廃虚 / 偽物語

I rose from the dead 
and was an emperor

---

The exaggerated silhouette upon the screen stepped out to reveal a young athletic man in military uniform. Her hands flew to her mouth as she gasped dramatically. Like lightning, she rushed into her brother's arms as the audience cheered wildly for their fateful reunion. Of course, the applause would be amplified and music would be edited in later to enhance the moment, but for the time being the studio audience was transfixed by this touching display of genuine affection unfolding before them. As the emcee began interviewing the girl, who wiped her tears gingerly so as not to smear her makeup, she broke off in mid-sentence, trying to stifle the emotions that had overtaken her. She shied away from the cameras and attempted to compose herself, embarrassed at letting her feelings get the better of her. Somebody backstage called for an aide to hand her a tissue, which she gratefully accepted, remembering her manners despite blinking back tears and trying to conceal a running nose. The emcee and a few members of the audience made sympathetic noises as she sat daintily on the couch and dabbed at the corners of her eyes. She took a deep breath and then smiled like a summer breeze, first into the audience and then at the emcee, signalling that she was ready to resume the broadcast.

---

"You did well today. I told you the stuff works."
A large man in a white T-shirt and trucker hat praised the dolled-up adolescent as they made their way through the enormous parking lot filled with black vans and cars belonging to high-profile media executives.
"It worked a little too well, I'd say. It made my nose run, you know"
"Yeah, I talked to the staff about that. They promised to edit it out"
"Tch. They'd better. Last time I was on their show they made me look like a total ditz"
"You were eighteen. It worked out well for you"
"So now that I'm nineteen they expect me to be hysterical"
The manager didn't flinch.
"People want a show. It's your job to provide it"
"I don't want my life to be a show"
The manager didn't say anything. He didn't have to - she knew her mistake the moment she said it.

They walked in silence until they reached the car. Once they had pulled out of the parking lot and onto the freeway, she summoned the curiosity to inquire upon thoughts that had infrequently plagued her mind, as she lay in her modest bed staring at the ceiling, wondering what was to become of the rest of her supposedly brilliant and advancing career.
"Hey. How long have you worked in this business?"
The manager kept his eye on the road but considered her question.
"About ten years, maybe"
"And how many singers have you worked with?"
"Singers or idols"
"Idols."
Another pause
"Three. Including you"
She thought about that for a second.
"But I'm your favourite, right?"
The manager didn't reply.
"So  when you first started out,    did you have a problem, you know, lying to people?"
      "Who says it's lying"
"But isn't that what you do? Make people believe in something that's untrue?"
 A longer pause
"My job is to make sure people see the best side of you."
She looked at the floor wondering what to say to that.
"Even when you don't feel like showing it," He added
"Doesn't that make me rather two-dimensional then?" 
His grip on the steering wheel tightened. He could tell she was very pleased with her little rejoinder. One thing he liked about ferrying her around - she made for some pretty good conversation, but today he was less amused. His work was not something he liked joking about.
"I suppose so," he said in a tone usually reserved for implying the end of a discussion, but she was eager to argue and wouldn't let him off that easily.
"But isn't a half-truth as good as a lie then?" 
Another thing that separated her from the rest is that she was clever. Sometimes a little too clever.
"Whose face are you wearing?" he asked abruptly.
"What?"
"The face you're wearing now - whose is it?"
    "Mine."
"Really? You're sure?"
She was flustered by his insistence and refused to answer. She knew a trap when she heard one. Nevertheless, he continued. 
"So those are your eyelashes, then. And the powder on your cheeks, do you own that as well?" 
She didn't have an answer. This pleased him more than he'd like to admit.
"The truth is ugly - boring at best. Nobody will pay to see it. Popularity comes to those who can pretend. When you're on stage, people don't really want to see you. They want to see a performance. They want to see something amazing - something extraordinary. That's the nature of human beings: to always want that which they can't have."
She fell into a sullen silence. He caught himself and adjusted his tone. She was only nineteen after all; what could she know.
"We provide an invaluable service, catering to the desires of the audience at our expense. By acting out our roles we're able to give them some small sliver of hope, because the real world is too cruel to spare it. You said that we make people believe in things that aren't true, but isn't the joy that they feel real enough? And the excitement they feel when they cheer for you onstage is a thousand times more visceral than cheering for a character in a movie or book, because to them, you're real. You see, the reason people are so easily tricked is that, deep down, people want to be tricked. They want to believe in love and kindness and happy endings."
"We're not liars." He assured her. "We're fiction-makers."
He stopped himself there, thinking he may have said too much. He stole a glance into the rear-view mirror. She had retreated into herself, gazing wordlessly into the distance. He had learned to distinguish her feigned indifference from her real indifference and knew she had been listening. He left her alone to tend to her thoughts. 

The industry was indeed unfair - exploitative even, to expect these girls to bear the weight of such monumental demands. But they had chosen this path for themselves, signed away their hopes of having a normal life. He quickly chased these notions away - his job was not to think. She'll be fine, he assured himself. It takes them a while, but they eventually adjust - they learn to tolerate the constant attention, and adopt some form of public persona - a second skin to be comfortable in. But some girls just can't handle the limelight; they usually drop out and fade back into the depths of obscurity, but he knew that wasn't an option for her. Her ambition was too great to be satisfied by anything less than success and it would be that refusal to settle that would keep her going. She just needed some time to develop. 
It was getting dark. She tilted her head to face the tinted window, observing the oncoming headlights as they flew by in the twilight. "Fiction-makers," she repeated softly. She could live with that.