Washed Up (2020; Existential, Poetry)

"Tonight, we have more information on the tragic accident of the luxury boat that was believed to be owned by Jay Tilly. The boat, which was marooned off the coast of the Yucatan Peninsula on a small island, was discovered yesterday by another ship and reported to authorities."

"The remains have indeed been identified as Jay Tilly. In shallow graves on the island were some of the bodies of what is presumed to be his entourage, which appeared to have been buried about a month or so prior."

"Jay Tilly, once a Hollywood superstar, has had a controversial and erratic past year. Following a series of box office bombs, failed business endeavors, and public feuds with former friends, he showed a variety of behavior many found concerning, with worries about his mental health being voiced."

"In May, Tilly, after a three month hiatus from the public, announced he was buying a five million dollar beachfront house in Yucatan, with many questioning how the struggling star was able to afford such a property. He began posting booze-infused videos to his social media at his new mansion, with a fresh set of party animal companions, including amateur actress Sarah Long. He then boasted of the purchase of a luxury yacht, and plans to take it on a wild island-hopping vacation. He swore his adventure would be 'movie material' for its crazy antics."

"But, Tilly's journey ended tragically. While authorities have yet to determine exactly what happened, they have found what appears to be a journal kept by Tilly. They hope that his words can shine some light on this terrible incident."


"As updates come, we will be the first to report them. This has been Veronica Starr with Hush News."

***

Tilly's Journal

It wasn't until I was face in the watery sand, mouth and nose stinging with salt, to finally realize what has been true far before this moment.

The Heavens channeled all of their cruel irony into one, thundering bolt, and with the greatest force of retribution they could muster, hurdled it at my house of cards.

In that moment, as I dragged myself off the shore, surrounded by debris and destruction, my mind was focused on but one fact: I am washed up.

Literally, yes, but I've been washed up for so much longer. I've been riding the downward side of Fortune's Wheel for ages, clung to the rung that now barely holds me afloat. But I was blind to it.

In my delusion, I believed that I had just passed the peak; and not only that, but also that I could change its direction, and once more climb the top of the world.

But for all the cards I've played, all the tricks I've tried, all the strings I've pulled- here I am, back where I started. Destitution and envy.

The grass is always greener, they say. Boy, did I try and make my lawn the best. I used the strongest fertilizer. Planted the prettiest flowers. Placed the shiniest ornaments. But the lawn next door always sparkled more, a brighter shade of evergreen I could only chase. Every improvement I made, it made, but better.

And when my garden started to rot beneath my feet, turn yellow and dry at my toes, the lawn next door was still at its apex beauty. Now I knew what the peak looked like, and my perception of it didn't fall back down with me. Its grandeur still matched that of Eden.

I remember back to when I had nothing the first time- a poor nobody from the south side of town. Jeans a size to small and a brand out-of-fashion ten years ago. Friend count numbering in the single digits, respect amounting to nil.

It was a slow-burning indignation, which fermented in my soul and spread its way like a cancer through my being, that handed me my ultimate and overriding directive that was still at the helm when I crashed upon this beach.

This obsession drove every bicep curl I completed, every friendship I forged, every opportunity I lunged for. I ate healthier, worked harder. Refined my body and mind, mastered my skills, sharpened my strengths and dulled my weaknesses. It forced me to better myself; not for myself, but for its vision.

It warped who I was. I faked it, until the farce was the truth. I became someone new. Charming. Witty. Cocky. A clown. A wildcard. A daredevil. I'd ask stupid questions I knew the answer to, until I didn't know the answer anymore. I accepted any challenge, until I didn't need to be challenged. I feigned transparency, revealing my deepest secrets in exchange for laughs, sympathy, and companionship; yet my intentions were always masked. It was the ultimate deception. I became such a proficient fabricator, I pulled the wool over my own eyes. I believed and internalized the facade, and it became reality for me.

This fixation also led me to some darker paths. It instilled mercenary values in me. Peers were stepping stones, laughing stocks, expendable extras in my story. I cut ties and burned bridges that I feared held me back. I took advantage of those who's traits and possessions I could commandeer for my use. I deceived, misled, backstabbed. Not a wolf in sheep's clothing, but a snake, slithering his way up the Tree of Knowledge with the singular purpose of sinking his fangs into the Forbidden Fruit.

