章節 70: campaign pain
June 29, 2001.
Billy's greatest disappointment is that the system expects him to face pain like a superstar, singing when his words float in sadness. It's when songs can be sung best, even if everyone remains silent. Agustina died, he knows it; there's a lack of strength in his actions that makes everything seem artificial. Even though she was a mother for less than a year, the love she always gave him was enough to love her endlessly. Combined with the memories, he couldn't help but tear up. It's so painful. Why does he feel so beaten down? Sunken in sadness? Life and people are so indifferent.
Death remains a mystery shrouded in shadows. She died, and he came here, but now he doesn't know where his mother is. We face it with a mixture of fear and curiosity as if trying to understand an enigma impossible to fully decipher. My life and a second chance? Will my mother have a second chance? Sometimes death comes to us as a whisper in the breeze, taking with it loved ones who left indelible marks on our hearts. It leaves us with unanswered questions and a void that seems impossible to fill.
[You're a superstar, using the pain to ignite the spirit of victory. As a superstar, it's time to cry. The best way to cry is with songs. Pour out your pain in a song—a powerful song that will make history.]
"[New album: About the Loneliness]"
-It's a name, - Billy thought as he dialed. About loneliness—how harsh the system is, how harsh people are. The songs were etched in his mind; they were all fierce, strong songs that provided enough air for Billy to whistle. The melodies danced in his head, distancing him from anything but the pain that was beginning to hurt him. In a way that only caused him trouble.
-miss, thanks for the notepad, -Billy said.
-No problem, kiddo. If you need anything else, you can call us, - Nurse Wright replied, the nurse in charge of taking care of him—tiny, short, and gray, with a strong voice and cold hands.
He thought about the many songs; only one, his own, always nestled with pleasure. It was a way to see, but only the songs that the system provided came to mind—a clear pain, a multitude of fantastic songs. Just trying to sing them brought a round of happiness.
"Stop Crying Your Heart Out" by Oasis, a song with a deep message that was certainly captivating due to its melody and poignant lyrics, which jolted Billy's spirit.
He continued to write songs, filling blogs and blogs with different poems, and different takes, each of them with a special chant. The message he had been waiting for was clear and spoken; many of the forms were firm.
They changed his room; he had a total of 15 songs, 10 provided by the system and five original songs that gave him a certain air of confidence. Although the songs were not entirely complete, he knew that many genres did not require much vocal work—just a good beat and a way to sing, and it was a hit.
On June 28, Jerry walked in through the door, dressed as usual in a well-fitted suit made of special silk, with a purple handkerchief in his blazer pocket. He used to be more informal, but since becoming his manager, he always dressed well.
However, he preferred it when he wore wool coats; they were fantastic, making him look more like a grandfather. The suit didn't suit him to resemble Billy.
His voice was deep, very powerful, almost like a broadcaster; he spoke little, and when he did, it was for a reason—it stirred his mind.
-How are you feeling? - Jerry asked, taking a seat on the couch, closer to the window. Billy was still resting in bed; now he could use crutches to go to the bathroom, but his body remained weak, one of the major issues of his new injuries.
-I'm still improving, but everything's been crap, - Billy replied, glancing at Jerry.
Jerry swallowed and looked at Billy with a pained expression, struggling to find the right words.
-Billy, about your mother—
-Don't say anything, old man. I already know. I'm not stupid, and no one can consider me a fool, - Billy interjected, cutting off Jerry completely.
-Son, you don't have to keep it bottled up. It's awful, - Jerry said, his emotions running high, showing the fear of what had happened.
-I know it's terrible, old man, and my heart aches. Let's just keep that quiet for now, - Billy replied.
Jerry nodded heavily, bearing the weight of it all. What a mess! The media had a field day with his mother's death, which was now public knowledge. So many people were suffering. Was it a punishment that poor Billy had to endure such treatment? Damn producers who always sensationalize everything—it's a real pity, a total shame.
-I have to say it... even though we want to keep it quiet, people will treat you like a spectacle. The news of your mother's death leaked, and the media acted accordingly. Now you can say you're one of the most famous singers, at least in the past week. Everyone knows what happened, and I'm sorry, but the leak happened, and it was tracked, - Jerry explained.
Billy covered his face; tears were flowing. If his mother was dead, it was utter terror, an incapacitating form of fear. Why is reality so painful? People are callous, why are they so cruel, and why do things have to turn into such a lamentable performance? National news?
-How uncomfortable fear is, - Billy commented, looking towards the door, still not facing Jerry.
-What do you mean, kid? - Jerry asked.
-Nothing, old man, nothing, - Billy replied, downplaying it, itching to lash out at anyone who bothered him. It's a bothersome and incipient way of submitting to anger, the anger of death, incapacity, and the way things unfold. It's a stupid way to look at life.
-I have some things of my own, but my wish is for people to have consideration for manners, like producers. You should know that the industry has these behaviors, and even some paparazzi will use your mother's death as news to provoke reactions from those they desire. They're the worst press, if you want to know; you must stay calm. They are people who have nothing more to lose; they are the scavengers of the industry, the worms. I can say they are talentless people who only seek to provoke others to satisfy their petty lives. They are the worst kind, - Jerry commented.
-I understand. Thanks for telling me. But I'll punch them if they say anything. It's better to keep quiet for now. I think I'll hit anyone who disrespects my mother's memory - Billy said.
Jerry sighed heavily, seeing problems everywhere.
...
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