"Free ah pannungapa , ellam exposure thana." (Do it for free, for the sake of exposure.) The restaurant tycoon gleams at me, his greasy hair bouncing up and down in sync with that typical Indian head-nod.
I smile at him weakly, clenching my fists as tight as I can. I count to 10 under my breath, trying to keep away from the expletives. As soon as I see his barrel shaped waist trudge out of sight, I lose count, along with my sanity, as I punch a hole in my snare drum. This was the 5th gig in a row, that I was being refused payment, under the veil of "Exposure". I slump down on my stool, as I see a few heads turn my way. I feel my cheeks burn red with anger, which then, with time, is substituted by pain. As drops of my blood garnish whatever remained of my snare, the manager comes running out to investigate the cause of all the commotion. Panicking, he immediately asks me to vacate the premises, as he feels that I was being a 'threat to the safety of his customers'. I smirk at him, lifelessly, as I slowly trudge outside the pub, dragging my drum kit along. The bouncers shut the door in my face, and I load the car with my instruments.
The drive back home is silent. My muffled cries of despair replace the Death Metal that usually adorned my stereo. With tears streaming down my face, and a stomach pleading with me to fill it up with something other than just tap water, I struggle with my keys, as I notice that they don't fit. Confused and exhausted, I look up, to see a notice stuck on my door.
"I've changed the locks, cause you're behind on your rent by four months now. Pay me the entire amount, and get the new keys, so that you can get the rest of your stuff and your ass outta my property. Don't make me call the cops on you." The note from my landlord read.
Clutching my head in agony, I collapse on the floor, as I let out wails of misery. My breaths are now short and quick, as I continue to pound my head against the wall, my tears painting a masterpiece on it. Severely hypoxic, I now bolt for the terrace, craving a blast of fresh air.
As soon as I step out, a breeze of cold air hits me right in the face. I feel the adrenaline drain out of my body, as pain proves the be the omnipresent, once again. I slowly stutter to the ledge, as I now look into the beautiful night sky. I feel euphoric, being sandwiched between the sparkling constellations up high, and the shiny skyscrapers that adorn the city down below.
I take one step atop that ledge, as a wry smile creeps across my face. Memories of my failures flash by, as I let gravity do it's duty. Streaks of reminiscence now rush through my head, taking me on a detour right from the day I dropped out of college to pursue what my heart truly yearned for, to the day I was disowned by my dad for not taking up after him at our store, to the day my girlfriend broke up with me, citing that we didn't actually have a future together, to this day, where my wallet was probably as empty as my soul that was soon about to become the Reaper's.
A Thud was all I felt last, as I felt sanctity engulf me. With that wry smile plastered across my now bloodied face, I felt euphoria cloud my sense. A huge crowd rushing towards me was what I saw last, as I took one large gasp of air. I was happy, at last. I had finally managed to attract a crowd. I had finally managed to be the center of attraction. I had finally managed to become a superstar.
I had finally gotten, enough exposure.