Keep the Faith
The Romantics
As she lay on her bed in the darkened room, the words of her fellow soldiers stood out in the cold air. Her sore eyes squeezed shut as she tried - and failed - to make the silent taunts go away.
"He’s cheating on her."
"He only married her because he knocked her up."
"No wonder, he’s back on drugs anyway."
"Poor kid, who’d want to be born into that?"
These words sounded out of her fellow fans’ mouths like a broken record - even despite the fact that she’d heard the same people wishing to be the man’s child, wife or friend countless times when they thought no one was looking. Unwritten sins uttered in dark corners of empty rooms.
The plea that came to her head was not ‘what’ but ‘why’. No matter how harsh the pounding inside her head became, the answer would never arrive. She lay limply on her bed, surrounded by the shards of a broken family. An army divided so much that they could barely fight the demons that crippled them in the blinding darkness. Demons that became more and stronger day by day.
It was becoming starkly apparent that people were picking and choosing what to believe. When asked whether fans, friends or the man himself could say what he was thinking, something inside of them screamed the word ‘fans’. Whether it was egotistical or just confused, it didn’t matter. What mattered was change, or the resistance of it. What mattered was faith, a now ominous word in the newly shaped fandom. If ‘keep the faith’ was the new black then losing it was the new pink. Slander and insults replaced the adoration that was once unanimous amongst the fandom.
A phenomenon which begs yet another question, why were the fans of the band so keen to rip them apart, expose their naked structures and leave them for the rats? Why? When did the line between haters and fans blur to the point of indistinctness?
She could only draw the conclusion that they wanted some reality. They wanted the band members to be mortal so that they could carry on as normal. Needless to say, the army was direly missing a chunk of logic from its core.
She rolled onto her back and tears started to dampen her cheeks once again. She couldn’t understand why this had to happen. The fans were ripping themselves apart from the roots and it wasn’t fair. The music had been long forgotten and the silhouettes that stood - almost unwillingly - on their pedestals were up for analysis. Her heart silently broke and she longed for the days when the band was a weapon to use against the harsh and unforgiving world, rather than against each other.
As she drifted from a conscious state, a crack inside her gave way and broke into a million thoughts, plaguing her with nightmares of broken bodies and battered hearts. She woke unsteadily, her breath shaking from fear and desperation. The need for change slowly worked its way from her eyes down her cheeks and onto the pillow. Her sobs were muffled by weakness. Something inside her had broken but it wasn’t by a merciless act.
As a thousand children stung their swollen eyes with tears, a new army was born; an army whose language was faith, love and strength; an army who would never surrender. They would stay strong and their devotion would ring true around rooms and venues. They were there to save lives again, instead of rip them apart and slander them. A new guard of Romantics were here and they were here to stay.
"He’s cheating on her."
"He only married her because he knocked her up."
"No wonder, he’s back on drugs anyway."
"Poor kid, who’d want to be born into that?"
These words sounded out of her fellow fans’ mouths like a broken record - even despite the fact that she’d heard the same people wishing to be the man’s child, wife or friend countless times when they thought no one was looking. Unwritten sins uttered in dark corners of empty rooms.
The plea that came to her head was not ‘what’ but ‘why’. No matter how harsh the pounding inside her head became, the answer would never arrive. She lay limply on her bed, surrounded by the shards of a broken family. An army divided so much that they could barely fight the demons that crippled them in the blinding darkness. Demons that became more and stronger day by day.
It was becoming starkly apparent that people were picking and choosing what to believe. When asked whether fans, friends or the man himself could say what he was thinking, something inside of them screamed the word ‘fans’. Whether it was egotistical or just confused, it didn’t matter. What mattered was change, or the resistance of it. What mattered was faith, a now ominous word in the newly shaped fandom. If ‘keep the faith’ was the new black then losing it was the new pink. Slander and insults replaced the adoration that was once unanimous amongst the fandom.
A phenomenon which begs yet another question, why were the fans of the band so keen to rip them apart, expose their naked structures and leave them for the rats? Why? When did the line between haters and fans blur to the point of indistinctness?
She could only draw the conclusion that they wanted some reality. They wanted the band members to be mortal so that they could carry on as normal. Needless to say, the army was direly missing a chunk of logic from its core.
She rolled onto her back and tears started to dampen her cheeks once again. She couldn’t understand why this had to happen. The fans were ripping themselves apart from the roots and it wasn’t fair. The music had been long forgotten and the silhouettes that stood - almost unwillingly - on their pedestals were up for analysis. Her heart silently broke and she longed for the days when the band was a weapon to use against the harsh and unforgiving world, rather than against each other.
As she drifted from a conscious state, a crack inside her gave way and broke into a million thoughts, plaguing her with nightmares of broken bodies and battered hearts. She woke unsteadily, her breath shaking from fear and desperation. The need for change slowly worked its way from her eyes down her cheeks and onto the pillow. Her sobs were muffled by weakness. Something inside her had broken but it wasn’t by a merciless act.
As a thousand children stung their swollen eyes with tears, a new army was born; an army whose language was faith, love and strength; an army who would never surrender. They would stay strong and their devotion would ring true around rooms and venues. They were there to save lives again, instead of rip them apart and slander them. A new guard of Romantics were here and they were here to stay.