Michael | Lily Wilder

Is having it all just having too much?


Michael

Lily Wilder

 The National Bored Band Award


The stylish, sleek car sped down the track. The scenery, no more than a blur as the car flew, its engine purring like the most content Cheshire cat. The drive was flawlessly smooth, and was as promised; the best ride of Michael’s life.

Still, he felt nothing.

He slammed his foot on the break, not caring should the million-dollar ride stall. He shoved open the door, he could afford the damages, and stormed out of the car and across the field to the multi-million-dollar mansion he called home. He ignored the shouts of Eddie; his manager and, recent closest companion.

The car was his last hope,and it had failed him.

Eddie stood outside a heavy set, double oak door. The symphony of the latest tantrum was hardly muffled by the timber. Eddie clearly heard the smashing of glass and the scarping and thudding of heavy furniture as he stood outside the room. The greasy manager shuddered when he thought of the one priceless items now being thrown in anguish around the room.

Therewas nothing more annoying to Eddie than the attention seeking behaviour of ‘tormented’ stars, at least this one earned him money. Eddie sighed as heopened the door; reminding himself to think of the money.

The door opened to show Michael sitting in a lounge chair, his ever-present scotch on the rocks in his right hand, his left fidgeting with a simple blade. Eddie was surprised a glass had remained whole.

“You should put that thing away, you could take an eye out.” Eddie said, his voice thick with the fear theagent felt, though not for his companion.

“An eye is the least I would take.” Michael snorted, though his tone indicated there was nothing humorous in his response. “I could end it all, right now, and no one would give a damn.”

“Mikie, Mikie, Mikie,” Eddie tutted, “why would you want to do that? You have it all, any girl you want, anything you could want, and whatever you don’t have; you can afford to buy. You have a life others can only dream about.”

“If they want it so badly they can have it. None of it means anything. No one cares about me, just who they think I am, or what I can get for them. I don’t even know who my real friends are any more. And stuff? Stuff is meaningless; it can’t replace love, happiness or real friends.”

Michael looked up into his manager’s face, for the first time since he entered the room, meekly muttering;

“I feel this emptiness inside me all the time, Ed, and it scares me.”

Eddie knelt before his most successful client, his only successful client, and held up a small packet of white powder. “Have you tried crystal?”

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