• Six years before my life went completely downhill, I was living the life what any ordinary person would’ve wished they had. I went to clubs, got drunk and searched for women that I would do for one night in a five star hotel room. Then the day right after that, we would wake up like nothing ever happened and bid our last goodbyes to each other. It was the life that everyone wanted; the life that every kid my age would've wanted.

    I was the epitome of that hot, sexy, rock star guy that women would die for while I strut on the red carpet in the television. I had the looks, the money and the fame. And it was all thanks to my father who, without a question, led my life to this stardom.

    At twenty one, I could care less about the situation of my family. In fact, I even hated them. I didn’t care about their needs, let alone their damn wants. I just wanted to live the life I currently had at that time, and enjoy the best of it. So I continued where I had last stopped, then repeat the same cycle all over and over again, much of that like an old, dusty cassette's. And when I got tired of that cycle, I would hit on some drugs, play some poker with my friends and invite some ladies over at my house, despite the presence of my mother and my two younger siblings.

    I remembered what my mother, Isabella, used to tell me, “Bill, shame on you. What did I do to be so cursed with such a child!?” I also remembered that I only gave her the glare, then the pride of raising my middle finger right after. My friends would only laugh at her, tell me that my mother’s gone bonkers. I’d only laugh with them too, completely disregarding the pain and cries of my family behind my back.

    And it was all because I was a jerk. A big, huge, behemoth jerk that my family despised so much.

    “You’re just like your father.” Isabella would use to add after every rant she frees to escape from her mouth. Again, those words were left ignored, as if they’ve never even been spoken.

    Two years after that fateful day, my mother died from a heart attack. I received the news when my younger brother, Steve, told me through the phone. I didn’t cry, and I hadn’t felt anything but happiness to the life I was living. There was no sorrow, regret or pain that built up inside me. There was only the presence of pride, money and greed. Steve, on the other hand, suffered a seriously severe depression and called for help, which I didn’t give a damn at, either. After he had also made the call, he threatened me, told me that he would kill me if he ever saw my face again around the neighborhood my family lived in. I snickered.

    “Now, how’s a mere ten year old boy going to do that? Stab me with plastic?” I laughed after what I had said, amused by the joke, when clearly, my brother wasn’t. Then all I could remember was that he slammed the phone down, the line ending into a repetitious sound of a monotone-like buzz. I only pocketed a stick of cigarette after that brief conversation, lighting it then setting the cancerous object to my lips, without a single trace of regret in my soul.

    Four months passed by and my birthday came in a blink of an eye. Unsurprisingly, the party had been planned already. There were balloons, food and drinks readied inside a luxury hotel. A friend of mine, who chose to pay half for the whole party, was one of the important people I invited to my ‘VIP’ table. Six other people were also invited to the table, three of them being strippers my friend had paid to entertain us men. Then just as the party started, everyone went wild; everyone danced and got drunk like it was the last day they would live. I joined them, of course, and enjoyed another night of my life.

    But after that wondrous celebration, I was astonished to find out that I only got a few dollars left on my pocket. I realized that I had spent everything already, that I wasn’t able to have contact with the band members and that we hadn’t had a single interview or announcement from the crew for the band's supposed upcoming tour. Had they forgotten about me? Had they forgotten about the band? My mind ravaged for answers.

    But that wasn’t important, for now. I had to get out of here, and fast. So at that very day, I desperately escaped from everything; including the money, the fame and pride that my life held. I decided to let go of everything because if I hadn't, I would be left jailed inside a prison. And I definitely didn’t want that to happen. I knew better.

    So I was left wandering on the streets, but I still had that expectation for women to be running to me, telling me that they’ll take care of me and that they’d give up everything just for a small strand of hair or a barely legible autograph from me. But that wasn’t the case. People, including women, ignored me and looked at me as some kind of lost beggar walking on the streets without a home.

    Then everything came crashing to me all over again. Had everyone forgotten about me? They would’ve, possibly, since I hadn't been seen on the television for days, weeks and months. But it hadn’t even been a year yet, how could they instantly forget such a large celebrity such as me? Should had not there been paparazzi running towards me, asking me millions of annoying questions of what happened to me? Of what happened to my lavish lifestyle? Of what happened to this large rock star that sold millions of copies of his music around the world in just one month?

