The Parasite | Eminem

37

A.N. I actually quite enjoy myself some ICP lol

Back in his orange jumper and white cap, Marshall gets on stage for his final night.
Proof patrolling the stage behind him, mic in hand, he's got a huge mischievous grin plastered on his face.

"I wanna talk to y'all one more time before I leave here tonight." Marshall addresses the crowd, mic right up against his lips as he paces the stage.
"This is a more serious issue though" he warns, not deterring the crowds rampant screams and incessant cheers.

Peering out at the crowd from back stage, I take one last mental picture of this phase of my life.
This period of time that's already disappeared behind me as quick as anything else.
Life is a series of closing doors, isn't it?

"This is some serious shit- remember last time I was talkin' bout it- well this is really serious shit" he rambles on, voice in the lower range as a he continues to pace.
I'm not sure what he intends to do, but I already know it's going to abhorrent and ridiculous.

"I know that... that chu guys may have heard or read in the paper or seen on the news or whatever. That I been- That I been havin' beef with this group called the Insane Clown Pussies" He continues on, enlightening me instantly.

Oh shit, these guys again... how lovely.
When we performed in Detroit, Marshall got in a huge fight with them after the show, pulling an unloaded gun out at one of their associates.
In my opinion, it wasn't worth noting cause it was- well- a bunch of pussy bullshit.
Like- he's gonna go to court regardless for it, at least load the gun.

The only problem I have with Marshall, is that he can't for the life of him control himself from creating a big display of theatrics.
It's got to be why the media hates him so much.
He just goes around doing whatever and then later complains about the consequences.
But, you know, given who I am, it's not really something for me to criticize.
There are obnoxious people and then there are the silent killers.

I plug my ears momentarily as the crowd roars in excitement.
They're getting something that the other cities didn't.
Nice, delicious drama.

"But what I'm here to tell you tonight was that shit is not true... as a matter of fact, we got ICP here tonight" once these words leave Marshall's lips, the screaming gets unbearably louder.
Hearing everything through my muffled lense, thumbs pressing into my ears, I get a grin from Ice Cube, standing across from me with his arms crossed over his chest.
He's in on it for sure.
"Where's ICP? Bring 'em out" Marshall commands, leaving my confused as I watch a stage hand rush past me with two blow-up dolls.
Oh you've got to be kidding me.
Marshall grabs one of them while Proof snatches the other, both heading to opposite sides of the stage with them.
"Ooohhh" Proof hollers, holding his in the air.

"We got the Insane Clown Pussies here tonight" Marshall announces, holding the- I guess sex blow-up doll- with faces painted with ICP's signature makeup looks- you know, the clown shit.
"For the very first time ever, making their debut in a stadium this big" Marshall continues to rub dirt into the situation, making me wish I could disappear from this moment.
This is just pathetic.

"And what I'm here to tell you tonight was to..." Marshall drawls on.
Proof clears his throat loudly.
"Is that- it's all good between me and the Insane Clown Pussies" after he says this, he lowers the blow-up doll's head down to his crotch, making thrusting gestures.
Proof replicates the behavior, and I decide that I don't have any desire to watch anymore.
I've seen it enough times and the childish behavior is getting on my nerves too much.
What frustrates me most isn't Marshall, it's who I am in contrast to him.

"Fucking faggots" I hear him grunt, quiet as I run through the hallway.
The instrumental for 'The Real Slim Shady' ensues, but it slowly fades out as I get closer to the exit.

I truly am crumbling into a complete mess.
I feel my ego pouring in through my conscious, having been long gone until this moment.
I don't understand why I can't cut it out.
"Marlow, where are you going?" I hear a familiar voice asking from behind me as I storm towards the glowing red sign that is my salvation for this moment.
It's my dad.
My dad who's been essentially nonexistent through this tour, off dealing with all the legal trouble Marshall has been getting himself into.

"I'm going for a smoke." I grumble, not desiring to look back at him.
I don't intend to see him again anyways.
Leaving my heart at the door before I open it, slamming it behind me as I make the exit.
I let out an agitated exhale, feeling for once in my life a pained realization that echos throughout my mind.
No longer what people can see with their eyes, I am no longer the true representation of surface level evil.
I contain secrets no one else knows of, and for that, there's a part of me that's hidden.

I am not what I present as.
This ruins everything in this moment.
I have again found myself in an identify fueled panic.
Finger's dialing up the memorized number, I don't fully recognize I'm doing it until it's already ringing.
My breath comes through quietly, phone pressed to my ear.
There are no words coming out of my lips.
"Are you ok?" I hear Leah's voice come through, "Marlow?"

"I'm going to do something horrible." I admit, knowing that regardless of me telling her, no one will know what it is I've done, except for the victim.

"What- what are you talking about?" She asks in pure confusion, not yet sounding concerned.
It happens when you're desensitized to my behavior.

"I'm not going to tell you. I just don't know if I'm going to come back to Detroit or not." I tell her, feeling completely and utterly dull as I slide a cigarette in between my lips.
One last joy before my night of delusion.

"Marlow, you're scaring me." She mumbles, now filling her words a with fear.
Maybe there's an attempt to gain some sympathy, but it's ultimately lost on me.

"That's fine... I just wanted one last person to know... because you're the only one who really know me... what I've done." I sigh, striking the lighter and setting fire to the tip of the cigarette.
I need to find meth, somewhere.
It's my final endgame.
I need to do it right.

I hang up, listening to her protest before there's eventual silence.
I think this is where I realize I'm going mad, that or completely nihilistic.

Searching my contacts for Marshall, I call his phone, knowing that he can't pick up at the moment.
After a few rings, it goes to voicemail and I wait to leave my message at the tone.
"Hey... I love you, I want you to know that... but you might not see me... again..." I speak in a flat voice, holding the burning cigarette in between my fingers, watching it eat itself up.
"I think- I think I'm loosing it- and I still have that stupid moralistic voice in the back of my head that tells me I've got to do what's necessary" I chuckle lightly before letting out a long sigh.
What's necessary is for my final breath to exhaust.
If I can play God with others I deem unworthy, I can absolutely decide for myself.
"Anyways, I won't drawl on for too long... But, if chance is on my side, I'll come back to you." Telling him deeply concerning information in a casual manner, it only solidifies my disconnect with the current reality.

"Don't try looking for me. I don't even know where I'm going yet."
I'm off to put myself in check, and I'll leave the last move to whoever holds the gun.