Ghost Bird | ✔

Twenty-Four

"... But if Mother caught me giving them to Wil, she'd kill us both, of course." I finish.

Cleopatra's dark eyes are on me more than the road, an action that scares me.

"So what you're saying is you gave some of your songs to Wil who must've posted them?"

"Yes!" I exclaim, exasperated with the whole situation.

"You mean there are songs that aren't posted yet?"

"Yes?" I answer hesitantly, unsure where she is going with this.

"So you'll sing all the others for me?"

"Yes?" I answer before realizing what I am saying.

Cleopatra cheers and I backtrack, "Wait, I mean... What?"

"No take backs!" She yells, swerving slightly as she shouts. "You promised!"

"O-Okay," I stammer. "You mean you actually like my songs?"

"Please," She snorts. "Everybody likes your songs."

Stunned, I lean back against the leather seat. People actually like my work? I mean, Wil always said he did, but I always assumed that he was just trying to be nice. Now, though, I am confused. Why would he go behind my back like this? What were his intentions?

"So... Did "Ghost Bird" ever make money, Cleopatra?" I ask.

Swerving across three lanes and back, Cleopatra exclaims, "Don't call me that! Call me Cleo! And no, Ghost Bird—or you or whatever—never made any money, sorry."

So if it wasn't for money or fame, why did Wil post my songs? What was he trying to gain?

"Ahh... Here we are," Cleopatra announces, pulling into a parking spot and shutting off the loud engine. "The best clothing store in the world, if you ignore the owner."

A huge building looms in front of us, it's unique look causing it to stand out from the other stores surrounding it. Vines grow up the side of the modern gray building and huge windows allow you to see the people bustling around on the inside. A giant sign proclaims that the store is called "Jade's Emporium."

Nervously, I step out of the loud car. There are certainly a lot of people here. They hurry to and fro, carrying all sorts of stuff, talking loudly, and doing other things that I presume are normal but am not used to.

"Chill, Sang," Cleopatra orders. "It's just a store. Let's go!"

Reluctantly, I follow Cleopatra silently into the loud store. Blasting out of the speakers is another one of my songs.

"I am a hollow thing,

Made of nothing.

There is nothing in me,

No heart, no gut, no kidney.

Nothing at all. I am empty,

Yet the tears pour out of me.

Blushing, I duck my head even though no one knows that it is my song.

There is nothing here,

Nothing but these tears.

No one is here to wipe them away,

So here the tears will stay.

I am the only one in the room,