by Mars Dorian
“Not today, please,” Bam said to himself.
As in, Grim Reaper, let me die another day.
Bam kept on crawling, touching his stomach ever so often to feel a lukewarm liquid dripping down his navel. Bam tilted his head, noticed the blood soaking through his shredded Pirate Skull T-shirt. Dang. No matter how hard he pressed, the crimson liquid kept pushing through his finger cracks. Bam wanted to say something, but with so much pain and blood, he only unleashed animal-like sounds.
Ohhrrrghh.
Arghghghghghghg.
And a few expletives rated R.
He pushed the palm of his hand harder against his chest to make the bleeding stop. The freaked out bystanders walked up to be close to him.
“Crap.”
“Oh my.”
“Do you need help?”
One statement stupider than the other. Bam moaned as his eyes blinked in rapid succession. He coughed up some blood to show his predicament.
Yep, some help would be swell.
Someone in the crowd finally got it. Three people stepped forward and helped him up. Two of them steadied him back to his feet but then the short guy with the shaved head said, “No, lay him down or else he’ll bleed to death.”
Bam didn’t know any better, and with all the blood loss, he was in no state of making smart decisions.
Help me.
The girl with the red hair laid her hands on his wound and pressed. Bam wanted to say thanks, but it turned into a blood-filled cough instead. He couldn’t even nod without feeling the pain stealing his breath away.
In the distance, someone said, “Call the ambulance,” and someone did. Or maybe not. It was hard to tell when your head felt sandwiched between two titanium tanks and your thoughts shook like fruity meat in a blender.
Which sounded more lyrical than bleeding to death and having your head go insane from all the pain.
Help me.
Amongst all the worried faces, one strange little guy smiled, it must have been the troll who flipped him off. Funny how you concentrate only on the negative in this type of situation. Faces blurred in and out, because Bam’s vision decided to play mind tricks now. The girl with the red hair said, “Listen to me. You’ve got to stay awake.”
And Bam tried, he really did. But the voices faded out except for one.
“Are you ok?” the same girl said, the one who held up the ‘Bam into me’ sign. She saw the blood on Bam’s shirt, saw how it dripped down on his trousers, back into the crimson pond around his feet. Bam wanted to say, does it look like I’m ok? But instead, he said,
“I’m ok.”
Because you gotta be nice to the fans.
Because the fans, man.
The fans.
“You don’t look okay,” she said.
D’uh. Someone in the group said he called the ambulance, finally. That part was taken care of, so now onto the most important one.
“Hwymnvwz?”
“What?” the girl said.
“Views,” Bam said through clutched teeth.
“How. Many. Views?” he said again, which made the girl swallow. She understood and checked the stats. The video was online now, and it better pull in some viewers — Bam put a lot of blood and sweat into it, literally. The girl wiped her finger over the screen and gasped. Bam moaned.
“How many?”
“About five hundred and seventy-one now.”
Bam’s head span around, so he asked her again, told her to say it more slowly.
“Tell it to me like I’m a five year old with a brain injury.”
The girl nodded, stressed every single number. Bam grimaced and fell back into his bloody lake. Splash. Less than a thousand views for the stunt of his life.
It wasn’t fair.
The girl smiled at him with a wink, but Bam couldn’t see it because he blacked out.
6
Meanwhile, somewhere in the outskirts, a forgotten factory.
Assistant X said,
“Have you heard? Bam crashed into a drone. I heard there was a horrible accident. It looks pretty bad.”
“Good for him.”
Violet didn’t even hear the comment, she answered on autopilot. She had no time for semi-famous video bloggers, she needed to focus on this moment.
The most important moment in her life.
Like ever.
The right people could be watching. On the Internet, business never slept, and neither did she. Violet leaned against the pierced wall of the desolate industrial building and watched her team move into position. She checked every single green dot on her eScroll map and the comments on her stream. They trickled in like a leaky faucet.
“Good luck, Violet, I think today’s show is going to be a blast.”
“So excited, I took off today just to be a part of this.”
“I’m watching you,” GearedTowardsViolet said.
Another one said,
“I’m so excited for you, please suck-seed. I hope a sponsor watches. I hope they’re gonna give you big time money.”
Violet smiled. I hope so, too.
She counted from ten and signaled the go. The dots on her display moved, the people followed her command.
Three, two, one.
Violet gave a sign to the technicians. Code words only they understood. Explosions erupted on the ground. Flare shot from the nearby building. It was a light show with boombastic sound effects. The green dots on her display were hired guys and girls wearing her trademark Urban Wearfare. They stormed right through the industrial complex, avoided the flare fireworks that launched from every corner of the factory. It looked flashy in offline life, it better look flashy on the pixel-perfect digital eScroll screens.
Violet smiled, thought, wow, what a show. An orchestrated chaos of stylish action. She wanted to know what the viewers were saying, but she couldn’t ask her community for feedback, not yet. She needed to focus on the event. Needed to make it perfect or else it all blasted for nothing.
