Fran Di Benedetto

Had it not been for the infernal sound of a guitar riff praying on his mind, the alarm would not have awakened him. He was prone to sleeping too much -- after all, who doesn't like quitting reality, even if it is only for a few hours? The pressure at work, the dullness in the office, the heartbreak and being broke certainly add size to the bags under his eyes. That was what music was for, he used to think -- 'music is a relief.' But not anymore. It's been quite a few days that he keeps hearing the same song, Alabama Song, over and over again. It was as usual, at first, but it has been distracting him from his work, his relationships and his overall thoughts for much longer than expected. Those off-beat drum beats, that cursed melody line, the freaking chorus, the creepy sounds in the background... He had to stop it, was a certainty, but how? He has tried everything so far; nothing else crossed his mind. And with this worry -- and song -- praying on his mind, he left for...

There was a big show coming up that night -- immense crowd, mysterious acts, delicate ladies. The magician prepared for all of that, shaking his wand to the beat of the music in his head. It was his night, his rising, his chance.  Putting his cape and hat on, he looked at his image in the mirror once again. He smiled. His electric blue eyes, framed by thick, black eyeliner and eyelashes, imitate the dazzling lightning on a stormy night when women need a man to hold the most. And he loves to be that man. So there will he be -- in front of everyone, hidden behind the curtain until it falls and his slim figure welcomes the audience, arms wide open, brightest smile, as if he was the most innocent man. If only did they know it was all a package, the box of Pandora, a mask. 'Don't let the light fade,' he told himself that night in a mutter, as usual; 'don't let the lightning go away before the thunder strikes.'