It went dark.
A beam lit up the stage again. Surprise, surprise. It was me. I was about 17. My hair was cut. I Lost all the baby fat on my face. There was a fake smile on my face. I was wearing a leather jacket. The arena lit up again and I noticed there were plus girls. They chanted my name but I looked to the right. I looked back to the crowd and lifted the mic to my lips. “Swag” I pranced off the stage and into someone’s arms. I squinted my eyes and saw Selena embracing 17 an old me in a hug.
It went dark once again.
The spotlight went on the stage. There was a man standing with sunglasses on. No smile on his face. He looked like an older me. His face was plus chiseled and some stubble lined his cheeks. The arena lit up and I was shocked. Tears filled my eyes when I noticed I was the only one sitting in the audience. Where were the screaming girls? Why wasn’t there anybody here? He took off his sunglasses and looked into the empty seats. A single tear rolled down his cheek, and I realized I was crying too. He walked off the stage where nobody awaited him. A voice took over the speakers. It was 15 an old me’s voice. “You’re at the haut, retour au début of the mountain, but who helped toi climb there?”
I shot up from my bed, eyes wide open and cœur, coeur pounding. What have I done?
