Excellence Award in the 'Step Write Up 2011' competition

The crowd roared as she exited the stage. Six billion people came from all over the world to see one beautiful star showcase her wonderful talent, her beautiful body, and her love of performing. She had it all; the glitz and the glamour, all wrapped up with gold, silver and a bit of fame, tied with a red, glittery ribbon. Her clothing was barely existent; all silver and sequins, bare skin showing almost everywhere. Her heels were 5 inches high, black, with slivers of red around the ankles. She passed a mirror, and paused a moment, gazing at the person she had become. From her country hometown, where she had done waitressing at a small café for extra money, to a low paying, but high publicity singing and dancing roll at strip clubs on Broadway, to this.

She was a mega- star, and she hated it. Sometimes she felt guilty that she could be so selfish. She looked into the eyes of longing and desiring people everyday- fans, failures- who would give anything to be where she was. But she was in too deep now; the media, the crowds, the fans- they would never leave her alone now. They needed her too badly. She was their star asset, their income, their livelihood.

For a moment she looked at the singers who did back-up for her, frantically applying glitter and lip gloss, getting ready for the remainder of the concert. She knew she had another song yet to go, but she didn’t think she had it in her to keep going. Her manager called out to her briefly, before turning back to answer more questions about costumes and dressing rooms. She kept walking, past the singers fussing with their hair, and the rack with her next costume hanging, waiting to be worn. She reached the door and felt for the handle. She was going to walk away, from a concert she had worked so hard for, from a crowd who were depending on her. She was just going to drop it and walk away. She could taste the freedom already.

“Stella, seriously, get your act together. Are you ready or not?”
It didn’t matter to her that she’d been caught. She opened the door, stepped out, and closed it behind her. She ran across the road and lost herself in the hustle and bustle of Las Angeles. She raced along the busy streets, taking short cuts wherever she could but being careful not to take side roads: a gang of dirty men would have no hesitations in raping and killing a young, beautiful starlet wearing nothing but a diamond encrusted bikini.

As she reached the top step of her small two-person apartment, she turned and looked out at the distant lights and noises of the CBD. She shed a silent tear as the sick feeling came back again, like it did every night: the realization that her life had changed forever, because of one, stupid decision.
The decision to leave home.


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