[SIZE=1]*Set in mid 1970's *



Backstage at Madison Square Garden, roared with irrepressible frenzy and excitement. The sets were being raised, and a grand piano getting a final polish.
While the theatre quickly filled with thousands anticipating fans, decorated with various memorabilia; shirts, signs, and some attired enormous--glasses. All with an inviting feeling of fervor, and apprehension too enjoy a wonderful performance.

In the largest dressing room, a golden star was hanging on its heavy door. A small group of women--laughing intoxicated women-- waltzed into the room to greet the man in the dressing chair. He was turned facing a mirror, and all they could see was the back of his thinning blonde hair.
Overflowing rows and racks of outlandish costumes, hats, boas, platform shoes, and earrings, occupied half the space.
The room was filled with smoke and it was hot and bright from the florescent lights. The couch was already full with giggling; party hungry people, each seeming to be drinking each others booze. They purposely spilled some on the furniture, and then laughed about how the pathetic losers who worked at the theatre have to clean it.

“Stop that you bloody animals!” The man in the chair turned himself around to face them, fuming.
“If you want to go carrying on like a bunch of drunk Hyannis, go ahead! Just get out and leave me be!”
Suddenly, everything was quiet. He hadn’t spoken in hours, and they wondered how he even noticed them with a crowd of hairstylists around him for the past twenty minutes.
“Sorry Elton, we’re just having a few laughs.” One of the men said, staring at the woman next to him with a lustrous look. She responded with a disgusting giggle and begin to kiss him.

“Stop! Just get the hell out, if you are going to be eating each other—“

“Mr. John, which pair?” An assistant said, holding a tray of various glasses, all lined perfectly in rows. There must have been thirty of the most ridiculous, unique glasses, each one different, and hand crafted with decadent adornment.
“These you think?” He said, forgetting his anger for a moment. He picked the plainest pair, diamond incrusted around its rims. He placed them on his eyes, looked into the mirror and smiled, showing his teeth separated in the middle. “God, I’m such a fat, ugly slob aren’t I?” He purred, turning to the man still holding the tray, unsure what to say at such a statement.

“Mr. John... What do you mean?—“

“Ten minutes! Ten minutes till show time!” A voice drifted through the halls and corridors of the theatre.

“What? Oh!” Elton wailed, jumping out of his chair.
“Now you have to go...all of you. Now!”
They knew he was serious this time. He was quite a sight when he would have his sudden bursts of irritability. He clutched his hands and pinched his fingers on his waist and wagged his head so harshly his enormous glasses almost fell off his nose. Those who knew him well, would obey and cater his every whim like a child whose mother is dead, and father well off enough to provide everything the child felt was owed to him.

In little groups, they slowly walked out the door...all of them. Taking their drinks; not daring to even meet his face. He didn’t even think he had even seen most of them before. How did twenty, or so, of them manage to intrude?

“Tell me if you need anything else, Mr. John.” His assistant said as he attempted too leave also.

“Wait! Randy, did by any chance you see if my father... had picked up the ticket I had left for him at the ticket booth...?” He asked casually.

“No. He hasn’t picked it up...I can check again if you wish—“

“Don’t. It’s fine...I was just wondering...” Elton just stared at the floor, biting one of the diamond rings on his finger, trying to look unfazed.

“Have a good show Mr. John.” He smiled meekly.

“Uh...yes, yes I think I will.” He closed the door.

He turned back around facing the empty, melancholy room.
He was alone now, finally alone, from everyone that wanted a piece of him, and wanted to claim his fame, and glory on their own accord. Finally free of those drunk animals with all their excessive, kissing and hugging. It was completely meaningless, and their ‘love’ held no warmth that he always desired.

He decided which costume he would wear, and slowly undressed. He turned his face away from the mirror, hating looking at his figure. He was no more than a little plump, to others, but when saw his reflection staring back at him, all he could see, was a grotesque looking young man, that liked to dress in outrageous clothes to hide his figure. All the fun he used to have attiring himself in these things, now only seemed ridiculous.

