Oh, to be a Star (a Novelty to Hollywood)

(a short story written by me)

People felt sorry for me, down there where there is such a thing as a sky. I was a treasure, a pearl born from God's grace. I had the legs of the Devil's daughter. My flesh was created wholly from ambitious virgins, every part of me serving a purpose. 

     A few things you must know are very vague and simple facts about me. I do not like people seeing my life backstage, but now, I have an audience. I am so used to hiding remnants of the girl I used to be, I forgot how it feels to be encaged. Now, they are counting every sin. Scoffing every time I say His name in vain. So truly, what is the worst that could happen?

    To start this off right, I am a star. Second, I was Hollywood’s star. The point of my life was never for you to know my name, nor who I was, but the purpose I served whilst on the threshold. What matters is how I aimed for the stars and never dared to miss. I shined bright, I really did. I was there, swallowed up by the sky as I let it soak up my crippling skin. Shining until the world decided to mark me as dim. All my life, I had one goal in mind. The goal to ultimately reach the stars. And not just the stars that the human race can see, but ones beyond our moral comprehension. I wanted to be seen as one of them, one of those stars that you never forget. And finally, the final thing that you should know is I am a woman who died young. It is as plain and simple as that. But what I find humorous is that I do not mind. I do not mind at all. 

  There is a hint of self obsession when I reflect on the girl I used to be. Lucille Bates is a woman you should not care about. I advise you to forget about her, but if you want to know more, I will dispel little information. She wanted a simple kind of life. A life where she could live carefree and oblivious. A life where she was so naive, she forgot what the world would do to her. Unfortunately, that was the girl who entered Hollywood with such a small mind. She grew up in South Carolina, clad in rags, praying for God to bring her home. Bring her home to where sunflowers grow with ecstasy. 

     Hollywood convinced her that she had the capacity to be a star. She wanted to be Hollywood’s diamond, but how was she to achieve that? To be a star, you have to leave it all behind. You have to get on your knees and scream until you are at a loss for air. I did become Hollywood’s diamond. I was quite good at it too. I was their own little plaything. Something they could chew on with ease, and spit out like a piece of tobacco. However, do not gain a false perception of me. For I lost not a single ounce of control. I always knew my fate was to die at the ripe age of two and twenty.

    Some people are destined to die young. It is all a matter of fate, don't you understand? God assembles us into our own separate battalions, preparing us for the war taking place onstage. I knew what I was getting into since the pre-existence. God was aware of my purpose, and I understand. For yes, one snap of his finger sent me here, but I died as Hollywood’s star. 

     I do not see the point in choosing to live. Life is a careless choice I never wanted to succumb to in the first place. Thus why I accepted my fate. For if I got what I wanted to achieve in exchange for my soul, what is the point in pretending to be a member of the human race? I could never relate, nor connect to piety, humility, or even mere goodness. For all those people believed in something called ‘unfinished business’ that I believed to be inconceivable. What does that mean? “Unfinished business” Ha! Don’t make me laugh. One could say that I am a victim. That me climbing up the H of the Hollywood sign was a result of my poor circumstances, but to that, I laugh at how you could possibly be so naive. There is nothing I regret doing. I chose that life, and now God is in the other room deciding how I am going to live the rest of my pitiful existence since living is over. California stargirls love to call themselves victims for being used. I find this ludicrous. You are only a loser if you make yourself one.

    What all those stargirls do not know is that if one is to be a star, you have to burn. You burn every inch of your body until you grow sore. You let them take off your dress because that's the ticket to fame baby. That's the life of a star. I took my fair share and lived the life I wanted to live. How could you possibly call me a victim?

    I am now waiting for my privilege or price. They told me on earth that God is gracious. But they are all liars. God averted his gaze from mine when he saw me. He told me he would try. He said he didn't want to see me go astray. But discreetly, I believe we both knew I was far gone. God tries with us, the human race, but we're a hopeless lot. We can never be the proclaimed saints he wants us to be. I know that if all else fails, Satan will have me. But what is humourous is that I am far too good for Satan, yet, I find myself not worthy enough for God. 

     Heaven is crimson red, ironically. There is no end, and no beginning when one is placed in the waiting room. Just beside me are two large doors, doors that extend to infinity. I try to take notice of the world around me but I see nothing. Only red, red, red. The color of sin. The color of curtains that close after a show. The color of blood that trickles from your abdomen as you weep. Telling yourself that it will all be over soon. Has God done this on purpose? Place fragments of red everywhere I look. Has he done this to torture me, or remind me of my journey? I feel warm in red, red, red. Warm to the extent that my skin feels as if it is peeling, peeling, peeling around my heart, and peeling on the outskirts of my bones. I try to wave my hand in red so sin dissolves, but I fail.

    Though I have given little information about my character, it is up to you to decide what to make of me. God knows I am not spoon feeding you my morals and past dreams, that would be painful to hear. I know it would. In the end, your mind does not matter and it is time the human race recognizes that. We are all playing a game and I am a cheat. The game is not fair, but we all know that. You could weep, but none of it matters in the end. People love to bathe in their own sadness, but not me. 

    Stars do not cry. Stars say yes. Stars do not speak about the hell that goes on backstage. Stars smile. Stars purse their lips as they pray for it to be over soon. Stars are never pushovers. Stars are polite. Stars never acknowledge the heavens and what it would mean to put it on pause.

    Maybe, I lived a lie. Or perhaps, I am the embodiment of truth. I could go on about useless philosophy. How the human race pretends to avoid death when we crave Satan snatching our right to breathe every day. How nobody smiles anymore. We are all the same variety of endless glances that do not have the same meaning it used to collect. But in the end, none of this will matter. I have made it abundantly clear that it does not right now as I speak into this crimson void. 

    Because what they do not realize is that I am still a star. I am Lucille Bates and I am (and will always be) Hollywood’s star. I did it. I am dead and I have reached my end goal. I have achieved the title of a Prepubescent Stargirl. So tell me, what have you done?