My world unfolded in slow motion during those five minutes. The first person I rang was my producer Marty “what do you mean its all over; it’s the end of the world? What are you on about man?!” he bellowed.” It was no good no matter who I told no one would listen. There was only one thing left to do and that was to get out of Tinseltown.
I’d ridden the wave of fame, made my millions, got my Hollywood mansion and fancy cars and overnight the whole lot had disappeared. It’s my own fault really. If only I could go back and do it again, I’d do things differently.
The grasp of my revolver loosened. The splattered bloodstains on the cream chiffon drapes left a poignant mark of the devastation I had created, but that bitch deserved it.
It’s the end of my world as I know it.