Alexander stood in the washroom with his arms on the sink as he stared at his reflection in the glass mirror. The crack on the surface, perhaps a result of an overzealous inebriated misadventure by a former patron caused the image in front of him to distort to the point that the man he saw in front of him was someone he did not recognize. The eyes though, the eyes haunted him as he wondered if despite all his success he had allowed some measure of complacency to creep into his being. 

Splashing water onto his face in hopes of getting rid of the metaphorical dirt that still tied him to his former life, Alexander stood silently as the water drained below him. Exhaustion had seeped into his bones as the long drawn out struggle against NOMA took its toll on his consciousness. The constant need to present himself in a manufactured manner to conform to the public's perception of him and his over the top antics were beginning to erode his true sense of individuality. Surrounded by fairweather friends though now he was, his fear of disappearing into the solitude of oblivion never diminished.

The midnight black suit he wore, seemed to cloak him in a shroud of depression while his eyes gazed back at their own tired reflection in worry. A door opened up to his right, and the sound of heels hitting against the marble tiles of the floor entered his ears accompanied with the cacophony of the ambient noise outside. "Mr Knight, it's time." A voice echoed against the empty stalls of the bathroom. Silently he nodded, and the clicking of heels followed as the woman left him to his thoughts.

Offering his reflection a reluctant smile, Alexander finally sighed and stood up, brushing the creases away from his suit. With a brisk turn, he walked out of the room into the hallway that led to the stage. His fingers reached up to his ear and pulled out the camel tucked there. The paper felt slightly damp against his skin and he pulled out his lighter to roast the surface as he walked at a leisurely pace. "Good luck!" Someone with a guitar said encouragingly but the words fell on deaf ears. 

As the announcer hyped up the crowd, he walked onto the darker section of the stage where the musicians sat, hidden from the limelight. Clasping the cigarette and the lighter in one hand, he shook hands with the drummer and the guitarist eager to make his acquaintance with a sombre smile. While once these were the people who offered him some measure of comfort, treated him as one of them, now they saw him as the infamous celebrity capable of catapulting their careers. The warmth and the camaraderie in their embrace were replaced by hunger and ambition.

Placing the toasted and somewhat crumbled cigarette on his dry lips he took a moment to taste the tobacco before bringing the cold silver lighter up to his face. As the flame ignited the end it also cast a ghastly light on his face previously shrouded in darkness. The momentary glimpse was enough for the crowds to erupt into rapturous applause. As he took in a deep inhale, feeling the familiar burn at the back of his throat, the announcer looked at him with a disapproving glare.

"Ladies and gentlemen I don't think I need to do anything else. The reason you gathered today is upon us. Without further ado, The Troubadour." The announcer uttered the words people had been waiting for and the stadium seemed to explode with deafening noise as the light shone on his slender form. 

With a practised smile, he pointed to the crowd and nodded his approval as he walked to the centre of the stage. Taking the microphone off the stand, he dragged the wired mouthpiece along with him as he paced along the edge. His cigarette, everpresent between his fingers, left a telltale sign of smoke in his wake as he moved. Bringing the microphone closer and away from his mouth he teased the audience time and again as they lapped it all up. Finally, he sat on his haunches and chuckled into the instrument, the sound of which echoed throughout the stadium in resonance with the cheers. 

With his hand shielding his eyes, he stood up and glanced at the crowd assembled in front of him. Taking a quick drag he joked "By God, there's a lot of people with nothing better to do on a Saturday night." His heart ached at the resounding response. Though the 10,000 strong crowd that had turned up to witness him sing filled him with pride, the fact that all of them had fallen in love with the persona he had cultivated and that all of them were more reasons for his continued manufactured existence, saddened him immensely.

"Philadelphia! Are you having fun tonight?" Pausing to let the crowd respond, he continued to pander to them again.  "Come on now, you can be louder than that! Yes, that's it! Shake Temple Stadium off its foundations itself with noise!"  Forcibly laughing he acted overwhelmed by the loud response as he added. "This is crazy! You folks are undoubtedly the best audience in the world. Infact I think you deserve a special reward for all your constant support and for accepting me as one of your own. Tommy! Give me your guitar!" 

Replacing the microphone on the stand, he walked over to his surprised guitarist and took the instrument from his arms as the crowd looked on intently. A helpful roadie came in and placed a chair for him centre stage before lowering the mic to a seating level and rushing off to the sidelines. Alexander nodded his thanks and walked over to the seat. Placing the guitar in his mouth, he angled the two microphones carefully to capture the sound in an optimal manner as he put the rapidly diminishing cigarette between his lips and let his fingers idly strum. 

Clasping the neck of the guitar with one hand, he turned to a side and let the cigarette fall to the floor beside him with its dying embers still casting a minute glow. While by no means a master of the strings, he dabbled every now and again. Am, C, D. The chords echoed out of the speakers as he plucked the strings with his fingertips and hummed alongside.

"For those of you who liked my previous album, Emergence, this here is a sneak peek into my next project." He whispered into the mic knowing full well the effect it would have on the crowd. Banking on the fact that everyone wanted to feel special, he had decided to play this song tonight, hoping the intrigue and the secrecy shrouding it would elevate the performance. As he played the intro he wondered if there was more to his decision than that. The album, after all, had 13 songs, why then did he pick this in particular? Was it a reflection of the sombre mood he was in? Was it a desperate cry for help? Did he hope to reach some form of epiphany if he sang it out loud?

The words escaped his throat in a painfully dry whisper as his mind struggled to understand his decision.

I hurt myself today, To see if I still feel
I focus on the pain, The only thing that's real

The needle tears a hole, The old familiar sting
Try to kill it all away, But I remember everything

What have I become, My sweetest friend
Everyone I know, Goes away in the end

And you could have it all, My empire of dirt
I will let you down, I will make you hurt

The crowd was silent as the chorus bellowed out of his lungs. The emotions began to overwhelm him and his guarded voice threatened to crack letting the vulnerable side of him shine through. People stood with bated breath as they watched something unfamiliar unfold. His usually positive upbeat demeanour had evaporated, only to be replaced by a tender forlorn whisper caressing their eardrums as the simplistic guitar melody cascaded to accompany it.

I wear this crown of thorns, Upon my liar's chair
Full of broken thoughts, I cannot repair

Beneath the stains of time, The feelings disappear
You are someone else, I am still right here

What have I become, My sweetest friend
Everyone I know, Goes away in the end

And you could have it all, My empire of dirt
I will let you down, I will make you hurt

If I could start again, A million miles away
I will keep myself, I would find a way

His voice reached a crescendo as the bridge approached, the pain in his words betraying his struggles despite his useful youthful exuberance. The last sentence left the speakers in a reluctant undertone bereft of any music, seemingly dragging on to infinity before disappearing into nothingness.

The crowd shocked, by this sudden turn of events, took a moment to process it all before whistling and applauding louder than they had all night. With a smile that never reached, his eyes, Alexander stood up and took the guitar off his shoulder before resting it against the chair. Stepping to the front of the stage he stood, cloaked in the signature black coat he used for all performances as he seemed to soak up the unceasing applause before doing an over the top bow to hide the single drop of tear streaming down his cheek when the hole within his chest still felt as empty as it did at the start of the night.