Sequins, Stardust and Rust

It was just sequins and stardust and rust that sputtered from the dead singer’s mouth. No more words. Twenty-seven and finally ticking the last cliche off the checklist before heading to the great gig in the sky.

Dead on stage for the world to see. Dead on stage for the tik-tok instakids screaming Shea Stadium style from the front row. Dead on stage in HD, 4K, and lossless Dolby.

Dead on stage but the band played on.

Sure there had been stunts. He’d faked his death on stage, live. He was the boy who cried wolf. But what could have caused this.

Twenty-seven and tea-total. The gin bottles filled with water. The cigarettes were props. The boy who cried wolf lived clean and slept a full eight hours each night.

Twenty-seven and in fine mental health. His paranoid agent who’d lost the last star had always insisted he got the best support. No clinal depression. No cynical obsession. No trauma. No stress. Just sequins, stardust, and rust.

But how did this star fall?

It’s been a while since I wrote any writing prompts, and it’s been even longer since I tried writing any flash fiction. My creativity appears to have been locked down elsewhere, and I’ve been struggling with my mental health. My aim is to get back into both of these as soon as life settles down again.

I’ve been thinking back to my 30 Day Writing Challenge from last September and I think I might try and do something similar again soon. You set the challenge- I write the piece. Who fancies setting me some challenges? Add them to the comments if you do!!

Image by Free-Photos from Pixabay