I stare at the bulbed lights sparkling down Hollywood.

I want be like that, a bright light, shining for everyone to see.

I walk past paparazzi clicking images of rich, famous people.

I need to be them.

Without a second of thought, the desire too much, I stick to the shadows and follow the famous people within an opera house.

I knock out a paparazzi man, stealing his camera, and walk through the doors of the opera.

The security guards pay me no attention, for I look as though I was merely camera lady.

My eyes stick to the sight of the famous woman and her blond, long hair. She smiles richly and with happiness.

I need to be her.

The opera dims in light and I station myself.

Soft music begins to play, thundering through the air.

It’s my time.

I rush to the stage and jump into the spotlight, and then I pull the rope I installed yesterday.

The rope releases thousands and thousands of small bats, positioning the famous with rabid bats.

I smile as I stare and stare.

Some flashes of light blink before me, it is cameras taking my picture.

I hear sirens, and then loud booming footsteps.

I am taken down and arrested.

The next morning, I hear the news of me.

I am all over every channel.

Finally I am famous.