“Now charge at each other,” she said via the communicator.
The dots on her screen moved towards each other. Bien. Another flare shot through the air from the incoming team. Two males evaded in unison like bros in a battle ballet. With all the rainbow-colored booms and bangs, it looked like a video game fighting scene, together with the shouts, the special effects and the smoke protruding from the ground.
One commenter said,
“Best show 4ever.”
Another one said,
“It’s like a sci-fi movie, luv it.”
“CAN’T KEEP MY EYES OMFG SO AM.A.ZING.”
“Wait for it.”
Gotta luv dose fanz.
Violet gave another ‘stage’ direction and announced the next scene. As the attackers entered the defender’s position, the people in the trenches activated their Urban Wearfare. But then another flare blow up, and the third person down in the trenches shimmered like a sparkler in the night. The model danced around and shouted. Violet sighed. That was not part of the script.
“Help me, help me,” the female model said.
She wailed her arms around, as if to shake off a killer squirrel from her neck. Her suit was on fire, like, real fire. Which looked kind of cool by itself, but again, it wasn’t part of the script.
“Help me.”
“No wait,” Violet said over the communicator, “this is the grand final, millions are watching. Go ahead as planned, it’s what I pay you for.”
But now both attackers and defenders stood motionless on the staged battleground. They watched the girl on fire trying to extract herself from her armored uniform. It didn’t work.
“Someone please help me, I’m burning.”
The fire-soaked model screamed louder, trying to pull off the jacket. But with such a tight cut, it stuck like second skin. One of the ‘attackers’ put down his fake firearm and grabbed one of the fire extinguishers which Violet’s assistant provided. The fire extinguisher put the fire out and immersed the burnt
girl in a white layer of thick foam. It looked cool in a way, the girl getting creamed with paper-white snow. But it had nothing to do with Violet’s script, and that was driving her insides out.
This can’t be happening. Not today, not now.
Violet moved away from her overlook position and entered the scene of distress. She was aware of how everyone stared in her direction. Three models, two males, one female, helped undress the girl, grabbed her flamed-out uniform and threw it away from them, as far as they could. As if it was a contaminated embarrassment. Meh. The best techwear camouflage jacket Violet ever created, now reduced to burning nothingness. Over fifty-five thousand credits vaporized in a matter of minutes. It burned her heart and made her march towards the girl with fists formed. It was time for some crude Violet.
7
“You just ruined my show. Two years of work. I hope you feel pretty special now.”
Violet’s fists pulsated with fury. She wanted to unleash that raw energy, wanted to make her fists ‘meet’ the girl’s face with endless fire inside.
On the ground, the girl wiped the foam from her face and mustered a squint at Violet.
“Are you crazy? Your stupid techwear almost killed me.”
“No, you almost killed yourself. You were supposed to throw the flare grenade away, not hold it tight to your armor and let it explode.”
The girl hissed, tried to get up but slipped on the foam on the ground and hit the dark soil with her pretty face. It looked like a slapstick video from the 20th century and it put a smile on Violet’s face. For a nanosecond, she was satisfied.
“I told you to be more careful. You are not wearing rags, lady, you wearing sensitive technology.”
“I’m a model, not a Marine. I run on catwalks, not on battle scenarios.”
“You seemed pretty cool about it when you accepted the gig. Especially after I transferred the generous payment.”
Violet’s assistant helped the girl up and calmed her down. Or tried to. The girl pulled her body away from the assistant’s grip and stomped towards Violet. She held up her torched shirt and unveiled her injuries.
“You see this?”
A crusted layer of burned skin became visible.
“Those are at least 3rd degree burns stretching over my beautiful body. I’m a model, I make money because my skin is impeccable.”
Violet shrugged.
“So what? Take nanomed and you’ll be well before the weekend. Not a scratch will remain.”
“Do you know how much that will cost?”
“You could pay it with the overpriced fees you received from my gig.”
The model groaned and clinched her teeth.
“I’m going to sue you.”
“Don’t wussy out now,” Violet said.
The model took some of the foam, formed it into a creamball and lunged it at Violet’s face. No reaction. She wiped the cream off her face and slapped it on the floor — as if it happened every other day. Violet was in control now.
“You’re alive, I’m alive, we’re all good.”
The model moaned one last time and pointed her index finger at Violet.
“Nothing’s all good. I’m done with you. I’d watch your inbox if I were you. My lawyers will be in touch.”
“Come on, now.”
The model flipped her off and cursed till her voice disappeared into the distance.
Violet suppressed a hiss.
“Mental note to myself : don’t hire models that can’t take pressure.”
She heard her assistant X sighing. Violet frowned.
“Why? Was that too harsh?”
“Let’s say you’re as subtle as a fist to the face.”
Violet whistled.
“It’s not my fault she can’t handle techwear. If she stuck to my instructions, she’d would have left this show perfectly fine and free of injuries.”
The assistant shrug.
“Maybe you should ditch the explosives in the next show.”
