Some live long enough to resent fame. Others cling onto it forever. Few give it up willingly. Less may resume plain lives afterwards. Trifling routines so many take for granted, those of renown may never enjoy.

Imagine your favorite movie star - maybe Brad Pitt, Julia Roberts, or Jennifer Lawrence - attempt to buy bread from an Aldi, walk around the park undisturbed, or go to church on a Sunday.

No, uttermost fame means giving up these little enjoyments; but quietly wishing for some semblance of the “average”.

I️ should know.

In fact, I’d venture to guess not a person hearing this doesn’t know my name.

You laugh at me, but I’m telling the truth.

Almost everyone hearing this now has heard of me.

From what, you ask? Well… that’s no fun. You’ve got to figure it out for yourself. Maybe you will, maybe not. Either way, I’m not giving you any hints.

But I️ will say I’m one of the lucky ones. I️ got away from all the hubbub in time. Sure, movies are made about me. Stories written. Tall tales told! Admirers, imitators, and enemies all.

(Some better than others in my opinion)

But who am I️ to be picky?! It’s not as if I’ve made a red cent in commission. Just the way things are. What? Oh yes it’s true! I wrote the story and they take the credit. It’s simply criminal!

I️ guess I️ could put myself back out there again. Maybe that’s why I’m talking to you. Unburden myself of the life’s monotonies and resume my place as a god among men! No, that’s too proud. I️’m not a prideful person, you know. Never bitter. In fact, I️ volunteer each Saturday at a local charity - a soup kitchen and home for the homeless and drug-addicted youth - and all of them simply know me as “the sauce man.” They would probably act differently if they know who I️ really was!

But you don’t want to listen to an old man ramble. Though, I️ do have a story or two to tell… if you’re interested.

Oh! You are? Wonderful!

You know, even though I️ have a good life, it’s nice to know someone out there cares. We’ll be co-conspirators in my secrets, eh? Perfect!

Well, let’s see…

There was one time, before I️ made it to the big time. A neighbor down the road threw a large party. I️ still recall the scent of all the food… ah, so delightful!

Hors d’oeuvres, cakes, and every finger sandwich you can imagine. And the loveliest gardenias I️ ever saw! The best of the best were in attendance - A-Listers. Musicians, directors, actors, chefs, the whole kit n’ caboodle.

I️ wasn’t invited, of course, but I️ was there.

Security was less strict in those days. They’d never imagine someone would infiltrate with ill intent. It’s incredible the sheer madness in the world these days. Husbands and fathers, murdered in cold blood! Daughters slaughtered in public!

It’s too much for me. No, I️ much prefer the quiet life. Just leave me to my volunteer work and the gardens.

Now then, where was I️…

Oh you’re right- the party!

There I️ was, taking it all in. “Enjoying the view,” so to speak.

This beautiful woman in a whimsical red number comes over to me and strikes up a conversation. You might recognize her too if I️ told you her name.

Her curves mesmerized me, pulling at me like a moth to a flame. Like an Aphrodite carved in snow-white marble; hair like a blazing summer evening. She smelled of lilacs in the early spring.

I️, hypnotized, took her hand and we twirled away the evening!

By the end we were so enraptured with one another she invited herself to my place. Fortunately for me, security appeared preoccupied. Good thing too! I️, struck stupid with luck, walked straight out the front door with her.

They’d found a body, you see - in the bushes behind the back door. I️ must’ve missed it when I️ came in, but looking back I️ can’t imagine how…

But fortune never lives long with the simple. When we finally made it to my humble abode (emphasis on the humble) she got out of the taxi, took one look inside, and then invented some excuse to turn wondrous tail and catch a cab home.

I️ still sigh after her… my “one who got away.”

But you’re not here for that… rolling your eyes!

Am I️ boring you? Or are you catching on?

Fine, fine. I’ll tell you a more exciting tale.

Unless… you’ve got somewhere to be? No? Very well.

After I️ made it, I️ remember the first time I️ heard my name on television. Ha! Like honey to my ears! We didn’t have all your fancy gadgets and thingamajigs.

No, I️ had to work to make a name for myself. Do something really worth remembering. And I️ rose to fame, if you catch my drift. Surely you can gather I’ve always had a flair for the dramatic. Yes, I️ consider my work an art form, truly. Style is everything. Remember that. Though most wouldn’t admit it, the masses reveled in the awe of my work.

Yes! That’s right. I️ was something of a painter!

But that’s not it. You’re getting warmer.

My first feature, yes! That’s a good one to tell…

I️ was inspired at the time by great painters of the past: Géricault, Rapp, Caravaggio, and dear Picasso! But I️ was never entirely satiated by the pedestrian. My models came from everywhere. From the bourgeoisie to your… well… “average joes.” I️ started with those I️ could afford. Sometimes the homeless, sometimes prostitutes. I️ wasn’t picky. I️ suppose my models understood and trusted my vision. Not at first, mind you, but by the end I’d make them weep for joy.

Oh don’t look it me like that! I️ never did anything untoward with them. I’m not that sort of man.

I️ realized by that time my aspirations were far too elemental. But with their natural gifts and my knack for all things beautiful, we bore our masterpieces. Sometimes on film! But also in my exhibitions. People would come from miles around to experience our creations. Even from the capital; a Secretary himself, if you can believe it! The newspaper headlines called that one, “The Most Visceral Display of Humanity in a Century!”

By my retirement I’d boasted over a hundred different spectacles! Though, not all are attributed to me… unfortunately. They were too blind to see.

What’s that? You’re asking why I️ retired?

Oh, I️ became bored of it, I️ think. Do you ever feel buried beneath your work? Like it’s drawing out the purpose from your veins and leaving you… listless? Countless hours laboring over tools, drenched in sweat, the scent of ammonia, soil, it all grew so tiresome! After forty years what could you expect?

Therefore I️ knew my final display must be truly breathtaking! And indeed, it was.

Any more guesses? I️ see the tears in your eyes. You’re stunned speechless!

Alright, alright. I️ know I️ said no hints, but I️ like you.

I’ll describe my final piece and then you get one last try. That’s the best I️ can do without you insulting me!

Imagine this: You walk into the foyer. The carpet’s speckled gold and red, with just a hint of silver. The room smells like cherry blossoms. A bifurcated staircase with sparkling bannisters subtly force the eye to the center. And there, my crescendo, floating in state! The most ravishing set of pink lungs, pumping life in and out. Not a spot of blood on them. “How did he do it?”, they asked. But that’s part of my magic! Flying high overhead, like something straight out of Rapp, entrail and bone twisted into perfect daisies. All suspended mid-air as if tossed in the wind!

Ah, the satisfaction I️ still feel!

Each head painstakingly laid along the walls! And that was just the first story! I️ went through twenty models (a record) for that one piece. But oh, was it worth it!

Yes! Yes! I️ can see it. Don’t quiver, darling, say it…

say it!

Ding, ding, ding! On the final try you win!

I️ am indeed The Blossom Killer in the flesh!

I️ told you you’ve heard of me!

I️ know. You’re starstruck.

Wha-?

Oh no, Why me.

Sorry, I️ misheard you behind the plastic.

Simply put, my dear, I️’m not long for this world. It’s cancer, the doctor said. Only six more months left. Perhaps I’m just feeling nostalgic… and you looked so very pretty in that red dress.