The Needle

 



Her talent was par excellence. A rarity, even among a sea of those capable of doing wonders. She had her own distinct style, her own words, her own tune. Her music was magic.


So young she was when she entered the Kingdom of Dreams. At nineteen, she was so full of life, so full of hope. But also naive. 


Her parental home never truly provided the love and care she needed. She felt unseen, unheard and unappreciated. In the Kingdom she had millions of admirers. Those who swayed to her songs, found their own pain and joys in her lyrics. Those who wanted to be just like her.  


But the empty space in her heart could not be filled by those millions. She craved to be held, to be told she was special by someone who was special to her. Her soul was starved of a connection and cried out to be loved. 


It wasn't surprising that she would latch on to the first man who showed her care, affection and love. She trusted him completely. To her, he seemed like a compensation for all that had been missing in her life. 


But with his love, came the needle. 


It was fine, he assured her. Everyone played with it. He did too. And so should she if she wanted to have fun with him.


The first time the needle touched her, she flew. Forgot all her worries and rode that wave of euphoria, with him at her side. One, twice, thrice the needle took her to heaven and back. 


But with each wave, her need for the needle only grew. At first she was happy when she had the needle, and she was happy without it, when she was with her lover. But as time went by, her happiness became intertwined with the needle, as did her lover's affection. 


His arms held her only when the needle was in hers. His lips kissed hers only when they trembled due to the needle. 


The needle seemed to be taking control of her heart as well. The only time it felt alive was when the needle was somewhere in her. 


In time, the needle took control of her life. Her smile, her peace, her music..... it all came only from the needle, it seemed. Her admirers too had begun to notice a change in her. The energy and enthusiasm that she brought to the stage seemed to be slowly fading away. 


Before she knew it, the needle was all she had. Her lover would only pay attention to her when he received money from her. Every hug, every kiss, every minute spent not berating her..... it all came at a price.


The needle became something she needed to stay alive. Gone was the euphoric wave she would ride with her lover. It was replaced by a vacant space where every self doubt she had, every criticism and taunt hurled her way would echo. And would he amplified. 


He still played with the needle, but unlike her it still brought him joy. Only he now had a new playmate every week. Spending her money on whichever pretty young doll struck his fancy. 


She was broken. But she would not accept defeat. 


She walked away. From him. The needle was harder to ditch. It had become as much a part of her as the blood that flowed through her veins. 


It wouldn't let her go. Not even when she was on stage. She couldn't sing, couldn't even speak coherently. Soon, even her admirers turned against her. Using words like "overrated" to describe her. 


Those who taunted her through their printed words were now downright cruel and malicious towards her. Using words and phrases to describe her that crossed the line of basic decency. 


She still tried to fight. To regain some semblance of control and sanity. 


She would retire, she had told a friend. Retire and never let the needle near her. 


But it was not to be. 


In the end, the needle took her. 


The magician was gone, but her magic lived on. 


And even years after her passing, her loyal admirers still listened to her songs. They listened, they grieved and they wondered. Was it really just the needle? 


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