Published by K.M.Lynch in the blog K.M.Lynch's blog. Views: 68

Hey everyone, sorry about being late this last week! Here is my newest short and as always please comment!

“Presence is the key to the fame game, that and ambition. Either you entertain them or they will forget you. You are the performing monkey and like that monkey, the game is what you live and die by. If you can’t except that, then leave now because I have no use for the weak.”

He paced in front of the line of new students. They were all sweating profusely and trying not to pant loudly enough to be singled out. Greasy hair stuck to their necks and faces and dampened spandex chafed and clung. Their legs trembled, their arms shook and their feet ached; yet not one of them complained. They were in the presence of their maker.

Christian Todd was the man who created stars. He took average performers and moulded them into legends. For the self-professed wannabes standing before him, simply being in his presence was an honour. He moved in the highest circles of the celebrity world and anyone with talent desperately sought him out. His advice was worth its weight in gold and he knew it.

“If at the end of a performance your entire body isn’t aching then you don’t belong up on that stage. It has to hurt every time. There is no getting used to it. There is no time when you will have reached perfection. We as performers strive for perfection, but it is not attainable. In this industry you are always fighting for more, for better, for greater. This business is an incline; either you are ascending or descending, but you are never resting. We live for drama and that means we are never allowed to be content. We have big ups and deep downs, wild fits of rage and passion; we are forever rash, forever raw. After every show you should be drained emotionally and physically. If not then you have failed. That being said, everyone here is a failure.”

A despairing sigh went up from the group. Shoulders drooped and heads dropped all down the line. They knew what was coming. Sometimes he phrased it differently, again, continue, don’t stop, but it always amounted to the same thing: more.

The music started again and the performers started all over. This time the dance was faster-paced. Their moves were sharper. Their voices were bigger. They did as their creator asked: they strove to be better. Finally, their set ended and without a word, the students lined up once more. Bright red faces turned to him with eyes full of both hope and fear. Silently they pled for adulation.

He had sat off to the side and watched them. His face was that of a poker player, expressionless. Slowly he rose, unwinding his long limbs from the stiff-backed chair. He clasped his hands behind his back, fingers entwined with one another. He stood before them once again. And with one word, he honoured their efforts.


Smiles broke over every face. Shoulders drew back and chins rose and all together the students breathed in much needed oxygen. Some turned and congratulated their neighbours, heaping praise upon each other.

“Now before your heads swell any further… Do it again. And this time, do it better. ”
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