“They’re not explosives, they are fireworks. It’s not even a real flare grenade.”
She picked up the empty shell and held it for everyone to see.
“Look, it’s movie equipment.”
Every other model stood around and got undressed. Within seconds, Violet’s Urban Wearfare was thrown to the ground, piled in a heap on top of each other. It made Violet fume.
“Wow, what are bunch of professionals you are. When it comes to money, you all hold up your hands and gleam. But once a problem occurs, you run like scared rats. Little tip for the future, if you can’t deal with danger, don’t work in this industry.”
One Asian model spoke up.
“Violet, we’re all models. And we don’t want to blow up.”
Yadda yadda, she thought. Didn’t they just listen to what she said? Movie equipment, hello.
But when you work with pretentious brainturds, logic didn’t seem to matter.
“Leave my show, you faux pas fakes. You don’t deserve to wear my collection.”
Violet waved them off and watched them go, model by model. One of them said,
“I’m going to sue you, too.”
By that time Violet was ready to jump him and land a fist on his impeccable face, but assistant X held her back.
“Let’s not make this any worse, Violet.”
She sighed.
“Two years of preparation, X, and now a massive failure thanks to a model who’s too dumb to use a fake grenade.”
“I know,” X said.
“It’s unfair,” Violet said.
“I know.”
Mmmm, Violet said. A dog-like groan.
“Let’s go home.”
“I agree,” X said.
He collected the techwear from the ground, jammed it into the rental car’s trunk. Violet rode shotgun, she was too fired up to drive. One casualty was enough, she didn’t want anymore trouble today. The assistant closed the trunk and took command of the car. He snuck a peek at her.
“Don’t say a word,” Violet said.
The assistant roared up the motor while Violet tried to cool hers. X kept his mouth shut. Violet peered out the windows and watched the industrial complex vanishing in the distance. What a location, what a beautiful show it could have been. It could have been magnificent. It could have been Violet crazy-colossal.
Could have
should have
must have
She leaned closer into her soft, fake cotton-candy seat. What else was going to happen on this disastrous day?
8
Violet and her assistant hit the road back to the city. The moon glowed above and turned the city’s skyline into a sparkly silhouette. It twinkled like a crown of jewels scratching the stratosphere. What a viewtiful sight, but it lasted only seconds. A beeping sound shattered the moment. It was the melody she assigned to her VIP messages. The sender’s name was familiar, just like the tone of the message.
“I’m going to sue you back to the stone age. Hate regards, the model you just fired, literally.”
Violet gnarled. Some people had skin thinner than paper nowadays. Whatever happened to making sacrifices for the arts? She tried to revolutionize the techwear world, and everyone knew the path to innovation was paved with failures. That model should have felt pride when her jacket burst into flames. She was witnessing the experimental stage of Violet’s career, what a blessing. But no, she went all traitor mode on her. Stupid bitch.
Violet didn’t even complain when she tried on her first blade dress and it cut off a part of her skin. Sure, it hurt, and it didn’t look pretty the way it lay on the ground, like a lonely worm. But was it worth it? Yes. If you didn’t endure pain for your passion, you weren’t fit to live, period. But those soulless normalos would never understand. How could they?
Their brains were nothing but wobbly membranes devoid of style.
A waste of good tissue.
Meh.
Violet slumped even deeper into the car seat. She spent th
e rest of the ride in ponder mode until X stopped the car in front of the industrial brick house, aka her home, aka her shared studio space.
“Thanks for everything,” she said to X.
He nodded. She walked up the stairs and marched into her living room. Clapped, which activated a funky pop tune on her surround system in the background.
Gloomy and the Fangbangs, Violet’s favorite J-pop-flavored, funky goth band. Gloomy was anything but doomy. That kind of music was exactly what Violet needed to hear now. The lyrics had already calmed her mind.
“I’m in luv with a sparkly vampire, and 2gether,
we’re gonna build the Gothic Heart Empire.”
Violet grinned.
Mrs. Marble slid across the room and jumped into Violet’s welcoming hands. It made her smile for the first time since the ride.
“I missed you, too, Mrs. Marbles. Oh my, how chic you look today. Your fashion sense is très bien, as always.”
Of course the feline friend looked très bien, Mrs. Marbles only wore original ‘VioletGear’. A prototype dress for sophisticats.
Violet grabbed her tigerlady and schmoozed with her. X closed the door and unloaded the pile of partially burnt techwear. Violet nodded, fell into her premium black couch. What a day.
She spent years preparing her collection. Took even a year securing the industrial location and saved up a fortune for the event. While traditional designers went for samey samey catwalks, she combined military action with smart camouflage to create a unique fashion show. Sort of video game action meets tech couture. What a concept, at what a price. Special effect fashion plus flammable model made for explosive costs, no pun intended. Violet sighed. It was damn hard to be an entrepreneur and video blogger. But that was the life she chose for herself.
Assistant X returned from the bedroom, which also acted as her techwear treasure chest. He found Violet with arms and legs draped across the couch.