A jazz singer gets ready for his last performance.
|“Why’d you have to go
Leaving me alone, alone, alone
On my own”
The club is dead silent as they find themselves completely entranced by the singer’s melancholic tone. Each lyric and note paints a picture of sadness, woe and passion. He is the author of his story and he's telling his tale the only way he can.
“You stole my heart
And I stole yours too
We were meant to be
That much I know is true”
There’s something different with the way he sings, the way he moves. Every word delivered with sheer honesty, every movement passionate, but subtle. He is in his element, and the audience knows it.
“I don’t understand
Why you look so sad
Did you have to go so soon
I shoulda been there with you”
Suddenly, the music stops. The jazz soloist raises his hand to the spotlight, reaching towards the stars, embracing them. Sweat drops from his sullen face like he’s shedding tears. No time to waste, time to finish it.
“I just wanna let you know
I just want to show
I love you”
Clapping consumes the place like a crashing wave. Shrouded faces in the crowd stand up for the band and the man with a golden voice for a job well done. He takes a bow, giving a small solemn grin that is replaced with a look of uncertainty. This may be the last show for a while, but for now, he is going to take it all in. He could only wish that this moment would never end.
. . .
The front man opens the door to his crowded apartment, the pale moonlight guiding him through the dancing shadows. He trudges his way through the clutter, a door standing between him and a goodnight’s sleep. The bedroom is in disarray, all except a feminine figure laying in a bed like a prize waiting to be claimed. A goofy smile beams on his face as he gets in bed next to his lover who was shrouded in darkness.
“Another busy night, baby…but the crowd loved it…and it’s all thanks to you…”
There’s an uncomfortable silence between the two. The man puts his arms around his woman’s waist, bringing her into the light. She’s pale as snow, her eyes wide open, and a face of horror is on full display for his eyes only. Deep red marks surround her throat, a reminder of a moment that he’d rather forget. He closes her dead fish eyes, her dreadful, frozen image replaced with a more peaceful expression.
“I love you, baby. I just wanted to let you know,” He plants a kiss on her icy cheek, stroking it lovingly. “Good night, love.”
He wraps himself in the covers, finally embracing that good night’s sleep. A content smile rested on his face as the city lulls him to sleep with the sounds of fading sirens and dimming lights.