𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐇𝐈𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲

Stranger in Moscow

Michael sat in his dark hotel room in Russia's capital, listening to the soft melody of rain pitter-pattering against the cold window surface. The room was lit only by the soft golden glow of a flickering candle in front of him. Eyes brimmed with tears, as a single teardrop rolled solemnly down his cheek and dropped down upon the crumpled paper he was writing with. Slowly pushing the paper aside, he buried his face in his hands. It was too much. He simply felt overcome with a grief-stricken wave of sadness. It was a continuous, lingering melancholy that clung to him like a malignant tumour. These past few months had been the most horrendous torture for him. He felt utterly broken- as though he had been shattered into a million pieces. He slowly lay down for several minutes- in order to concisely gather his feelings before continuing on his lyric composition. He wanted to create something autobiographical- something that he could transform into a powerful story as a means of connecting with his fans. His beloved fans. They had always shown the upmost support, even through the darkest, most depressing times- and this time in particular was no exception. Even if the whole universe was against him, he knew that they'd be there- even if they themselves had to take several knives to the back whilst shielding him from the army set out to ruthlessly assassinate him. For that, he owed them everything. Michael sighed as he glanced over at the discarded pile of papers littering the corner of the room. He couldn't think clearly, his emotions were a jumbled mess of thoughts and feelings that he didn't know what do do with. Glancing outside the window again, the rain had now cast a light glaze through the misty city. It looked depressing- quiet and lonely. He left the hotel, and set out for a gentle stroll along the streets. 

At very heart of a dimly-lit Moscow, the air was thick with a haunting silence- broken only by the echo of footsteps walking along the cobblestone streets. He felt like a ghost, drifting silently through the bustling life around him, utterly invisible. His figure moved slowly through the dark, murky twilight- looking small and vulnerable within the vastness of the cityscape. He was cloaked in a long, black trench-coat that billowed slightly with every step he took with his laced walking boots. A solitary traveller in a city that felt both familiar and comforting- yet alien. The chill of the quiet breeze wrapped around him, seeping through his skin and into his bones. The soft glow from the bright cloud-shrouded moon illuminated his path, as he wandered deeper and deeper into the labyrinth of the city. Slowly he walked, onwards and onwards whilst silver droplets draped over his hair like a mesh curtain. "I was wandering in the rain..."  He sang softly under his breath. "Sunny days seem far away..." Words now flowed from the tip of his tongue like silk. He was simply singing anything that came to mind at that very moment. 

As he walked, memories came flooding into his mind. The echoes of admiration and support from friends long gone... now merely a hazy memory lost amongst the mist. It was as though all warmth had been bled out from his body by the cold reality of betrayal's sharpest spear. The city around him was alive and thriving with bright lights and cheerful sounds- but he was unable to see any of it. It felt like a distant dream- a world in which he could no longer be a part of. Everything seemed dull and depleted of vibrancy. The rain- now having escalated into a relentless downpour- soaked him to the very skin. He stopped in his tracks, and with a sudden burst of energy- took a deep breath, and flicked his head backwards- sending the wet strands flying into a dramatic arc of broken onyx. Rain droplets scattered like tiny diamonds- glistening under the moonlight for a fleeting moment before merging back into the flooded road. As sleek-raven locks settled back against his shoulders, he looked upwards- allowing the rain to beat his face with its almighty fury. The movement was invigorating- a momentary escape from the dreary world around him. With outstretched arms, he yelled loudly into the frosted night air, while a mixture of tears and water streamed down his face in a contrasting blend of misery and nature's fury.

He sat back down in his chair. His now-drenched coat stuck to his skin and was making him shiver- but he didn't care to remove it. What was the point. So many authentically raw lyrics had sprung to mind- all he wanted was to write until his hands hurt. He felt cold and empty, although... at the back of his mind, he faintly heard the distant commotion of a large gathering outside- unmistakable cheers and chants that gradually grew louder and more fervent with every second that slowly ticked past. He recognised this sound well. He knew exactly what was waiting for him outside. He promptly moved his writing aside, and rushed over to the window- because nothing could ever take priority over this special moment. Michael flashed a beaming smile as he swung the curtains wide open. Below the hotel, a sea of fans had formed a gathering- holding banners, home-made signs, and applauding him excitedly. "We love you, Michael!"  His heart filled with joy. This happens every single time he stays in abroad- but every time feels like the first. He felt so much love and appreciation for every single one of those faces scattered in the vast crowd below. The depressing, grey mist had cleared- and a colourful hue of newly-found vibrancy seemed to chase away the heavy darkness that had loomed over him ominously. Michael's eyes sparkled up with life for the first time in over a year, as he chuckled softly. "I love you more!!" He shouted in exasperation, before quickly sprinting back into the room to grab a pen. He pulled a silk case from one of the unsuspecting pillows, and inscribed onto it the words: "I love you so so much, thank you for believing in me and loving me. I will always love you more, forever. Kiss kiss kiss- Michael Jackson." And with a flourish of his fancy signature, Michael sprinted back up to the window, and threw the pillowcase from the grand height of the topmost floor. The crowd became wilder than ever, as they scrabbled franticly to get their hands on the precious gift. "No, we love you more!" The fans chanted in unison- gushing with admiration for their incredibly strong-willed idol. Michael leaned thurther outside the window, and closed the loop by announcing: "I love you most!" And it was true. Nobody else could ever understand the mutual connection and feelings between this idol and his fans. It was an unbreakable bond that could survive even the toughest tribulations. He knew it, they knew it, and that's all that mattered.

He finally understood in that moment, everything was going to be okay with them by his side.