And he hated it. He hated all the meaningless people artificially attached to him, he hated the press and gossip papers charting his every action, and he hated his father for not coming...always-not-coming- But, even after a while of his absence, it still pained and confused him, that he could be bold enough to perform for thousands of people, that loved his music, and adored the even mention of his name; and yet he was painfully shy to attempt a conversation, of true meaning, with his father. Would he ever be good enough?
Well, screw him then. He was a rock star. Though, such a title as that, gave him even more apprehension to hold himself to those high standards of excellence. He needed something to get him successfully through the evening...some drink. He thought as he rumbled through his bags.
Dressed now like a circus ring leader; big top hat with a rhinestone rim,
he breathlessly searched every bag he could find, his alcohol! His pills! Where were they!? He started trembling now, like a orphan deprived of proper nutrition, only to be tantalized by the possibility for a drink of milk that was needed for survival; someone with a glass, holding it out in front of him...and then have it snatched away and hidden from his view.
No where...they were in his bag just an hour ago...someone must have taken them.
On his door came in intrusive nock; “Five minutes Mr. John! You need to get in the wings!”
To the man’s surprise, Elton burst open the door almost knocking the stage manager off his heals.

“Where are they!?” He roared like a starved beast, pushing his body out the door.

“Mr. John?...Sir, I don’t know what you mean.” He said half frightened, but still used to these up-roars.

“I need my pills! Someone took them, I want them now! Or, or, I’m not going on stage!” Now, a bit more frightened, the man ran down in the direction of the adjoining break room, calling for someone get him to calm down.

He stood there leaning against the door, waiting, gasping for breath, he wiped the sweat off his placid face and rubbed his hands against his ribs and grasped and pinched the skin around them. It was to long to wait, he could not, would not, perform with out his “needs met”
Before he knew it, he found himself running down the isle looking for someone he knew, someone he suspected taking HIS things. He came to the room where Bernie, his lyricist, his best friend, His Bernie, was sitting calmly writing. Elton stormed into the room with a half-insane, look of deception and resentment.

“Where are they?!” He shrieked, making Bernie jump out of his chair.

“What the hell do you mean?” Bernie retorted, acting like he wasn’t surprised.

“My wine... My pills...you – you hid them! You hid them all! I-I know it!” He cried, hardly able to breathe. “I know you have them...now, I want them...r-right now...” Bernie gripped him tightly by his shoulders and shook him, trying to get him too stop this tantrum.

“Look, Elton, just listen. You stop this bull right now—he said, trying to keep his own sanity— I’m not one of your little assistants...I did what I thought was right for you, and taking any of that is not going to make you do any better—“

“I know, w-where it is...Yes! You always hide everything in your guitar!” He said not hearing a word of Bernie’s speech. He loosened himself from the lyricists’ grip, and started ransacking the room. Bernie watched his friend in dismay, as he turned over chairs, papers, bags and anything he was able to lift. Until he finally found the guitar, pathetically hidden under some clothes. Elton empted out a small bottle of liquor, and gulped down the pills he thought he needed so desperately.

“Now, don’t you ever...ever, do that again...I-I thought you were my friend.” He stuttered, barely looking at him in the eye. Suddenly, he felt so mortified and disgusting for what he had just done, he threw the empty bottle to the floor, leaving it to shatter to uncountable pieces. Bernie couldn’t say anything, just watching him, what he had turned into...gave him an indescribable feeling of hate, sickness, and pity.
He turned too walk out the door, when Elton was not satisfied.

“You, didn’t answer me...I thought you were my friend.” Elton whispered. Bernie turned on his heel.

“Have a good show Mr. John.” He coyly added.
Just leaving him there, with his pills, his liquor, a nearly broken guitar, and a pile of shattered glass scattered around him.

Authors note* I had a bet from my friend to write about him. The title comes from his orginal name Reginald Kennith Dwight. Tell me what you think

Okay, why is he famous in the first place? I mean, I myself know, obviously, but to someone who has never heard of elton john might be confused.

this story left me feeling a little... short-changed in a way. You write well, but the plot needs more detail.

also, some mistakes: it should have been "to" not "too" in this first par. "each other's" instead of "each others". and near the end of the story, you said that bernie says something "coyly". why would he? is he flirting with elton or something? i think you need to replace that word with something else.

but you do write quite well, just watc out for mistakes, and look into the plot more.