Just a bunch of imagines about the King, Elvis Presley. I have read another compilation of imagines and that inspired me to write one too. Thanks to @applehead7122009 for the inspiration. Let me know how you like it!
|| Elvis isn't famous. You are a famous actress, instead. Enjoy! ||
1965, Saudi Arabia.
You just earned a nomination at the Arabian Oscar Night for your performance in the movie Lawrence of Arabia, it was shot in 1962, but for some reason you got the award three years later, since the censorship had to see it. Your troupe has organized a tour in Saudi Arabia, so you must show yourself at the airport before it's too late. You wear your black coat and run out of your house, heading to the limousine that was waiting for you. You climb inside and take a deep breath, you're quite scared to go in Arabia, some of your friends went there and returned... But others never came back.
The car stops in front of the airport, where you get out of the limousine and follow your bodyguards through the entrance and then to the gates. You are starting to hate this fame life, because you always have to run here, rush there, take a picture up, do a show down... It upsets you. Sometimes you wish someone kidnapped you and made you disappear.
You suit yourself in the plane, getting ready to sleep since it's going to be a long trip. You sigh softly and look at the sky, then your sight becomes blurry as you fall asleep.
You land in Riyad, it's a bright sunny day over there. You squint your eyes because of the bright sunlight. You left America when it was night, so it's a bit confusing for you. You walk out of the plane, a lot of fans are standing around it, wanting you to sign autographs. You smile and do your lovely job, then walk to the main building with your bodyguards.
Once you are out of the Arabian airport, the bodyguards lead you to the big limousine that was prepared for you, imported from America, you suppose. You climb inside and let the driver lead the way. You stop at the town's square, you see some people gathered around some dancing girls. "Please, can you stop for a moment? I'm curious." You ask the driver. He nods and stops the car, letting you get out. The bodyguards follow you, making you turn around. "Can I go alone? I want to be free for a moment." You glare at them; they raise their hands and crawl back into the car.
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You make your way to the middle of the square, gently pushing through the mass of people to see what everybody is looking at. You notice three dancing girls who are playing tambourines: one dressed in blue, one in green and one in yellow. Then, on the right, there's a man playing a percussion instrument. In the middle of it: you see him. A man, must be an Arab in his 30s, is playing a tambourine while moving along to the rhythm of the song he's singing. His skin is a bit tanned, while his hair color is the darkest black you've ever seen; his body seems well built. He is wearing a typical designed shirt, an orange sash, green harem pants and a pair of brown boots. He looks as if he is the richest among all these people. You stare at him for a while, he notices you're looking at him so he dances over to you, winking at you. You blush and put some coins in his tambourine, since he is shaking it upside down to let people give some tip.
