I figured it’d have a Carrie-meets-Dexter type feel to it.”

The person on the phone sounded confused. “Like… Dexter’s Lab Dexter?”

I laughed. “No, like Dexter the serial killer Dexter.” I motioned for Lexi to grab some clothes for me, considering I was in my PJs.

The interview went swimmingly, thanks to the aforementioned bullshitting gene. News to me, I was writing something about a vampiric serial killer with a conscience and his sociopathic daughter who can only feel disgust.

As a request from Melanie, I was going back to Hickville to work on it without stress. Unfortunately, my home school teacher wasn’t coming with me, so back to Hickville Jr-Sr High School I go. So much for the advantages of fame.