What Remains of a Star

The underground subway station is gray and desolate at the peak of the night. A homeless man loiters by the corner, eyes glazed over with dreams of "what if"s. The broken clock hangs off the wall, incessantly declaring a time that has long passed. And sitting in a lonely corner is a messy mop of hair tied to two heeled legs. Perhaps she drank too much and found herself in the most unsightly of areas. Or maybe she is just intoxicated by the deep blue of the night.

The night air is what she steps out into, hoisting herself up and out the trash-littered stairs. Only when she tilts her head up to face the stars is her beauty finally visible. Smudged mascara frames wide, expressive eyes, a deep blush tinting her high cheeks.

Before her cheeks became so sullen, they'd entranced millions on massive billboards and theater screens. Back then, her eyes had glittered with wonder and hope, looking up at the glitzy billboards that lined this very street. She had fought her battles to come this far, driven on a half tank of gas and teary goodbyes. The road ahead is bumpy, they said, it will destroy you, they said. Back then, the voices were just noise. This was her destiny, her calling, what she was born to do.

Now, the voices have gone completely silent.

The lady kicks a piece of trash off the sidewalk as a car zooms past her. The driver does not slam his brakes, tumble out of the car, and request an autograph. The trash simply skitters under the wheels, crushed completely. That wouldn't be her, she swore. She remembers looking up at the eyes of a big, burly man, and declaring this to him. That she'd make it, no matter what, because she had that "it" quality. And whether he truly believed it or not, her glittery, golden destiny cast a dreamy path, a tipsy uphill descent that she could only run on.

The peak was a dream. It was like a spotlight ceaselessly shone over her head. There was an awe in the way people looked at her, a glow she naturally came to have. She loved passionately and was loved enormously. Most importantly, she was doing what she loved. She became anyone, everyone, anything, and everything. The people cheered when she tried, and the people cheered when she failed. It was intoxicating, like the night she swims in now, drunk on the acclaim and praise and how the night stars only seemed a fingertip's length away. That if she only reached an inch further, she could grab one and swallow it whole, keep that glow in her belly forever.

But when she reached up, the stars grew further. They faded into space, a dream she was slowly waking up from. And suddenly, she was on the ground. Cold, alone, and silent. Invisible.

The stars in the night sky don't seem to sparkle the same anymore. They've been shadowed out by tall buildings, constructed with fancier glass and sleek new-grade metal. Somewhere in the back of her mind lies the shabby apartment she lived in as a child. Now and then, she looked up at the high-rises with deep curiosity. What was it about these slabs of material that looked so elegant, so graceful, so majestic? Why did they enamor many - why did they enamor her?

Would your breath catch if you reached the top?
Would it still feel the same?

Her feet are running. The city blurs behind her. Cars stop for her now, finally, as she runs recklessly. Recklessness - she missed this feeling. The adrenaline in her body as she crawled, raced, fought her way up to the top. Past people whose names she no longer remembers, whose faces are etched into her own. The scars from the struggle, reopened, a memory and a victory all at once. This was her destiny, yes, what she was meant to have. To be famous, to win the hearts of millions, and to stand there forever, looking down at the applause of the entire world.

There is nobody on the roof. There is nobody on the streets, looking up at her. Is this it? She asks the stars.
Isn't it supposed to be forever? Isn't it supposed to last?
Why did my "Happily ever" not have an "after"?

The night sky is silent. The stars pulse in and out, in and out. The wind whistles. Cars honk. The lights are a distant glow under and around her feet.

She crumples to the floor. She hides her face with her hands, and muffles her cries with her fists. She cannot be seen like this. Her spotlight has dimmed. She has to stand back up, go to the same burly man, be strong, and take charge of her needs. She can feel the sagging of the skin under her eyes. It's the same. It's not the same.

"Does it have to be the same?"

She looks up. There she stands, right in front of her. She still has her spotlight, still wears that glittery, golden dress she wore the night she won her first award. Her cheeks are high, her eyes hold wonder, and that mysterious, entrancing expression that won hearts. She's beautiful, she's unchanging. She's a ghost.

The young girl smiles. "You know this changes nothing, right?"

The lady is confused.

"You still did all that. You made it, with your own efforts. You lived through that,

The lady speaks. "I don't have that glow anymore. Am I supposed to just..." She gestures wildly.
"Like this?"

The young girl shakes her head. She reaches up to the stars, hand extending cartoonishly, and wraps her fingertips around one. She steps forward and extends her palms out. The lady carefully reaches out and touches the star. It's warm and cool, glowing so blindingly.

And she swallows it.

Nothing happens.

The girl giggles, and the lady's heart aches. That laugh was once hers. It is still hers.
"I can't believe I'm so silly when I grow up." the girl says admonishingly, a twinkle in her eyes.
"The glow never goes away. It's still inside you. The entire world doesn't need to see it to be true. You just need to know that."

And like that, she fades. Her golden glow turns into dust swimming under the outdoor roof light, and suddenly, the lady realizes her surroundings. She examines her hands, feels the wrinkles on her face, runs her hands through her graying hair.

Inside you. Never goes away.

An inexplicable warmth fills her. Her hair does not magically turn black, sallow skin turned tight and vibrant. But a sort of life has come back to her, somehow. A twinkle to her eye that age did not manage to steal away from her.

The woman pries open the door facing outside. There is a path that twists and turns on the shadowed back exit to the building. She closes her eyes, takes a breath, and channels the bold energy that once took her to unimaginable heights.

She takes a step forward.

She's burning brightly.

- inspired by the webtoon 'Muse on Fame'