oneshots | michael jackson

dream.

I felt this was best writing in third person. It's my first time writing, so it may sound a little odd.

For June 25th, 2020.

A warning:

It's a sad day. I know. But this is reality. Even characters feel them. So, please understand my reasons for writing this. If you realise where this is heading and wish to leave this book, please do. I would not want to make anyone's June 25th worse, but I need to show the effects reality can have on a person. That's the aim of this oneshot.

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Her head lies on the table, her lips parted as she breathes slow and steadily. Below her head rests a notebook, full of doodles and scribbles, but the most important thing of all, the pages were tear-stained, with a picture of a well-dressed man wearing a fedora, and a note written in a gap below the photo: I'll be with you, always. Michael xx.

June 25th. The day that a legend left. The man himself, Michael Joseph Jackson. The world took the loss of this man hard, but the intensity of her sorrow and anguish was far more than any other.

She cried for hours after hearing the news. She even thought of ending her life to be with him.

But she was too tired, exhausted, to think, or do even the smallest thing. An empty, unwashed glass, supposedly holding wine before, sat at the very corner.

And yet, here she was. Sound asleep.

♡♡♡

The times she spent with him, all playing like videos before her eyes.

Little does she know they're only in her mind, never to be experienced again with him.

The flowers swaying in the wind gracefully as he takes her hand, treading through the narrowly paved path between the flowerbeds.

The surroundings a blur as she held onto him for dear life, the amusement ride relentlessly tormenting her senses, yet bringing her an excitement she couldn't feel anywhere else.

The room in darkness as the only light comes from a brightly lit screen, the story of a Disney movie unfolding before their very eyes. She snuggles onto him for comfort, smiling at each other in the faint light coming from the screen, as they watch from their couple seats at the very back of the theater.

But she now sees segments of the hurtful past. The segments that shattered him whole. The allegations. His eyes, devoid of hope. He looked exhausted. Overcome with fatigue. The once-optimistic Jackson, now reduced to a recluse in that very moment. Denying her requests to even talk, meals left unfinished...

In that very moment, she cried.

Yet, it was just the beginning of the bad times.

Fuelled with anger, a new album was released. He went on what would become his final world tour, HIStory. A few years later, he would release his last studio album. And then the second nightmare happened, far worse than the first. So much worse, that it left a scar so deep in the man himself, that he threw away all that he valued, except for his children. Even pushed her aside. She felt so hurt to see Michael like this. She wanted to help. But she couldn't.

"Please, let me help you!"

"Leave me alone," was the last she ever heard from him...

The world warps. She does not realise. She only sees Michael, walking by her. The surroundings were bright white. It's as if they were in a dimension where only both of them existed.

"Michael!" She calls after him, and he stops in his tracks, turning around to face her.

"Why are you here...?" He seemed confused. He wasn't expecting her. But why?

She races to try and embrace him once again, but an invisible barrier was in her way. She could not go any further. All she wanted was that one embrace, one kiss.

And she couldn't get it.

All because of an unseen barrier.

"Why?! Michael, please!" She frantically slams her fists against the barrier, hoping it'd break like glass, but Michael just looked at her, a blank expression on his face. Finally, he shed a tear from his left eye, his expression turning sad.

"...Don't stay here too long..." He solemnly says, and starts walking away, his silhouette replaced by even more visions.

"No, Michael, come back!" She cries, but the visions overwhelm her. She struggles to focus her eyes on the shadow that faded away, but she couldn't.

♡♡♡

She woke up, startled by the turn of events. The dream was so lucid, she swore it was real. She wanted to go back. She wanted to find him. She thought that, if she fought through the visions, the barrier will eventually drop and she would find him.

And so, she thought of what seemed to be the only way.

A set of knives stored in a box, she picks one up delicately. She examines the blade, it's keen edge shining under the kitchen light. Heading back to the room with the notebook, the curtains drawn shut, the sun attempting to shine its rays through, yet leaving only a bright spot on the curtains. The room was dark, except for that dim light provided by the reading lamp at the edge of the study table. She sat down on the chair, looking at the notebook. She sees the effects of her tears, smudging the very ink she put to the paper.

She brings the knife to her wrists, letting the knife glide over her skin. It all seemed so easy.

Digging the knife deeper into her skin, she let the blood flow from the fresh new cut the knife made. She felt a sensation so different, that she wanted more.

She started making even more deeper cuts, cuts all carefully thought about before they were made. But she kept on making them.

Blood was dripping. They started to make a small puddle on the floor, as she stood and made the cuts.

She could feel the end drawing near. She sits back down on the chair, holding the notebook. Her fingers weakly glide over the picture of Michael, thinking of every moment she spent with him.

The blood keeps on dripping, starting to stain the pages of the notebook.

In the very last moments, she starts to see that faint figure of Michael, standing there, smiling. Welcoming her. Beckoning for her to be in his arms. She stands, wanting to be where he was...

And her body went limp, falling to the floor as her notebook falls, her eyes closed as the blood pooled around her body.

The notebook landed on the floor, with the very same pages open. But now, there was a new addition to the notebook.

Blood stained the very photo of Michael itself, and for perhaps, an unknown reason, the single photo of Michael now had a lady by his side.

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R.I.P. Michael Joseph Jackson.

June 25th, 2020 marks his eleventh death anniversary.

Disclaimer:

I would like to say, that in no way I am trying to promote self-harm. As mentioned at the very start of this chapter, I hope to show that reality can send people to extremes, suicide being one of them.