tabloid junkie (Michael Jackson)

January 21ˢᵗ ─ 10:07 ᵖᵐ

I sat awake in the hospital bed, I yawned. I was so tired, it felt like I haven't slept in decades. I put my book away, and turned over in the bed. But for some reason, I reached over and grabbed the remote.

I turned on the TV.

An unrecognizable news anchor popped up on the screen, I recognized the place they were filming from. Michael and I had walked down that street before. Gale Square.

I sat up straight in bed, the hair on my arms standing. The hospital gown was very thin, and I was freezing but I could care less.

"On this very street," the reporter began, and in the background I saw an ambulance truck, my heart quickened. "thirty-four year old Singer Michael Jackson was found beaten to a pulp, unconscious."

My heart skipped a beat, I jumped out of bed. Racing over to the pile of my clothes. I pulled on my jeans while staring at the screen, my stomach doing flip-flips.

On the screen there was a puddle of dark blood, Michael's blood.

I breathed a whimper. Pulling my tank over my head.

I was so scared.

If they were going to bring him to a hospital, it'd be this one. It's the closest hospital to Gale Square. And I'll be sure to see him.

There was a sound in the halls, shouting and noises. And I knew it was him, I raced out of my room when I saw two doctors wearing blue, male and female pushing the stretcher through the halls. Michael's eyes were closed and his face was swollen purple and there was a lot of blood.

He was wrapped in something white and there were black straps holding it in place. I could barely see through the metal bars but I saw enough to know he was beautiful, even in that state.