Carbon Worcestershire was in a bit of a pickle. As he would say himself in an adorable working class British accent that he sometimes practised when he thought no one was listening. When he had stolen the ‘copter from the ‘copter garage, he had never expected that it would crash on a tropical island. And that his phone would run out of battery so quickly. It was the apps. He never remembered to turn them off and it was stupid.
“I ‘ate Candy Crush” he muttered, as he lashed some branches and leaves together to make a sort of hut. Carbon was the kind of man who was good with his hands. All his groupies said so. And they would know. He wished he’d brought a spare t-shirt. The one he was wearing was all ripped. It left nothing to the imagination. And his pale skin was part of what made him so compelling to the kind of girl who wished vampires were real so she could marry one. Seventy percent of his fan base loved vampires. He never used to think in percentages. When Red Sauce Connection started, they were just five exceptionally handsome lads in a garage, with instruments and music and a dream.
Carbon hadn’t realised that as lead singer he would be the breakout handsome one. And how much of a struggle that would be. Being adored could take you to dark places, he mused. Like the ‘copter garage with a bottle of Jack Daniels in your hand and a GPS that said ‘the moon and back’.
It was amazing that he’d survived at all. His bruises and cuts were all small and, to be honest, flattering. He’d collected rainwater in banana leaves and built a makeshift pilates studio out of other banana leaves. He had a duty to the fans to keep it tight. No, thought Carbon, screw the fans. He had a duty to himself to keep it tight. He looked up at the azure sky, blithely unaware that there was a celebrity underneath it. He would like to be as blissful as that sky, as careless. And maybe he could be.
All he had to his name was three bottles of champagne, a guitar, a bottle of ab oil, some diamonds and half a helicopter. And ‘is ‘opes and dreams.
Carbon Worcestershire smiled, revealing the kind of teeth that women lost it to on Prom night. Being away from everything might be just what he needed. He oiled his abs for the sixth time that day, and wondered how he could build a massive waterbed out of banana leaves and sand.
Just in case.