Innocence

She was a terrible artist. She drew lines and often smeared paint over them. They sold for thousands of dollars which she claimed were raised for her favorite charity: "The Center for Depression Research." She often appeared at functions saying she'd donated over twelve million and raised over four million dollars for this charity. She'd written two of her own speeches and somehow referenced the bible in them. Her agent told her this was a legitimate charity but created a website that took funds into his own personal bank account. It was a great fraud and she didn't know it.

She was working on her next album–sixth–not counting The Best of CD which sold with two remixes and four songs originally cut from her previous albums. Amazon reviewers would say how terrible the unreleased material was and that they knew these songs should stay "unreleased."

She failed her GED exam three times but the fourth time she passed (getting secret texts on her specially designed watch). She rarely wrote her songs and if she did, in the studio–her songwriters and other artists often edited and reworded her lyrics so much–her name really didn't deserve to be in the writing credits (but they listed her anyway).

She smoked a pack a day mostly because she was bored and she didn't like filming her music videos. Amazon reviewers would comment how obvious it was that her voice had changed in the last few years and how she couldn't vocalize anymore. She wasn't allowed to visit those real music reviewer sites like Rolling Stone, they'd been blocked from her computer and phone. She feared that the real critics stated crueler things.

She took three hours of dancing a day for seventeen years since she was three and completed four world tours. On her fifth world tour, she ripped cartilage in her right arm which resulted in her dancing appearing robotic and dull because one arm could not adequately match her leg movements without tremendous pain. She insisted on continuing her dance routines while taking prescription pain killers that contained opiates–she passed out on stage after the second song.

In the hospital she prayed to God her arm would not hurt after her surgery, but the surgeon cut excessively, she bled out and was pronounced dead for three minutes.

She was found to be pregnant four months later. She quit smoking. She cancelled her tour that was going to promote her sixth album she had finally finished. The singer didn't step outside of her mansion until her pregnancy was revealed eight weeks to her due date. People bet on her baby's sex and a conspiracy rumor spread about an inside nurse who was going to steal her baby's DNA and reveal who the father was. Two relationships overlapped, at least in the "public eye"–but in reality it wasn't reported on time.

She delivered early, her boyfriend of eleven months by her side, only to see a stillborn girl.

"Fuck!" She cried, "I always wanted a girl." Those were the last words anyone heard her say.

She hadn't spoken, written, or thought a single word since that day. Her stepmother took her to a psychiatrist who prescribed fifty milligrams of antidepressants. She was then referred over to another behavioral health agency where a different psychiatrist took her case.

Meanwhile, her record company released the sixth album she'd recorded before she'd found out about her pregnancy. Her first feeling was that it was her first number one seller because they pitied her. She talked about it to her psychiatrist who turned out to be selling her confessions for one million dollars and disappeared. Upon investigation, his licenses and identity were falsified.

At twenty three, she'd began taking her weekly vocal lessons again, but the seven months of not speaking only put her voice back to "decent"–not nearly "good enough" to hit any notes long enough. She'd forgotten words to many of her top hits and now had a raspy sound. Her "hot breathing" and "yay-yay" vocalizations were not able to be produced by her anymore.