    I broke down, felt pain and sorrow rushing to me violently; regret suddenly slapping the face of reality to me, telling me how I had been such a jerk to my family and to other people I’ve hurt. It was the worst day of my life, but it was also the day that taught me a great lesson in life. It was the day that led me away from the sparkle of glamour and money, and directly towards the darkness of reality and consciousness of the right mind. For the first time after I lived the life I've always wanted, I felt sorry for my family.

    After that day, I decided to sign up for a job as a janitor (as disgusting and unprofessional as it sounds like) at a local restaurant. The salary flowed good, three to four dollars a month, before I finally got to rent a condominium near the place I worked at. I also sold everything that I had that day to a pawnshop; my bracelets, rings and my cellular phone. All of it, and nothing was left. A few weeks later, I was able to buy a cheap, secondhand vehicle from a surplus shop in the city.

    Three years passed by and I planned to take a visit in our old house, perhaps to try to apologize to my family of what I had done. It was quite far from where I was currently residing, it was located on the far east of Los Angeles.

    When I parked the car and entered the house, I almost lost consciousness at the dreadful sight of my two brothers covered with blood on the floor. I ran outside quickly, called for help and went back to my condo. I was deeply horrified; I wasn’t able to contain myself with what I had just seen at that day. I couldn't even sleep.

    I decided to take some sleeping pills and was able to get a rest.

    As another day went on, I was surprised to find myself lying on the sidewalk after I woke up. Perplexed, I quickly ran towards my condominium, which was a few blocks away from where I laid. There were cops all around, investigators and people I guessed that were emergency nurses. I swiftly ran to my room and found my body brutally murdered on the bed. I winced, my eyes widening at the sight.

    I, Bill Daniels, was dead. I. Was. Dead.

    Tears leaked from the corners of my eyes. I couldn’t believe that I was dead. B-B-But how?! Who w-w-was responsible for all of this?! Why?! I hysterically fell on my knees, more tears streaming from my eyes as I continued to break down with my emotional distress. I was sorry for what I did. I was damn sorry for what I did! W-W-Why did this happen to me? No one answered my question. It was just there, like as if no one had ever spoken it. Ever.

    I shakily stood up, turned around and instantly fell on my back. Shockingly, there wasn’t a pain that shot through me as my spine collided with the concrete surface. There was only a feeling of nothingness; a feeling that would encourage anybody to commit suicide. Unfortunately, on my side, I didn’t have the ability to do so. Because obviously, as hard it was for me to believe, I was dead. I was goddamned dead.

    And so were my mother and my brothers, whose tormented souls stood before me. Their faces covered with scars, bruises and blood. Their eyes were hollow, dark circles adorning the skin underneath the instruments for their sight. Their skin was translucent, lips dried and chapped.

    My breathing became ragged as I continued to stare at them.

    My mother smiled.

    She held her hand out towards me, "Congratulations, my son. You have become one of us. Now, it is time for you to bathe in the fires of hell and repent on your sins." My eyes widened, my hands shaking just at the very thought of flames fuming on my skin. Then suddenly, everything just collapsed. It was all too late. I told myself that was all just a nightmare.

    But to my dismay, it wasn't. I tried pinching myself, tried everything that would perhaps wake me up and bring me to reality. But again, nothing happened. Because this was the reality.

    I continued to fall down the dark abyss of the path through what they called hell, the temperature plummeting as my body rocketed down towards the red flames underneath me. I gritted my teeth. A searing pain burned on my skin as I fell further down. Regret, sorrow and more regret started building up inside me. I wanted this all to end. I wanted to go back to my past and change the cruel things that I've done to my family. But like I said, it was all too late. It was far too late.

    "You shall forever drown in this pool of fire. May you suffer greatly from your sins." A demonic, hollow voice announced behind me. Soon, I closed my eyes and screamed as my body approached nearer and nearer the flames. This was my end. My unhappily ever after.