tabloid junkie (Michael Jackson)

February 8ᵗʰ ─ 4:43 ᵖᵐ

"Michael." Said Diana as if she was guilty, her eyes dropping to the carpet and her face a mask of shame. "I didn't know you were here."

Ah, the irony. Michael thought. "I could say the same about you." He gazed at her deeply, in her intense brown eyes. This was doubtlessly the last time he'd ever see her again, the final moment he'd have in life itself.

"Shut up." Came the girl--Gloria's voice. "Turn around."

Michael obediently twisted to face the woman, only to find someone oddly familiar staring back at him. The eyes, the hair.

"She's my sister," Diana comfirmed his thoughts from behind. "Mask sent her here to kill you." She finished.

"I got that much, thank you." Michael said.

Slowly Gloria raised the gun to rest on his forehead. He responded by the cold metal with a shiver.

Behind him, Diana's breathing had become louder, quicker, faster as if she was running out of breath.

"Annie..." He whispered, letting out a cool breath. Hopefully catching her attention. Then he heard her exhale calmly.

Michael grinned in triumph, the smiled did fade when he remembered the gun was still pressed to his head.

"I'm sorry." Gloria said, squeezing her eyes shut.

He breathed in with fear, preparing for his demise.

The door busted open--the gun snatched away from his forehead and aimed in the direction of the intruder--Marcus burst inside.

The gun went off one, two, three times and Marcus was on the floor, three bullet holes staining his jacket.

A screech sliced through the air, and Diana sprang onto Gloria's back, her hands closing over Gloria's on the gun. They both fought for the weapon, one second it was in Diana's grip, the next it was in Gloria's.

And then it went off.

The two siblings leapt apart, Diana landed on the floor and Gloria beside her. But it didn't look like any of them were wounded.

Diana's eyes enlarged, like she'd just seen a ghost, but it wasn't the fear in her eyes that caused him to gaze back, it was the beauty in them.

He'd never seen such eyes that could provoke an emotion from him, and right now it induced the feeling of fondness, and devotion.

Bam!

It hit him like a speeding train, rocking him unsteadily on his heels. Michael's hands grasped at the red-hot pain in his gut, it felt like he'd been stabbed with a lazer. Warm blood trickled into his hands, slicking his fingers like syrup.

Michael crashed down, his knees had buckled and they burned now that they made contact with the wooden planks of Janet's bedroom floor.

He didn't know how, when or why but Janet appeared in front of him, her eyes clouded with tears. "Michael," he heard her say. "Michael."

He was too weak, and she was too late. Michael crashed down on the ground, blood pooling beneath him. The light going out like a dying flame.