Cigarette Burns

The fire alarm blared with the unceasing consistency of his various girlfriends, with the EEEK. EEEK. EEEK. that rang from their Botox-modified mouths as they found him unconscious in his bed, with a bottle of pills beside him and nothing to his name except the laughter he had brought to the screaming crowds 365 days a year. He looked up and saw the water begin to fall as if sent from God to the people in the crowded San Diego theatre.

He grinned, a laugh sneaking its way through the lines between his perfect white teeth, so perfectly natural even after years of drug abuse.

"And now," he asked the audience before him, "what are we supposed to do? We gonna sit here and burn like a gas station cigarette? Karma's a bastard, man, 'cause as SOON AS I PICK UP this supermodel whore I've been dating the past couple days, my performance ignites. You know the guys back in the lighting booth are already gone," he continued, listening as the audience began to crack like eggshells before him, "the sound guys, the camera guys, they're already gone. They're catching little shots of my ass as I walk around the camera, making me look like I'm a softcore porn star instead of the stand-up comedian I am."

The sprinklers stopped suddenly, and he grinned. "Some brave little crewman just ran back in through the flames and turned off the sprinklers. Out of ALL THE GUYS I could have had laid off in this crap economy, one of the ONLY GUYS I KEEP ends up being the death of me. Thanks a lot, Obama!"

He bowed. "That's all for me tonight, folks, goodnight. I love you all," he said, turning away from the cameras and walking behind the stage, letting the applause of the audience push him forward like a rogue wave.

As Christian Leto walked behind the Iron Curtain that blocked off the Commies working for him backstage, he was met with grins and cheers from his entire crew. Spinning a prescription bottle handed to him by an aide, he grinned and bowed. "I love you all! You guys made this show possible!" He opened the bottle and popped a pill. Adderall, he thought, letting the information of the drug run through his head. ADHD medication, great downer, helps concentrate, and one ingredient away from crystal meth.

He approved.

A particularly curvy brunette bumped into him, and Christian grinned. "Allo, love," he said, looking her up and down and then up again. She smiled. "There's a Jack Gunn in your dressing room. He says he knows you from back home."

Jack Gunn? Back home? Oh, crap.

Walking slowly to his dressing room, he peeked through the glass. Age had not been kind to the soul sitting on the sofa before him. When he had known Jack Gunn, he was a handsome, well-dressed, intelligent man who was forty but looked to be about thirty-two. The man before him was wrinkled, dotted with liver spots, and his jet-black hair was largely gone, replaced by grey.

He opened the door softly, and neither spoke for a long while.

"You look like crap, old man," said Christian softly, his voice trembling slightly. The old man turned to him and grinned.

"I wish I could say the same for you, Christian," said the old man wheezily. "You look even better than you did five years ago. How old are you now?"

It's been five years?

"Twenty-three," said Christian. The old man smiled, revealing yellowed teeth.

"You still look nineteen. You had work done."

"I'm still all natural."

There was silence, broken only by the occasional vibrating of Christian's Droid X in his pocket.

"It's good to see you, Gunn. How is everybody?"

Jack Gunn sighed.

"You should sit down."

Six years ago...

"Incomiiiiiing!"

Christian ducked the flying mass of flesh coming at him, laughing as the hulking beast of a high schooler crushed the large desk to the side of the room.

"Gunn is gonna hang our asses from his door."

Christian felt a small figure jump onto his back.

"You WORRY too much, Christian! He can't cut off ALL our asses."

Suddenly, a girl walked into the room. She was average height, with black hair, skinny jeans, Emerica lo-tops, and striking eyes which had a distinctly Asian quality about them.

Christian grinned and walked towards her.

"Hi. I'm Christian. You new here?"

Present day...

"What happened?"

Jack Gunn sighed and ran his hands through his graying hair.

"Everyone loved you, Christian. Everyone. You were the town's golden boy, a ray of light in everything screwed up with the small, enclosed world around us which he wrapped ourselves in. Then, graduation night..."

Enough.

"What happened, Gunn?"

Gunn sighed.

"Adam is dead, Christian."

It was as though the oxygen in Christian's lungs decided to cut and run, leaving him breathless and small, making him feel like a small piece of emptiness in a larger tapestry of emptiness around him.

Not Adam...

Six years ago...

The girl smiled brightly, somehow casting an even more exquisite beauty across her face in the sharp lighting of the classroom.

"Ashley Novak. I'm new here."

"Really?" Christian asked through a grin. "Would you mind if I gave you the grand tour?"

"Ohoooooooo! Looks like the Dreamseller's got some more wares to peddle, gents!" shouted Adam Smith, the Capitalist, behind him. Adam was Christian's best friend. He was tall, darkly tan, and extremely handsome, with copper colored hair that seemed to fall naturally in a slanted position across his eyes, giving him almost an elf-like disposition. He received his nickname when the class had learned of Adam Smith, the famous merchant. He was known for both his wallet that always seemed to be brimming with cash, just like that of the historical Adam Smith. He was also known as the Capitalist for his ability to play off a girl's emotions just to bring her back to his place for the night.

Ashley giggled and grabbed onto Christian's arm.

"Dreamseller?" she said, watching as Christian's face lost the battle not to grin.

"It's a joke," he said with a snicker, 'cause I generally turn down the girls who ask me out."

Her eyes slanted, taunting him with her questions.

"Generally?"

Christian grinned, tossing his dark tresses across his face.

"I guess I could make an exception," he said.

Present day...

"Car accident," Gunn continued. "Adam was drunk, and the crazy bastard never saw it-"

"Shut up, Gunn," said Christian, tears coming to his face. "You have no right..."

"And you do, Christian?" said the old man dangerously. "You ran from your past and didn't stop until your feet failed you. Adam, Tyler, and the others always assumed you had been killed by one of your father's friends. And Ashley..."

Christian's eyes looked on Gunn dangerously.

"Why are you here, Jack?" asked Christian, looking his old teacher directly in the face.

The old man sighed and withdrew a manila envelope, handing it to Christian with a shaky hand.

Arthritis, noted Christian as he stared at the old man's knuckles. This poor bastard took a bath in the sands of time. Have I REALLY done this?

"What's this?" asked Christian, staring at the envelope, not sure whether to open it.

"Adam's will," said Jack Gunn. "You're in it."

-Spawn