Lord of The Dance (The Instrument, Part 1)

“You are my instrument. You are my tuning fork.”

The voice came to him, and he just shook it off when it did. It just made him want to rule the world. It was true though. His life was music. He was music. But it was time to practice. He lifted his guitar and gently placed his fingers on the neck, like an embrace. Right hand touched the body, brushed the right buttons. Small fuzz, a little distortion. Stroke. A perfect chord.

The world wasn’t worth ruling, anyway.

The music swelled, came out of his body and then fed itself back into him, till he was nothing but sound. It was gentle power. It overwhelmed him till there was nothing else.

His agent-manager barged into the room. “Have you seen the sales figures on your new album?”

“Jeeses, Mason! Some privacy here. I’m playing.”

“Yeah, sorry, Paul. And the ticket sales for your next concert? I couldn’t believe it. The venue was so big! No more small venues, Paul. Limos all the way! And the blog we set up. What those kids are saying about you! They would do anything, Paul. Anything!”

“You’re babbling, Mason.”

Mason was laughing. “They even have The Paul Castle Cult. Thirteen-year-old girls have altars where they sacrifice potato chips and chocolates to you. I saw the pictures on the blog. And… and God knows what else.”

Paul put his guitar down. “This is serious. What can we do to stop it?”

“Stop it? Stop it? Why? Don’t you understand? Those are all future voters. Families. Consumers. Have you ever considered politics? Ten, twenty more years of this and you could rule the world!”

“I don’t want people building altars to me.”

“What? Yes. Of course you do. That’s why you got into this business. Oh, nothing Satanic. No that’s all old hat. No. No.” Mason was looking hard at Paul. “Long blond hair. Golden boy look. Have you been seeing that personal trainer I got you? Flowering shirts. Slow motion. Yeah, yeah, something new age, Eastern… maybe space aliens! Yeah, yeah-”

“Mason!”

“No, no. That’s ok. I’ve got it now. I’ll handle everything.” Mason picked up Paul’s guitar and handed it back to him. “You just play. Ok. I’ve got this. You just keep playing. Ok? Ok. Perfect. You just keep playing!”

Mason continued babbling, making “ok” signs with his fingers as he backed out the door. Slam.

Paul began to play again.

To be continued…