Garon's Revelation
An On-Line Novel By J. Burroughs
Chapter 0ne
The glare of the lights nearly blinded him as he
looked across the yelling, screaming crowd of fans. The sweat poured from his
face, burning his eyes and bitter to his taste.
These shows are becoming
more and more of a circus, he thought to himself as he glanced down at his
bright stage costume. The bright colors of the studded jewels on the white,
flared-leg jumpsuit clashed with the rest of the spinning, psychadelic world
around him.
The drugs had began to take over him. He could feel the
pleasant high overwhelming his body as his sea of fans urged him to begin his
performance. He didn't know for sure when it began, when he lost control of the
pills. No, I am in control, he thought to himself. I can stop when I want. I am
a man and nothing can control me.
Whether he was addicted to the pills
or not, the signs were certainly obvious that something was wrong with him. He
was bloated like a wet sponge and could barely fit into his custom-made costumes
that had become his trademark. His eyes were sunk into their swollen sockets and
his vision was often glazed, even on stage. But he was doing fine, he kept
telling himself. Besides, his fans still loved him, and that was all that really
mattered.
As the music started, he once again looked over the showroom
filled with his thousands of fans who had paid big bucks to see him sing
tonight. The opening music of the first verse progressed as he contuinued to
stare blankly over the adoring fans as if he was frozen in his stance on center
stage.
Finally, he half-walked, half-floated to the microphone stand. He
fumbled with the mic for a couple of seconds before nearly dropping it on the
stage floor. He smiled at the audience and chuckled to himself. Man, I'm so
nervous, he thought to himself. My hands are so sweaty; I can't even hold the
microphone.
As he finally got his composure, he looked over the crowd a
third time and began to belt out the lyrics to the song---but no sound came from
his mouth. A song he had sang in the prime beginningsof his professional career,
and he had forgotten the old song's words; tucked in the corner of his mind,
under the concealing hand of those little green pills that made him feel "so
good".
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"What happened out there?" an angered Donald Rodgers asked his singer
once the concert was over. Garon just looked down at the floor of his dressing
room backstage.
Donald Rodgers had been Garon's manager since the
beginning. Donald had been there fifteen years ago when Garon had been just a
struggling guitar from the south who had just happened to have a God-Given
talent and a great singing voice. Donald had recognized the potential in the
poor Tennessean country boy. Recognizing such talent promised near-definite
stardom for the hick with the swivel in his hips. But more importantly than
that, it promised a near-definite dollar into the pocket of whoever happened to
be the kid's manager.
"Well, answer me," Donald continued. Garon
sheepishly looked up from the floor and stared at a vacant spot away away from
the accusing stare of of his manager. "I was just really nervous tonight, I
guess," he muttered.
'Really nervous? Really nervous? Garon, I told you,
stay away from the drugs! Don't you understand what theyr'e doing to you? The
electric-filled Pop icon is what the people want, not a rotten log who stands in
one spot and forgets the lyrics to his own songs!"
Garon brought his
attention back to the invisible spot on the floor.
After a pause and
some silence, Donald looked back on his star, this time with a little less
harshness in his voice. "Pack your stuff, Garon. We'll jump back on the plane
and fly back to Tennessee. You get some rest. I'll just---I'll just cancel the
rest of the tour while you straighten up."
"Cancel the tour? I can't
cancel the tour! The fans need me! They need Garon, and that means they need
me!" Garon whined.
Donald interuptted. "Garon, please calm down. It's
only four nights. For nights at two shos a night, that's eight shows. They were
not all sell-outs, so we should do okay. I'll set up a promotion to cover up the
differences in our profits. We'll make it."
"Are you sure?" Garon asked,
still unconvinced. Donald put a comforting hand on Garon's shoulder. "Have I
ever did us wrong before?" he asked.
"Okay, I'll pack" said Garon.
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Garon had slept on the plane trip back to his Tennessee mansion, Molly
Plantation.
He named his estate for his mother after her funeral. He had
his mother the best funeral he could afford, and it was quite elaborate. After
the funeral, he had his mother's name put on a plaque and mounted on the outside
of the stone wall surrounding the mansion. From that day on, the entire estate
was know as Molly Plantation.
Oh, how Garon had missed his mother. He
had dreamed of his mother on the plane.He had dreamed that his mother had come
back to the Plantation to care for his young daughter, Grace, while Garon was
sick. The dream had terrified Garon very much. He was a very firm believer in
dreams and their meaning. He was still talking about the dream to William Price,
a close friend and confidante, on the ride home from the airport.
"It
was so strange, Willy,"said Garon. "Why would Mama need to take care of Gracie?
Is something bad going to happen to her? Is something bad going to happen to me?
I just don't understand it!"
"Listen, Garon," said William. "Don called
and told me what happened last night in Vegas."
"Yeah," said Garon. " I
don't know what got into me"
"I'll tell you what got into you! Those
pills! They're killing you!" said Willy.
"No,no,no. You don't
understand. Those are not the problem. Those are prescription." Garon defended
himself.
"No? Then what? What is the problem?" questioned Willy.
"I am just bored, I guess. I'm just tired." said Garon.
"Tired
of what? asked Willy. "You've got anything you could ever want. What's there to
be tired of?"
"Money isn't everything, Willy." said Garon. "To tell you
the truth, I'm just tired of the image. I'm tired of being Garon."
Finally, the long sleek Cadillac pulled up to the gates of Molly
Plantation. About a dozen fans waited outside the gate, waiting for their idol
to return. Some held signs reading "WE LOVE YOU GARON!" or "GARON, #1" and even
some saying "GARON,GET WELL SOON" from devoted fans who had heard of Garon's
tour cancellation due to "sickness" and "flu."
Garon gave a polite wave
and then motioned for the gate keeper to let the expensive chaueffered car
through. Usually, Garon would stop and speak to his fans and sometimes even sign
an autograph or two. But today, he just didn't feel like it. It wasn't the
drugs; he had had time to sober from them since his nap on the plane. It was
that dream, that horrible dream. He just couldn't get it free from his mind. The
dream would haunt his every thoughts for many times to come.
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CHAPTER TWO