𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐇𝐈𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲

Tabloid Junkie

The last remaining glimmer of hopeful joy drained from his face like the sinking sun on a dark and desolate day. Echoes of scandal spiralled around him like a haunting spectre. Those vicious words leapt from the page like venomous snakes coiling around his heart- squeezing tighter and tighter with every line he read. Slander pierced the innermost depths of his soul with its sharp fangs of unrelenting torture. His hands trembled profusely, turning the pages one after the other with quickening pace. He could scarcely breathe under the crushing weight of horrific scrutiny. An ever-increasing storm of whispered judgement pursued him relentlessly to the point where it had fast become his second shadow- glued upon his skin in a burning rash of raw blisters. His sharp breath accelerated, as each inhalation was an internal struggle against a rising tide of despair threatening to drown him in a dark and icy sea of suffocating speculation.

Everything came firing at him like a flurry of knives that punctured through his vulnerable skin with maliciously cruel intent. Invisible hands tightened around his throat- slowly choking and depleting him from every last drop of integrity. All hope was broken, dreams lay in the mud like shards of glass- and dignity had been ripped from him like a merciless pack of wolves had shredded the flesh from their squirming prey. The sheer pain of having those disgustingly repulsive words branded into him time-and-time again was more than he could bear to cope with- and it was only getting increasingly worse with every second of his existence on earth.

All he ever wanted was to help people and make the world a better place to live in. That's the only thing he ever wished for. His mellow heart was softer than the sweetest syrup- but now badly hurt and calloused from the damage inflicted upon it with such unjust brutality. These lies were circulating globally. Every second that ticked past meant a new tabloid had been sold- therefore another person intoxicated by these infectious falsehoods. It was a seemingly never-ending vicious cycle of torture.

A gentle stream of tears trickled down his face- each droplet a silent testament to his innermost pangs of pain. Each muffled sob was a quiet echo of his heart's distress- a deep fragility that filled the room with an overwhelmingly dense sorrow. His eyes, red and puffy, held a depth of sadness that reflected unspoken pain. The tremendous weight of negative emotion pressed down upon his chest as the tide of grief continued to engulf him whole.

Slander, with the words they use. They're parasites in black-and-white, who would do anything for news. That was the harsh reality of his life. Not a single crack of daylight could fill the void of pitch-darkness that had corrupted his peaceful pleasance. He could not go anywhere or do anything without the hounding of cameras invading every little movement he took. loud, shouting voices clamoured for attention with alarming aggravation, whilst he would hopelessly attempt to navigate through a tight space that barely existed within this gaggle of paparazzi. His expression flickered between a bright, forced smile- and fleeting anxiety. He was scared. Scared for his life. Intrusion and invasion drowned out his desperate pleas for peace and privacy into nothing but a meaningless luxury. Endless days of physical and mental pain, mixed with endless nights of crying until his heart bled out piece by piece- he simply couldn't take it anymore.

Something had to be done.