No Plan

Chapter One: Tour

You know when you look at a person? They look very successful and look like they have everything. They're happy and their life is perfect but their life isn't perfect. It's far from perfect. Just like my life. A lot of shit, terrible, terrible shit has happened in my life but I was raised to just ignore the terrible things in life. But how do you really do that? That's my question. How can something so terrible happen in someone's life and they can just... push it away like it doesn't bother them and look like everything is okay. I'm not okay. But I'm David Bowie. I have to pretend that everything is okay for my fans. I love and adore my fans, don't get me wrong. I'd do anything for my fans. It's just so difficult to act like nothing is wrong and I can't tell anyone about it. I just have to shove it down and move on with my life and it hurts me. It really kills me.

I remember the day that my half brother Terry took his own life. The year was 1985. My brother suffered from schizophrenia which ran in my mother's side. I remember seeing the news that Terry Burns, my half brother took his own life by... by standing on the train tracks and waiting... just waiting for a train to come... Oh God, it fucking hurt me. It destroyed me. Ever since that day... I was terrified that I was going to go mad... just like Terry.

It's 1987 now, two years after the incident. Nothing has really happened during the two past years. I've just been so lonely. How am I supposed to look and act like everything is okay when it clearly isn't? How? Just fucking how?

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I was backstage, getting prepared for my performance. I was sitting in my private room with three lines of coke on the table in front of me. I blocked my right nostril with my finger and leaned down to the table, snorting a line of coke up my left nostril slowly. I sighed deeply and leaned back on the couch, taking a drag from my cigarette. I exhaled the smoke, my right foot tapping on the floor quickly, making my whole right leg shake. I had a cocaine addiction and it was slowly getting worse but sometimes, I can never control myself. I finished the last two lines of coke, sighing deeply as I leaned back on the couch, running my fingers through my blonde hair.

I quickly lit out my cigarette, pushing it in the ashtray as I heard someone knock on my door. I coughed the smoke out, coughing into my elbow as I sat up. I waved my hands around to get rid of the smoke as I coughed. "Y-yes?" I kept coughing into my arm.

"Mr Bowie? It's time." A man said behind the door. I heard his footsteps fading away as he walked. I stood up and stopped coughing. I slipped my jacket on and headed out the door. As I walked closer to the stage, I could the fans screaming my name and it got louder and louder. I got a bottle of water from the fridge. I opened the lid and poured some water onto my face, the cold water running down my neck and down my chest and back. I took a few gulps of water and set the bottle down. Before I entered the stage, I pulled a smile, a fake, realistic smile and walked onto the stage. My fans were going wild. It was happy to see them.

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The tour had finished. Finally. I went back to my apartment without anyone bothering me. I stumbled back into my room and sat down at my desk, facing my big mirror which sat on my desk. I looked at myself, studying every single feature that was on my face. I stared right into my own eyes, one of my pupils being larger than the other. It was a condition called anisocoria. What caused my pupil to dilate bigger than the other was a fight I had with George Underwood. We were a couple of stupid mindless teenagers who were fighting over a girl. George punched me in the eye hard and fucking hell did it hurt but we're still very good friends till this day.

I reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out a packet of cigarettes. I took one out of its packet and stuck the orange side of the cigarette into my mouth as I lit it with a lighter. As I smoked my cigarette, I began going deep into thought.

My father abused me when I was a child, my mother didn't believe in my dreams and my half brother took his own life. I felt so alone in this shitty world. I felt like my whole family had abandoned me. But yet again, Terry was the one who introduced me to music and he was the one who inspired me to become who I was. He was the only member in the family who accepted and loved me for who I was, a homosexual man who loved music and wanted to make the whole world smile. But now, he's gone. Terry is fucking gone and there's nothing I can fucking do about it.

I used one hand to smoke my cigarette and I used my free hand to cry into. I grabbed onto my blonde locks, sobbing.

"Fuck!" I yelled loudly, punching my desk a few times. I set my cigarette down on the ashtray and used the other hand to also grab onto my hair. I continued to cry, looking down at my desk. I slowly looked up at myself in the mirror, looking at my eyes and seeing how red and puffy they were from crying. I wiped the tears off my cheeks and stood up, sniffling.

"Fucking hell." I mumbled quietly and took off my jacket. I undressed myself and threw my clothes onto the floor. I changed into my PJs and crawled into bed, pulling the blankets over my body. I looked up at the ceiling, staring at it for a little while. I then felt my eyelids starting to become heavy and so, I closed my eyes and slowly drifted off to sleep.