Publish Or Perish: @arty_enigma Edition

Dakota ※ Sept '18

24th May 2006
Wednesday

Dear Diary,

I woke up to the sound of someone shouting.

'Miss! Miss Dakota! Miss, do you hear?'

I still haven't got used to the name "Dakota". Tossing off the sheet covering me, I made my way to the door and opened it. Bertha stood outside with the breakfast tray.

'Yes?' I asked.

'Miss, you told me to serve you your breakfast at seven today.'

I suddenly recalled that today I supposed to reach the recording studio by 7:30.

Shoot.

I cursed myself silently again.

You must think I'm just another one of those young singers whom money is making more fussy and self centered day by day.

Think again.

Writing was my passion but here I am, going nuts singing my throat out. And it all happened because I was told I would get something that I had never dreamt of achieving in my life: the centrestage.

I̶ ̶a̶m̶ ̶D̶a̶k̶o̶t̶a̶. People call me Dakota, the pop singer.

I am popular, yes. Yet I feel detached. I have nobody to talk to, nobody to share by secrets with: secrets worth my life. Probably these secrets are worthless as my life is worthless too. Yet I feel the need someone to share things with.

And that someone is you, diary.

This is my first entry, but hopefully not the last. With every word I write, I will feel the burden of carrying my secrets to my grave less and less.

So I'll tell you a story. My story.

I was the average town girl living on my own in an average apartment. I went to college and outings with my college friends. I aspired to be a writer. I wrote stuff too, and published them on this mobile reading app. Most of all, I was a diehard pop music lover. I still am, though. But back then, I used to buy every concert ticket I could lay my hands on. Life was fun until that one fateful day.

It all started with a blue envelope.

I was sitting on the couch, dashing my fingers on the keyboard, trying to write, but more than that I was venting out my anger for not getting the tickets to a particular concert which was being held just thirty minutes away.

The doorbell rang and I went to answer the door.

A saw a pale blue envelope lying on the floor. It had been slid in through a slit in the door. Whatever I had expected it to be, it did not have anything I had anticipated. It was a ticket to that very concert I had been unable to get! To say I was happy would be an understatement.

I was having second thoughts as to the identity of the sender of the ticket but my mood overrode those thoughts. But they kept tugging at the back of my mind.

So I dressed up in the comfiest but glam outfit I had and drove right to the venue.

As I parked my car and entered the venue, I sensed something was wrong. The whole scene was perturbed. It did not have the ambiance of a music concert. Everybody seemed to be in . . . hysterics? I don't know how to describe it. Everybody felt so agitated.

I didn't want to be there anymore. I turned around to walk back outside, and what I saw made me curse. There were police here. That wasn't the bad part--they were blocking the area. Nobody could leave or enter.

My suspicions got confirmed. Something very bad had happened here.

One of the police guys yelled at the crowd, which had gathered in a huge cluster and was on the verge of a stampede.