There wasn’t any ill feeling within the group. It was plain for all to see that Marcus had to spread his wings and fly as high as he could. The rest of the band even regrouped as something that fitted well. They did good. But no where close to Marcus. He soared. Higher and higher. European tours, number one singles, chart topping albums, world tours, international stardom. And with him every step of the way was his Grandmother, his original number one fan guiding and watching over him and her happiness was greater than all else.

            His family had all been well taken care of, Mother and Father deciding to take their riches back home to enjoy, sharing and giving to the rest of the village. Only Grandmother had decided on travelling the world with Marcus, sharing in his moments of joy, fighting his battles and attacking more than one member of the ever intruding press. Marcus couldn’t have been happier. A dream come true and enjoyed in the right way, no drugs, loose women or blood sucking agents getting rich from his own grand wave. Marcus was the ultimate star, and as clean as a whistle scrubbed with vigour. Until, that is, the death of Grandmother. Dead from a massive heart attack just as Marcus was winding up a concert in Madrid with a self penned serenade that had women crying and fainting.

It was the point after the peak. The steep gradient that followed was destructive and relentless. Marcus suffered.

—–

He knocks back that scotch as the memory of his dear Grandmother flickers into mind. The kick of the drink does its job. The memory diverts and burrows itself back into the dungeons. Marcus rises unsteadily to his feet. Stands at the cabinet next to the massive television screen and opens a drawer. A picture of a young boy comes into view, the glass covering cracked angrily through the middle, a result of a previous nights drunken rage. His beloved son. Taken from him through the courts, the legal stripping of a man’s sanity, all initiated by a witch of a woman interested only in money, his ex-wife. A tear forms in his eye. He used to never let them fall. Knowing that when they do, his innate mental strength falls with it. But now he is too weak. His vision blurs as the salty liquid balls up in his vision, then plummets onto the picture.