Kyle’s Blog of Awesome!

The mic picked up his breath sending it through the house speakers for those in the shadows to hear. Light from the floods picked up the hint of grey in his blue eyes as he scanned the darkness trying to get a feel for the small crowd that lay before him. The house band struck its first set of chords; he closed his eyes and set into his song. The shadows applauded as his voice filled the room.

He sang with passion and flare, getting the small audience to swing and sway with every lyric. At times, he would sit on a high stool crooning out great ballads of love, mic in one hand and a tonic and lime in the other. Other times he would move around the stage with a style and grace keeping up to the songs about cities and luck with ladies and once a night he would bring up one special lady he found in the darkness and sing a song just to her.

The end of every night was the same. He stood at the front of his small space, the house lights on allowing him to finally see those he was singing to. The audience always stood and applauded loudly. Men would whistle, women would say, “I can’t believe he even looks like him” and the man that had just entertained them bowed once, kissed the tips of his hands and gave them to the crowd and walked off stage, this time with a gin and tonic in his hand and the mic left on the stool.

Back stage in his small closet like dressing room, John Bergen would take off the outfit he wore for whatever singer he was portraying, this night he took of his ‘50s era tuxedo, and would sit in his chair looking at whatever drink he happened to get at the end of the night. Looking into the mirror, he would stare at a face that was not his, but that of some famous person only a few people remembered. As many times as John had mimicked Ol’ Blue Eyes, he could never get over the fact that when he looked in the mirror he was looking through the eyes of a man long gone from the world. Bringing his left wrist up to his face, he looked at skin coloured band sliding the unlock display bringing up a small window where he pressed the icon that allowed the band to detach from his wrist. Upon doing so, the face John looked at in the mirror contorted and changed in a familiar painful way into the visage of a man speeding towards forty, with dull brown eyes and hair that was getting graying at an alarming rate.

Bringing his hand fully to face, John rubbed the creases that were not there moments ago, trying to remember when they got there. There always seemed to be something new to look at when John took off his Nokia Morph T-800, this time it seemed to be a deeper longer crease below his left eye. He wondered if it was a side effect from the night in and night out changing his face went through. There hadn’t been a rpoblem since the T-100 series, experts said that the 800’s were virtually flawless. Virtually thought John, just another word for close but not quite. With John imitating someone else every night of the week he wondered if the morph might be getting confused with who he really was, giving him an older and older look.

Lifting the gin and tonic to his lips, he drank the last dregs of alcohol that sat in the half melted ice, then picked up his morph, unlocking it and then unfolding the band into a cue card sized sheet, john pressed the video call button and pressed the listing for bar. On the now cue card sized morph was a young man turning to look in john’s direction. Behind the man John could see the audiences view of the stage he just stood on, which was now near empty as the last patrons finished filtering out.

“Yes Mr. Bergen, what will it be?”

“Gin and tonic please, Ryan.”

“You got it Sir. The kitchen is still open, you want them to fix you something?”

“No that’s Okay Ryan, just the drink please.”

“Sure thing.”

“Actually Ryan, can you make that a double? “Of course Sir.”

“And make that two.” “

Two double gin and tonics it is then.” “

Thanks Ryan.”

“My pleasure Mr. Bergen.”

John pressed the end icon and Ryan was replaced by rotating morph logo. Folding it in half and pressing a new icon the morph displayed a numbered keypad. Placing his morph to his ear, John asked the phone to dial his voicemail, which it promptly did. Seconds later John hung up his morph folded it back to a band and slapped it back to his wrist, turning from green back to the colour of his skin. John swore under his breath, there was no new messages, there never really was.