𝘓𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯.
• • •
Amidst the 1993 allegations, King of Pop Michael Jackson grew weary upon the media's fabricatio...
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Sweat drips down from his forehead and neck, leaving make-up stains streaking down to his chest. The night ended with yet another roaring of the crowd, screaming his name to come back into the spotlight. His energy was so unmatchable that he stole many of them from the crowd, resulting in thousands of faints a night.
After another fantastical show, he congratulated everyone involved including his precious band and dancers, who performed alongside him and made the show successful.
He then rushed backstage, patting himself dry as he was escorted by Karen, his make-up artist, and Bill, the head of his security team. They made a quick stop in the wardrobe section to change into comfortable and clean clothes and then hurried out where his ride was waiting.
Still feeling elated and full of adrenaline, he lively jogs towards the back together with his escorts, feeling refreshed for another job well done. Not long after, when the gates had opened, flashes of lights and flickers of the cameras were the painted scene.
The lights didn't bother him before as he was used to the feeling of being followed and photographed. However, when the first flash of that camera light blinded Michael, his anxiousness started to set in.
He knew these would all be followed by horrible questions pertaining to the allegations, and his chest began to beat faster than the pump of his adrenaline.
"Bill, get me out of here, please," Michael pleaded, hiding behind the defensive Bill as he instructed the rest of the escort to barricade around him.
"I got you, Joker. Don't worry," the comforting nickname somehow made him safer than his human barricade.
They rushed towards the car door as the guards tried their hardest to block the vicious and vile media people. Although they struggled quite a bit at opening the door, Michael had had enough of the noise and opened it himself, slipping inside and hiding his face with both of his sweaty hands.
The car swiftly made its way out of the messy and unforgivable crowd, and they hit the streets in no more than two minutes.
"I'm sorry for that, Mike. I should've secured the area before you go there," Bill expressed his shame, but Michael is smart enough to understand that it's not his fault.
"Don't stress about it, Bill. This would've—" his voice cracked as the tears started to come up to his throat. "—would've happened one way or another," he finished his sentence and faked a smile.
"Can we please hurry? I want to rest," he relayed his message to his driver, who then stepped on the gas pedal and passed other vehicles with incredible speed. He leaned his head on the headrest and closed his eyes, deeply exhaling all the anxiousness he was still feeling.
When he opened his eyes, the rain came out of nowhere, practically blinding all visibility. When he was about to ask Bill something, he noticed that he was alone in the car, and no one was there but him.
