The Bling Ring (2013) - directed by Sofia Coppola
Guest Writer: Ayu Katarina

I was sitting in the corner of a coffee shop, alone. Other people were chattering, exchanging stories and jokes, and laughing their heads off. Even those who are alone had their eyes stick on the monitor of their gadgets or books. I didn’t. I didn’t have any book or gadget. I didn’t wait for anybody. I sat still not making any sound, not even a breathing sound as if I was in sleep mode. I shut my mouth like an oyster annoyed by some unidentified object. My eyeballs were the only part of my body that is moving, scanning the entire room. They were hungry to eat every part they could see. Nobody wants to talk to a freak girl like me. No one even bother to take a glance at me. I can’t communicate well. I struggle to find the right words and sentences to tell what’s on my mind.  So I can relate why they treat me like I wasn’t there.It happened all the time that I get used to the way people treat me. But it didn’t mean I’m okay with it.

 Then, those things happened. My hands were trembling. I tried to reach my hot chocolate mug, but the tremble got harder like I was going to have a seizure. I knew my attempt to take a sip of the bittersweet liquid would fail, so I refrained. I clenched my hand to a fist, tried to make my tremor go away. But it didn’t.

I lost my sight, everything turned black. All I can see is the pitch color blocking the lights and form. I only can hear voices. Not the voices that I need. This noise is so ignorant and I hate it. My heart beat so fast like it’s gonna explode because I worn it out. But no, I didn’t panic. I mustn’t be. Those kind of episodes commonly happen to me.

I tried to stand, reached my keys on the table, grabbed my bag, took out my wallet and left a tip. It was hard to find the right amount of money while your head was pounding hard and rapidly.But finally I made it. I hurriedly put my wallet back inside the bag. I knew what I need to make this horrifying scene go away. But first I need to get out of this department store. I need to go home.

I walked through the coffee shop door. Fortunately it was already open that there’s no need to pushed it. I doubt myself could even push a light curtain at this moment. I walked quickly, wishing I could manage to go home. The wave of pain hoofed my head in five minutes intervals. I gripped my bag strap firmly, I wished it could reduce my headache and make my body shake less. But it didn’t help an invisible hammer kept hitting my head violently. People didn’t notice since I managed to walk quite casually despite all the chaotic rush inside me. But I want them to at least glance at me for a couple of seconds. Why am I remain invisible? Why can’t they feel my ache? My burning desire?

I pushed the down-sided arrow of a lift button. I lit up, but the lift didn’t come right up. I pushed it again repeatedly. I needed to go home as soon possible. After a few minutes that felt like days,  I heard the ding sound, telling me that the lift has finally arrived. The doors opened. Thank God it’s empty. I lay my head on the lift walls. Hoping I could relieve some pain, while I knew it wouldn’t get me any better. The pain only got worse when the doors closed. That sudden silence is killing me, scattered me to pieces. I want the sound.

I closed my eyes, my whole body was shaking terribly. I started to sweats. At the point I started to got panic.  At that point I knew I’ve gone worse. My needs have gone worse. My addiction. Everything was blurry. One second I got my sight, the next second the black cloud covering my eyes. When the lift dings and the door opened there was a few people standing outside the lift waited me to go out so they could ride the lift up. They were looking at me with a concerned look, disgusted look and any other look I didn’t recognize. But none of them looked at me with that kind of sight I want. They didn’t understand. They didn’t know. It tortured me even more. I walked through the them. My shoulders bumped into theirs. Some of them yelled at me, but I didn’t care. Those weren’t the kind of shouts I want. They didn’t get it. I need my needs.

I walked for a couple of blocks and finally reached home. I stood in front of a black painted door, trying to find the keys inside my bag. When I finally found it, the problem wasn’t over. To open the door while your hands were trembling so bad and your head was nearly blow up is another challenge. I need to pass. The result was no door opened and the clanching sound when metal meet the tiles. Damn! I dropped my keys. I bended my legs to reach it and I the pitch-black fog started to fill my sight again. This time it was a longer so I have to sat on the floor, waiting my eyes regained their vision.

         I stood up slowly and inserted my key to the keyhole, this time I made it. The door opened. I rushed inside, took the stairs to my bathroom. Weakly, I opened the medicine cabinet and found my needs. I took it out. I leaned on the bath tub and pointed the needle to my left arm. Trying to stick a needle on your vein was much harder while your hand was wildy shaking, your sight been gone in and out, pounding head and rushing heart. But I need to get it inside my system.

          The needle connected to a bottle which contains a crystal clear fluid. A simple crystal clear fluid which was gonna chaperoned me to the place.

The place where they scream and shout my name. They were gonna cheer and scream for me. Place where they jump for you. Set their hands up high for you. Place where billions of people are willing to worship you. The place that is gonna make you feel everything on your nerves tingle and you’re gonna go numb. Too much to feel until you feel nothing. Place where you lost yourself until you’re not you nor your alter ego. You’re their Goddess. You won’t even see them. The only thing you see is a damn bright light and you’ll go blind. The spotlight that gonna illuminate every inch of your skin. Sweat blended in glitter. Adrenaline rush mixed in glam. Not an ignorance glance, but those revere stares. You won’t feel nor see your surroundings. You’re just standing still in a thick darkness.

           But other than those things, you won’t ever going deaf in this place. You hear every shouts. Hear every single happiness cry. Hear every melody they would sing to you. They sing a long to your voice. Hear the movement on a thick air. Movement of their hands from their sides of bodies to higher than their head. And that real loud sound come right to you. The sound of their palms touch against each other. Not only once but repeated for millions of times.

An Elastic bottle contains them all. The revere gaze. The spotlight. The music. The fame. The glamorous aura. The sounds. The Applause.

There are crowds in front of a house with black painted door. Ambulance, Tv station’s minivans, and police officer cars included. A reporter made a live report in front of a heavy professional camera.
“A cold stoned woman body found in the house. The neighbors said it’s been three days since the last time they saw the woman went inside and never came out. From the information we got, the body is caucasian woman about 24 years old with a brown hair color and green eyes. The police officer haven’t ready to share more exact information with us, but from another source we’ve received important information that this woman dead with an IV needle inside her vine which connected to an empty plastic bottle suspected as the most illegal fluid in this world. Our world where stages are prohibited and performance means treason. This is Linda Jackson reporting for the Top News.”

It’s been a while since I post an actual short fiction on my blog. And this piece is totally impromptu. Fame is something with a lot of side to look at, and so when Lady Gaga’s first single from ARTPOP, Applause, was just released and I “challenged” Ayu to write something out of it. It’s always good to have other people’s approach of your thoughts and turn it into creative works. We love the song and I always curious about how people interpret fame and its black soul in general. The good and bad. In order to create something, we have to embrace the dark side.


Ayu (b. 22 February 1993) is an Indonesian law student. She is a multi-talented brainiac with a fair-mind which make her have many critical opinions in music, films, literature, sex, lifestyle, and fashion. Not only ruling the academic life with less effort than most people, she has her own law to rule the world.

Visit her: Twitter

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