Fame

A Story by J. C. Hopkins

"If you'd like to be a contestant on next week's show, send your submissions to..." the TV droned on in the back ground. But Anna was too amped after the excitement of this week thrilling episode to pay any attention to the rest of the narrator's pre-recorded segment that came on at the end. Besides, she'd already sent in her submission months ago and was beginning to lose hope of hearing back from the producers. Everyone in America wanted to be on that show, and the reality of actually being selected was becoming more and more of dream. She had sent the submission with merely a shred of hope and a "why not pick me" joke anyway. However, as life would have it just as that last puny nugget of hope was all but gone from her mind, the universe seemed to feel like giving her the fifteen minutes of fame she had been craving so badly for, and a week later she received a letter from the hit show's producers asking her to come on.

Upon reading the letter she was instantly floored with elation. Like a kid asking for a pony for Christmas, and actually getting it, she'd sent her submission and to her utter and complete surprise, the show's producers seemed to think she deserved a shot. She had never been particular unique or had excelled at much of anything, remaining mediocre in nearly everything she did. Now, she would get her chance, and in her small town would be famous, if only for the duration of the couple weeks before and after she would take part in the newest hit show in America. It was an indescribable feeling of importance to her, for once to stand out in her little town. A woman who was a little over-weight and poor, but not poor enough to stand out, especially in this economy.

After reading her invitation a couple of times just to be sure it wasn't some kind of joke, her hand dove into her pocket with overwhelming ferocity, and resurfaced back to her ear, with cell phone and her sister's line connecting. How jealous she would be that she "actually made it to Hollywood." The conversation was little more than a couple seconds of idle screams back and forth before she had moved onto the next on the list of people to tell. Each progressing call seemed to go identical to that first one until finally she had calmed down enough to sit and try and grasp the gravity of the situation. Everyone seemed so happy for her, congratulating her, while trying their best to hid the sting of jealousy in their voices. Finally, she would be special, stand out, if only just for the duration of an episode.

The show was being taped in LA, and so Anna began preparing for the trip. She had a week before taping, which didn't quite seem long enough for her to make all the necessary arrangements before she would have to be there. The network would be flying her out in first class and sending a car to pick her up, very elegant to a broke small town girl like her. Still, she had so much preparing to do. She knew she would just leave the few possessions she had to her sister, the last living family member she still had regular contact with. Since she had no kids, and the last man she had been involved with dumper her in high school, the process should remain pretty simple. Perhaps, that's why she had been chosen to be a guest.

The car picked her up, and her flight took her to California without a hitch. She soon found herself backstage brimming with anticipation. All the shows were taped in front of a live studio audience, causing her nerves to skyrocket even further. A couple of minutes before she was supposed to go on, one of the crew people came by with a water bottle and a Dixie cup, promptly shoving both into her hands. That's how they get through it, just in time too, I thought I was going to lose it, Anna thought as she looked down at the amalgam of pills at the bottom of the Dixie cup. Without hesitation, she swallowed the cocktail down and on queue from a crew member, began the longest walk of her simple life.

The audience roared like the crinkling of an enormous sheet of aluminum foil. She was nearly overwhelmed by the force of them, even though they were separated by thick, she assumed virtually unbreakable, polycarbonate and laminate glass. The host of the show was giving a short biography of her that sounded like nothing more than a jumble of loose Martian syllables to her petrified brain. At center stage, with the star of Bethlehem staring down on it, was a single metal chair. On both arms and front legs of the chair were shackles. Nearly as soon as Anna had finally reached the chair and sat, her anxiety had lifted, her body started to tingle with numbness, and an encompassing feeling of lightness overtook her as the drugs began to kick in.

"And now ladies and gentlemen, the moment you've all been waiting for. They call him The Diabolical Dealer of Death, The Sultan of Slaughter, The Kahn of Killing...ladies and gentlemen give it up for The Reaper," and with that the crowd was on its feet. The building seemed to shutter and breathe as a man holding a scythe, wearing nothing but leather chaps and a matching leather executioner's mask walked from backstage behind the now tightly restrained Anna. Before he reached her, he stopped at a table full of random instruments of pain, pointing to each while asking for overdramatic mock approval from the audience. He finally strutted over to a tub of some form of green liquid no bigger than a paint can, at which the audience roared their approval. The Reaper swapped his scythe and walked to where Anna was confined at center stage. Without warning he slowly began pouring the liquid all over her, starting with her legs and moving up to her chest. There was a second's delay, thanks only to the mix of painkillers she'd taken before coming onstage, and suddenly she was on fire. The acid ripped through all the skin it was exposed to, and she screamed out in pain with a hint of some maniacal laughter entwined within it. By the time he had coated both legs, one arm, and the good portion of her stomach and breasts, the acid can had been emptied save a few drops. The Reaper shook the can splashing all the drops he could into her face, which ignited the skin instantly. There was no delay from the drugs this time as the acid drops punched holes, pock marking her cheeks and forehead.

The Reaper took a step back bringing a fist under his chin, while he assessed the damage inflicted. He then looked at the audience and stuck his thumb into the air. The audience again bellowed and responded with a hundred thumbs down. The Reaper animatedly shrugged back to the audience, turned around, and skipped back to his workbench of torment, leaving Anna screaming in her restraints. He grabbed his scythe again, the producers were really trying to push the Reaper image, and throwing it over his shoulder, skipped back behind Anna. The Reaper swung back with his scythe, and just before he came full force with the final blow, Anna smiled. She was famous.