Memoirs of the Unborn

Second story

Even in kindergarten, I showed great promise, smoothly purring all the popular hits of that time. Despite not knowing any foreign languages, I pronounced the words of European chart-toppers precisely in tune with the melody. I possessed perfect pitch and a rare voice.

 

During holidays, especially on Christmas and New Year's Eve, as was customary, my parents would put me on a stool in a bar, and I sang for the adults. I imagined myself as all the stars whose songs were part of my repertoire back then. They applauded me. Those were my first applause. And my first fees came in the form of candies, chocolates, and toys.

 

In the early school years, at my mother's insistence, I started developing my voice and took vocal lessons from the best experts at our conservatory. I was invited to numerous auditions.

 

In middle and high school, I sang first in the school choir and later in the school ensemble, winning, as its soloist, at all district, city and state competitions. People started recognizing me on the street and gave me flowers.

 

So, I became a star.

 

Now, I was recognized not only on the streets of my hometown but beyond its borders.

Beyond the region.

The state.

 

My head spun with anticipation; I painted pictures where I was the star of singing reality competition television series like "The Voice," "American Idol", "X Factor", "America’s Got Talent"," and others.

 

It seemed that my "fifteen minutes of fame" would turn into an hour, and not just one.

 

Here I am on the stage of Carnegie Hall, La Scala, The Vienna Musikverein, The Royal Albert Hall, Berlin Philharmonie, Suntory Hall…

Here I am on the America’s national TV channel, my compositions topping the charts on all radio stations. My name was on everyone's lips. My photos adorned the covers of fashionable glossy magazines.

 

I grew up, and my popularity skyrocketed like yeast. Now, I'm a mother. I appear in commercials where I sing. I have millions of followers on Instagram and my YouTube channel.

 

And here, in this picture, I am at one of the most expensive resorts. Paparazzi don't leave me alone. They don't ask me to sing; they just click and click. I am needed by everyone. Men of all ages, nationalities and religions fall in love with me. I am a Diva.

 

How pleasant it is to bask in the rays of fame, earned not only by natural talent but also by hard work. It's happiness.

 

I review these photos and postcards from the album of my triumph, replaying in my mind the events captured on them, reliving the emotions of those happy moments. And everything is so vivid in memory, as if it happened yesterday. I look at all this from the outside and see myself in the midst of the events of those days.

 

No, I haven't aged. I'm still popular and hot! And I'm not showing my album to grandchildren. I'm just looking and analyzing. After all, all this happened or could have happened to me. Because I really could have become a superstar, a Diva, a prima donna, an empress of the stage. I would have liked that very much.

And I could have.

If only I could.

If I were born.

Because these are just memories from my future, which never existed. Which could have already been in the past. Which was not destined to be born. Just like me.

 

These are the memoirs of the unborn.

 

The unborn me.

02.10.2014, Original (Russian) version.