The Maid In Neverland || Michael Jackson

Chapter 16

I've always wondered what it feels like to be in a zombie apocalypse movie, where tons of zombies run after you as you run for your own life, trying hard to survive. Today, I finally experienced the feeling of every protagonist in a zombie movie running like there's no tomorrow, only it weren't zombies who were chasing us--it was instead thousands of Michael Jackson fans.

We ran around the crowded street of Santa Maria like it was the end of our lives. My legs were already shaking and numb but Michael Jackson kept running, holding the apron over his head to cover his face. I was surprised seeing how fast he runs--he's literally like an olympic runner--and my legs couldn't keep up with his pace but he still held my hand, dragging me along with him. It took us almost two hours before we finally lost the chasing screaming fans. I was like a wilted vegetable when we stopped and hid behind a huge garbage container in a silent and deserted alley. We were both sweating and panting like we were running out of oxygen.

I closed my eyes as I lean to the wall. I felt like collapsing. It was no doubt the most tiring day of my life.

"Have we. . lost them?" he asked, panting in every word.

"Y-yeah, I hope so," I answered.

I turned my head to him when I heard him chuckle. He was looking at me with this little smirk on his lips.

"What?" I asked, panting.

"Your hair is everywhere." He pointed it using his lips, removing the apron from his head. "You look like a lion."

I immediately fixed it using my free hand. It was soaked in sweat and some of the strands even sticked in my sweaty neck.

I smiled and looked at him. "Yours as well."

Some of his sweaty curls was now covering his face so he put them behind his ears. He smiled back at me and leaned his head against the wall, still catching his breath.

Both of us sat there on the dirty pavement, resting our exhausted legs. We were behind the trash but we didn't care, we were too tired to move ourselves. We sat there for almost thirty minutes, doing nothing but regaining our energies. We were too tired to even talk. When I was finally able to breath properly, I peeked to the street outside to make sure that the fans are really gone. I sighed in relief when I saw that the street was clear.

That was when I realized that our hands were still intertwined together so I immediately pulled it, standing up. His gaze followed me and he stood up as well, shaking off the dirt that had clung to his pants.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

I nodded. "My legs hurt but I'm fine. You?"

"Same," he said. He took a deep breath and draped the apron over his left shoulder. He chuckled, shaking his head. "That was crazy."

Crazy indeed. Maybe even beyond crazy. So this was what it's like to be the most famous man in the world. Imagine, you cannot go out in public without disguising yourself and if you got recognized, people will chase you like zombies that would do anything just to get your autograph.

And now that I remembered the reason why we ended up being chased by his fans, I looked at him with serious eyes. "You're crazy," I said. "You shouldn't have taken off your disguise in the first place."

"But you refused to talk to me."

"And you risked your own safety just because of that?" I stared at him, my eyes wide. "What if something happened to you? What if you got hurt? Do you think the world will be happy to know that the Michael Jackson got crushed by his own fans just because some restaurant worker refused to talk to him? Are you out of your--"