Making A Pop Queen

I.

Where does innocence end and loving begin?

How do I let you out and let you back in?

How and where, how and where, how and where, how and where?

Tell me.

How and where, how and where, how and where, how and where?

“That’s all you’ve come up with? You’ve had 30 days, alone, in a 6 million-dollar recording studio in the middle of the woods to create one stupid fucking pop record and that’s the best you could do!?”

I smear the flecks of spit off of my glasses with the edge of my shirt. He’s...not happy with me.

Igor. Sweetie. These lyrics are really close to my heart. You know? I don’t just choose these words, they are channeled through me. Come on. Listen again.

Where does innocence--

“I don’t want to hear anymore!” His fist is a bright pink ball of flesh that smashes into the table, spilling over the coffee cup I forgot to cover.

My music!

The coffee spills all over my precious sheet music, the title “How And Where” turning into a black-and-brown mush that’s now indecipherable. The notes now an anguished pile of blackbirds, crying and running.

I can't help it. I scream.

Ahhhhhhhhhh!

Igor’s black eyes go big, his pupils widening outside the circumference of his lids.

He’s swallowed into the dark.

The walls around me shake violently, worse than before. I keep screaming. The walls crumble into dust at my feet and there he is, on the table: a tiny, tight pink pill.

A glass of water has replaced the spilt coffee and cup. It’s so clear and pretty, I almost don’t want to drink it.

But I know I must.

And in he goes, down the hole.

II.

When I’m bad, so bad, oooh, Daddy makes it right

My heart-shaped locket’s got me locked up tight

You’re in me, you teach me, control me, console me

My heart-shaped locket keeps me up all night!

The crowd is loud, louder than anything I have heard. My heart beats stiffly, in an odd rhythm.

Call the doctor, I whisper into my turned-off mic.

I black out as the crowd reaches a fevered pitch.

III.

Someone is clapping for me. I’m not onstage.

My eyes crack open and I make out the shape of Igor. He’s not a pill anymore. He’s back to himself. He’s covered in my shiny, black vomit.

Clean yourself up, is all I can manage to say before surrendering to sleep once more.

I feel a hard pull on my skull. He’s picking me up by the hair.

“That was the most successful we’ve been yet. They loved you! It worked.”

He grabs my face, kisses my mouth. I taste my own throw up: asphalt, grit, and copper pennies. It makes me gag.

“Finally, finally, no more stupid shitshow pop songs. Finally, only HITS!”

He dances. I’ve never seen Igor dance. I didn’t think a six-foot-seven-inch man was capable of such things.

“Control me, console me, oh I loved that! That was good, huh? That’s what happens when you’re not shit-for-brains like yourself. When you know how to make the crowd go wild!”

He laughs wildly and grabs me by the throat.

“I tried to give you a chance, Little One. Put so much money into you. For you to produce nothing. Where does innocence end? It ends right here. Now, I control you by your screams. Go ahead and scream. And eat me up, so I can tell you what to do.”

I can’t scream. I want to but I know what will happen if I do. I’ll be forced to swallow him. Have him live inside me. Be my brain, my voice, my tongue. I can’t scream. I won’t do it.

“And Sweetheart, you may want to keep this in your tiny pea-brain. I control your tears, too. So, cry if you want to. I’ll be inside you before you know it.”

He winks at me and takes off his clothes, walking towards the shower.

And all I can do now. Is smile.