Unscripted

The breakdown

The crowd pulsed as one, bodies pressed together, swaying and shifting like waves under flashing lights, all chanting together in unison.

- "ELARA RAY! ELARA RAY! ELARA RAY!"

They were all chanting the singer's pop star name, Elara RAY. Her real name was Eleanor Stallor, but few knew it as she had lived under the pop star persona since the young age of fifteen. She was twenty-five now, at the height of her career. She stood on stage, the blinding lights turned on her, feeling small under this ocean of praise, yet still feeling bigger than anything as she was in her element.

The air was thick, every eye on her with full expectation, the tingling feeling of pressure tackling her heart. But as she took another breath, she remembered that all she had to do was sing.

The show had begun. She sang all those typical pop love songs that everyone had heard before, but her voice could convey emotions in such a way that everyone who heard it was affected.

Everything was going well. Fans threw their hands into the air, screaming lyrics back at the stage, their faces alight with passion, lost in a shared dream of music and movement. Neon lights flashed overhead, casting bright splashes of red and blue over the crowd, turning every face into a kaleidoscope of color and shadow.

But she still craved something real, something with substance... something that could make her feel seen...

Singing the songs that her manager or mother had chosen, no one noticed the insincerity of her words, only she did. Is this why she sings?

To be just a performer?

Why did she begin singing in the first place?

This thought hit her, and she stopped on her tracks. Silence suddenly reigned. The crowd was confused by her sudden pause.

Her manager, bewildered by this, was shaken, since Eleanor has never made a decision on her own.

- "What does she think she's doing!?"

He muttered under his breath, trying to regulate his anger. He wanted to stop the show right then, but then he suddenly heard Eleanor’s voice again. This wasn’t one of the songs they had agreed upon; it was one she wrote herself.

Eleanor closed her eyes, letting the music wash over her. In this moment, nothing else existed—the worries, the doubts, the endless, aching questions of why.

Here, in the glow of the music and the crowd, she was free, even if just for a song’s length.

She sang, her voice broke the throbbing silence, each note trembling in her throat as if it were trying to escape from a place buried deep inside her.

Now, she truly had everyone's attention, all on her and her words.

No matter what, she wanted to be part of something vast, something untouchable and real, something that she had chosen for herself, no one else—only her.

Don't you worry
Just for tonight
Enjoy the glory
Of reaching the light

I think that is just nice,
But it cut my heart in slices.
I felt the "but" you said that night,
About how you weren't feeling the delight.