Simply Famous

She opened her eyes, a quick flash of light stunning them shut again. It was loud and frantic as each photographer fought his or her way to the forefront, closing the increasingly small gap between the hectic crowd and the timid girl. Another flash burst in her eyes, white light flooding her vision and dizzying her.

She was awoken by the harsh, pulsing sensation in her leg. It felt as if her veins were bursting, pinned shut by her mangled bones. Her rib cage was on fire, on the verge of puncturing her lungs and suffocating her. For a second, she was there again, surrounded by bright lights and hysterical crowds of people. Everything hurt, ached with such a violent fury that each breath seemed to break or bruise something else.

Everyone had a theory as to what had happened that day; every tabloid had its own unique headline meant to slander her. There were articles about how much alcohol she had consumed before, testimonies about drug use and addiction, and piles upon piles of unsupported conspiracy theories. But none of them were true.

In the hours before, not a single drink or drug had been mentioned, except for perhaps her father who kept saying that she was driving him down a path of hard liquor and prostitutes. Unfortunately, this was a road he had already been traveling, and there was only room enough for one member of the family on this already jam-packed street.

That night after the concert, when she found herself consumed in a claustrophobically close pack with the paparazzi, every misfortune had been her doing, her decision. The casts and bruises and bandages were all she had left in her, the first thing she’d felt in a long time. And while she was lying here, forcing herself not to scream out against the pain in her legs, her father was at some televised press release lying his way through an explanation and telling every reporter and rag-magazine that she was perfectly fine. The only thing on his mind way the free champagne in the green room.