It's safe to say that it began to work; droplets of success began hit my parched throat. My recognition grew, as did my influence. I ceased to be a nobody. First people came around for what I had to offer, then they came around for me. It wasn't all uphill; it's impossible for a dreg like myself to not make some gaffes and fuck-ups. But I powered through my mistakes, and now that I had a taste of my dream, I only became hungrier.

My newborn connections got me further than my school's popular circle. It was through a cheerleader's contacts I landed my first gig, a minor commercial role. Using her heart as a springboard, I dove in, breaking it on my way off. A victim, but an acceptable casualty to me. She wouldn't have cast me a glance freshman year; now she had fulfilled her purpose to me, so I cast her aside like an empty syringe.

My rise was meteoric. That person I had forged in the hallways of high school proved to be a striking actor. It was almost too fast. My family couldn't keep up, and only a few of my friends could. Life became a string of photoshoots, calls from agents, weekend socials on the poolside. It was endless work, and even more endless pleasure.

Then came "Heartstring". My magnum opus, if you will. A self-indulgent, hot-and-heavy romance that broke box office records and plastered my face across silver screens in every American theater. Not even two years ago my own classmates wouldn't have recognized me; now the entire United States couldn't have enough of me. Girls I would've groveled over bombarded me with fan mail. Guys I would've killed to be were asking to me to come over. It was amazing; and yet, it left me wanting more. I was happy, but not satisfied.

My career burned bright for some time. Success after success on the screen; and even more so behind the scenes. Blacked-out hookups hidden behind curtains of cocaine. A true monster was born here; simultaneously craving better and believing it was the best. An arrogant prick with something to prove.

I didn't see the first scandal coming. I'd acted just as I always had; I didn't know it was a mistake until the press dragged me over burning coals. The news outlets that loved me and the talk shows that praised me suddenly beat me down. The blows hurt, but the surprise hurt worse. I should've taken the hint then that I was not infallible. But I didn't. Like an awkward moment in the classroom, I powered through it.

My movies steadily decreased in success. Critics and fans alike lost their affinity for me, sequel by sequel. The golden boy of Hollywood was turning bronze, and he was oblivious to it.

The second scandal hit. Then the third. Then the first box office bomb. My delusions, brought on by the same ambition that got me there, held steady. The next film would be the hit I needed. The next party would be the experience I craved. The next girl would be the woman I wanted. The next car would be the ride I... it was always the next. And the next always disappointed, if not overtly. I thought it worked, but inside, I knew it didn't.

Something in me could finally feel the shift in balance. The gravitational pull of darkness roping me away from the spotlight. In truth, I only remained because of my depraved antics, but I did not believe that. In my mind, I was simply in a rut, and that same determination that had lifted me out of social rejection, out of poverty, could lift me out of this.

Failed business ventures. Shallow friendships. Bizarre outbursts. It must have been a sad circus to watch. Like a derailed train speeding for the cliffside with the conductor thinking it was on track. Entertaining in only the most morbid and pathetic of ways.

And all the while, I still thought of myself as king. But deep down, a part of me knew. A part of me that remembered how the bottom felt and knew my feet were scraping it again. This hidden realization added to my desperation; I lived by impulses, acted on spite and vanity.

This is where it has led me. Alone, far from home, surrounded by the corpses of fake friends and futile dreams. Now I am literally starving. Fame and fortune is nothing when you haven't eaten in four days and know that tomorrow dinner will be the same.

In some ways, I wish I would've died in the crash, to be smited in a moment of delirious ecstasy where at least I could've passed with dopamine in my brain. But this, this is truly relieving. I've finally come to terms with my rise and fall. Every step of it, from pranking the math teacher to destroying my boat on this beach. It sobered me up, away from my false visions of a second peak and a fulfilling future. I am washed up, and I am okay with that. And that overriding, all-consuming ambition? Washed away with the tide, and I have never been happier.

In the ocean water, I finally see my true reflection. Not an A-list actor, seductive Casanova, cunning entrepreneur, or bombastic party animal. A sensitive, poor kid from the south side of town who bit off more than he could chew. I hadn't seen him for quite some time; but you know what? I missed him, and I wouldn't have anyone else see me off.

-Jay Tilly