Famous… or Not…

By Layla, age 11

My eyes flitted open and immediately closed again. Rays of sunlight were beaming into my luxury 12-bedroom loft just outside the city centre. Ugh. Mornings. I melted out of my bed and sauntered to the kitchen. After making a coffee, having a bite of toast, and racing out the door to the filming studios, I started down the street. I paraded down the boulevard, waving, and smiling, looking my best (as always) and the strangest thing was going on. Everybody I waved to gave me side eyes or strange looks, and sometimes they didn’t even glance at me! It was as if nobody knew who I was anymore! There was no gawking, whispering, gasping or jumping with joy. Nothing at all! I was beginning to feel a little bit concerned for these people – had they been living under a rock their entire lives? And then, a despicable, terrible, horrific thought came over me. What if…what if I wasn’t famous anymore? Was it at all possible? The thought really bothered me, so after a few more minutes of walking, I paraded my way down to the police station and now here I am.

“So? Can you fix this? I thought you were meant to be a police officer.”

“Well ma’am no offence, but you don’t have any proof of your claim, so until you find some, there's not really anything I can do…”

“Well then, I’ll be talking to your manager. Unbelievable! Honestly. You ordinary people these days. Won’t even lift a finger to help out a fellow civilian in need.”

“I could say the same about you famous - or claiming to be famous - people,” the police officer mumbled.

“What did you just say!?” I screeched. “How very DARE you. That's it! I’ve had enough of you people! I’m leaving! Good riddance.”

~

And that was how I became famous again. In the end, I got arrested. And, conveniently, it, and I, were ALL over the media. I mean, it wasn’t my preferred strategy, but when you're suddenly not famous, you gotta do what you gotta do.