Pale Imitation

Prompt for Round 5 of "Who Are They and What's Their Story?" 
Write a fictional short story inspired by this information:

The name of your protagonist and POV narrator is Elvis Presley. It could be his given name (What were his parents thinking?) or his nickname. It could be a stage name, username, chat room identity, or an alias. There is no limit on your creative interpretation of why he is called Elvis and what effect the name has had on him in his life. He could even be a she. Write a story about a secret he tries to keep.

Your story can be in any genre (drama, comedy, sci-fi, romantic, historical, etc.). You choose the narrative style – first, second or third. Feel free to create other characters to round out your story, though doing so is not a requirement.

Here's the kicker! The fact that his name is Elvis Presley must contribute to a central conflict facing the POV.


Pale Imitation

The tears flowed freely down her alabaster cheeks. Wisps of long black hair fell across her face as she leaned over her desk. Without thinking, she pushed the hair back behind her ears. Staring at the note she had finished writing, she read it over once.

Dear Mom,

I’m sorry I couldn’t be the child you wanted me to be. I know you wanted a boy who could be just like him. That’s what you both wanted, wasn’t it? You wanted the idol back and he wanted to live again. However, I disappointed you both when I came out a girl. You’ve both tried so hard to change me and I’ve done everything I could to please you both, but I can’t do it anymore. I can’t be someone I’m not, but since I don’t know who I should be then it's right that I should go.

Go back to your records and Hawaii movies. I’m sure he’ll do the same, or maybe he’ll hang around you. You two could make each other happy, or wallow in nostalgia together.

Good bye Mom.

Nodding, she signed her name – Elvis Presley.

She folded the note, wrote Mom across the paper and propped it up against some school books. Standing, she turned to her dresser and stared into the mirror. Her hazel eyes were red and puffy from crying. The costume, his iconic white jumpsuit, was wrinkled and matched the décor of her room. Everything here matched, except her. From posters that glorified him to the replica guitar hanging over the window to the rhinestone bedspread. Everything screamed Elvis Presley, the King of Rock and Roll.

She was tired of it; tired of him, of being like him. He haunted her every moment, awake or asleep. Today had been the final straw. While it had been cute when she was a kid, her imitations of the real Elvis Presley no longer impressed anyone. No, quite the opposite had happened when she walked out on that stage today. She had been laughed at by the whole school. Then after the talent show, her boyfriend had dumped her, calling her a freak.

Staring at herself in the mirror, she realized she was a freak; a freak that needed to be put out of her misery once and for all. As she opened the top drawer of the dresser, she felt his presence behind her. She tried to ignore him as she pulled out the bottle of sleeping pills she had stolen from her mother.

“Sugar darlin',” he rasped, trying to draw her attention to him. “It ain’t worth it. Don’t go like I did.”

Her head snapped up and she stared at his translucent reflection in the mirror. “But I am you. From the moment I was born, I was Elvis Presley reincarnated thanks to you, and my mom.” She crinkled her nose as she looked at his sideburns. “Too bad you chose a girl to haunt.”

A frown creased his face as he floated forward. She shivered when he passed through her. He stopped between her and the mirror and turned to face her. He was a ghost of his former self; his visage chosen from a moment early in his career. “Your mom made a wish for me to live again. Her desire drew me to her, and then to you. You are my vessel to live the life I never -”

“Don’t give me that crap!” she yelled. “If you had really wanted to live a new life, you wouldn’t have made me be you! No. You’re stuck on yourself. My mom is stuck on you. And it’s ruined my life!” She struggled with the bottle a moment before getting the lid off. “Now I will end it.”

As she shoved a handful of pills in her mouth and swallowed them dry, she watched his eyes grow wide and then sad.

“You’ve done everything like me, even in death.” He floated towards the window and gazed at the guitar. “I never meant to hurt you. Neither did your mother.”

“Good intentions pave the road to hell,” she commented as she flopped down on her bed, trying to ignore the rhinestones digging into her skin.

“Truth is like the sun. You can shut it out for a time, but it ain’t going’ away.” He turned towards her, cocking his head to the side. “I also remember saying that the image is one thing and the human being is another. It’s hard to live up to an image.”

“Well, if you were so smart in life, why are you so dumb in death?” she grumbled as she stretched out, her limbs beginning to feel heavy.

“Don’t be like me,” he moaned.

“It’s too late for that buster,” she yawned as her eyes grew heavy.

All of a sudden, his ethereal form convulsed and contorted. Light shone out at odd angles. “No, it’s not.”

She marveled at the pretty lights as her eyes closed and wondered whether she would become a ghost. Just as she was drifting off to sleep, the beams of light from him pierced her body. She screamed as he faded away.

She writhed in pain as she felt her stomach roil and rebel. She scrambled off the bed and lunged for the bathroom. She got the toilet seat up a moment before the contents of her stomach violently spewed out of her mouth. Coughing and crying, she didn’t notice her mother until a wet cloth was pressed against her forehead.

“Oh, my precious baby,” her mother’s soft voice echoed against the tiled room. “It’ll be okay. Everything will be okay.”

As the nausea passed, she realized that the pills were out of her system and she only felt a little sleepy. It was then that she felt something else, or rather didn’t feel something else. He was gone.

She looked around, but couldn’t see him. He had sacrificed himself to save her; to save her from being him. She was finally free to be herself, but who was she? She raised her head to look up into her mother’s eyes. “Mom, what was my name going to be?”

Her mom’s brow furrowed as she spoke. “It’s funny you should ask that. I was just thinking how big of a mistake I made in naming you Elvis Presley. Your father wanted to name you Norma Jeane, but I insisted on naming you after Elvis.”

“Norma Jeane. I like that name. Mom, can I be Norma Jeane now?”

“Of course honey. There’s no need to burden you with such a famous name.”

Relief flooded her as she realized that she was finally going to have a chance to be herself, whoever that was. No longer was she going to be a pale imitation of someone else.


Or was she . . .


(1,134 words)