Where Stars go to Die

V. The Short Man with the Red Beard

Words can do great things;

they can build faith

or destroy an idea;

they can provide a

Hypothesis that can

heal the world, or a

Thesis so profound

it shakes our very ground!

Words can do so much…

However, my words and your

heart never seem to truly touch.

        I couldn’t stop thinking about the other night on the mountain. Rejection had become something all too familiar with me; the funny thing is, I would normally rejoice in failure, and celebrate in denial, but with Claire, everything was different. I had to succeed; the only thing that mattered was having her.

        Claire had been gone since the morning, out at an audition. Her morning routine was something to be seen. She bent her hair just right, painted on a perfect smile, and covered her true beauty with mascara, foundation, and blush. Societies pressures had become too much. She felt that she had to be so perfect, but at what cost? She would buy Vogue and eat all their bullshit tales; that was perfection in society’s eyes; sometimes I think our culture is blind. She would find the most insignificant insecurity and blow it out of proportion, as if it were her self-destruct sequence, counting down. That was why I built her up; I would construct a wall so high, society would be mystified.

        I had to run to the market, down the hill from my apartment. There was no food, whatsoever, at the house, just plenty of beer and wine. When I hit the bottom of the hill I noticed 3 large men following me, walking not too far behind but close enough to track me. What threw me off was their expensive suits, and candid demeanor; suits like that don’t walk these streets they are driven around in limos. I decided to skip the market and try to lose these guys. I made an immediate turn down the first street I could find. To my surprise, they were still right behind me, so I sped up my pace, cut down a small alley, only to hit a huge fence; it was a dead-end. I was cornered; as I turned around, it was the short man with the red beard who was at Claire’s apartment right before she abandoned it. He stood a few feet between me and the main road until the 3 large men turned the corner.

        There was absolutely nowhere to run, before I could speak, I heard, “You’re a hard little fucker to find…” The short man with the red beard yelled as he started walking towards me. “… and I don’t like looking for pieces of shit.” He proceeded to punch me in the stomach; I lost my breath and fell to my knees. He kicked me again the very second I raised my fist. His body guards laid me flat with one punch; I felt something in my mouth as blood gushed from my lip. I spit out a tooth, I actually spit out a single tooth!

        “You tell that little whore, Claire, that I need my ten thousand bucks, and I’m not fucking around!” He kicked me once more with all of his might. They spit on me and then walked away. I never saw the short man with the red beard again, but his face still haunts me to this day.

* * *

        I awoke in the ER with all sorts of machines hooked up to me. I hated hospitals; this was worse than the actual beating. However, before I could complain to any random nurse I looked to my right, Claire was sleeping in a chair, by my side. I was shocked to think she would bring herself there and wait; who knows how long she had even been there…

        She looked beautiful, even at her worst. She was always so peaceful when she slept; I didn’t dare wake her; I just waited. I had plenty of time to think about the short man with the red beard, the money and Claire; she was in danger; I had to get us out of the Oakwood apartments, move somewhere safe. What was I going to say to Claire about the money or about that short man? Not a thing, not a damn thing; I was her wall and I couldn’t crumble now.