Image of Set Stories Free - 2018
Image of Short Story
The lights, the cameras, the crowd---the vibrations below his feet, they were what he loved---lived for. His loved ones, he could recall, asked why he chose to do what he did.

Why sing?

What was so special about getting up in front of thousands of people and moving your lips?

If he were to count all the times he’d been asked the question, he’d need at least a dozen set of hands.

He asked himself too though... his reason behind pursuing a musical career rather than a medical, animation, or a fast food career.

Did a question like that even exist?

Much less the answer to it?

Ever since he was a young child, Lou always enjoyed singing. He was one of the rare few that knew exactly what they wanted to do in life, and what he wanted to do was sing.

Was his dream spat on?

Of course.

Did he face ruthless challenges?

Without a doubt,

but never did he let any of that get in the way of who he aspired to be.

Now, years later, everything paid off. All the practicing, all the tears, all the negativity, everything.

Young age of twenty one? Being one of France's biggest idols?

If that wasn't a huge accomplishment, then what was?

He was living the good life. He had everything anyone could ever want. No longer was he living in a cheap apartment supported by his parent's income, and his face was plastered on nearly every billboard in sight.

His fame skyrocketed so high he even befriended some of the most popular musicians and idols in France.

He had money, fame, friends, and die hard fans, but...

...he wasn't satisfied.

He wasn't happy anymore.

He barely had the energy nor the will to get out of bed in the mornings.

His body was tired.

His mind was tired.

It was true he was hard at work--having concert after concert, photo shoot after photo shoot, song after song, and fan meet after fan meet, but to him... it felt as though he wasn't doing anything.

Not a damn thing.

It was like he was sitting around waiting--waiting for something that honestly, by this point, he thought would never come.


Lou felt like a walking zombie, though perhaps one with a more human-like expression on the outside because he had to ‘give the people what they wanted’, even if that meant pretending. On the inside however... reality prospered.

Ever since Léon passed away, Lou just kept falling deeper and deeper into depression, and he was frustrated because he had no clue how to handle it.

The guilt.

The regret.

The hatred toward himself... hatred for not having the courage to confess to his best friend and first love...

...hatred for never saying saying goodbye.

His emotions were scorching him from the inside out.

There were times he thought about reaching out and getting help, but would anyone truly be able to understand? Even if they were somehow able to, he could never explain something so unsettling.

He was suffocating.

The last thing he wanted to do was break down in tears in front of the very people who looked up to him--even doing so in front of strangers was out of the question.

He was gasping for breath.

Lou's emotions as well as thoughts were difficult to read, and he hated showing them. It was the simple fact that he didn't wish to burden anyone with his own issues...

...or maybe the real truth was that he feared pity.

Never had he been an alcoholic, but now the term was nothing more than an understatement. It became his water, and most days, it even became his food.

He became so dependent on its power to make him forget, that if he didn't get his fix he'd break down at the dinner table.

It wasn't healthy, and he knew full well... but what else was there to do?

Everyday he'd wake up and gape into the mirror--see the dark bags under his eyes and run fingertips across the sunken skin... all the while wondering if the storm that stirred in his head would ever subside.

What kind of life was he living? He had everything.

Everything he ever dreamed of,

and yet he wasn't able to enjoy any of it.

It was sad because sometimes...


...there were these little moments...

little moments where he thought that if everything ended...

...he'd be okay with it.

Somehow though, he was able to hang on.

His love for music screamed out--fighting the demons that made a mockery of himself and fighting the demons that turned his mind into a hell house.

His love and adoration for music poured through his veins and kept his sanity alive.

Without music, he wouldn't have had the courage to fight for air.