Author Joann
Rating Pg-13 Although there is one use of the F word
Who am I...?
The reflection that stares back at him in the mirror is one that Orlando knows only too well, simply because it's his own. He knows, by heart, every angle, dip, laugh line, and curve of his own facial features. How could he not know them, this was the face he'd watched change from a baby, to a small boy, to a pimply teen and finally into manhood. So, he was more than confident he could shave off the unsightly overnight growth of stubble with his eyes closed and not nick his sun kissed skin. Only now everyone else seemed to know his face as well as he did because it had been plastered all over magazines, video, DVD cases and posters in one guise or another. Not to mention his numerous television appearances and all the websites that were dedicated to him. So it's hardly surprising that he finds himself questioning his own identity, more and more.
A few years ago, he'd been just another nameless face in the endless crowd. Who could go anywhere he wanted to go and do pretty much as he pleased without being bothered, but now it was an entirely different story. These days trying to live a normal life and to do the ordinary everyday things such as going to a cafe to eat lunch or his grocery shopping were becoming a nightmare. Everywhere he went, Orlando could feels eyes on him and see the gleam of recognition in their eyes and ever widening smiles, when he turns to see who's scrutinizing him on this occasion, hears the hushed whispers like 'Isn't that Will Turner?' or other such insensitive comments, some of which made him turn a ghastly shade of red. Some people were just down right rude and would point at him with their mouths open in a shocked expression, making him feel and wonder if he came out without putting on any clothes. Those are the times when he wished he could go back to being anonymous. So that he could mingle and blend in with the crowd. Life was so much easier then.
The problem was, most of them only saw the latest character that he brought to life on the big screen, rather than the man behind that face. The deeply passionate, complex side of Orlando Bloom always seemed to get overlooked, just like the last loaf of bread on the supermarket shelf. There are some who might say this is what he wanted, that he'd given up his identity by opting to go into acting. After all, why become an actor if you don't want to be someone else, but they were so wrong. He'd never wanted to be a 'hottie' or some cute and sexy pin up, that's not why he'd signed on the dotted line. He'd done that because he felt he had something to offer to the world. This was his ambition, his dream and he was living it even though it came with a hefty price tag. Orlando has no recollection when reading through his management contract about becoming public property or giving people the right to snap pictures of him constantly and to go through his trash in the hopes of discovering some deep dark secret that would squash his squeakily clean cut image, but these things still occurred. If he had of known about the more sordid side of this business, then maybe he wouldn't of wanted to live his life in the spotlight and chose to live a simpler, uncomplicated life instead.
Then there are the other ones, who tell him to ride the wave of his somewhat instant rise to fame and to milk it for all it's worth because you never know when it all might come to an end. It was true, others had walked this path long before he'd come along and they'd since fallen to the wayside. Orlando certainly wouldn't be the first actor to bow out on a high and fade into the background having left his or her mark. Then some other young upcoming hotshot could take his place and walk the path in his footsteps, if that was their destiny. Orlando tried not to look to far into the future, he was more your 'take one day at a time' kind of man, but there where times when he couldn't help himself and he'd tried to see where or what he'd be doing in say, five or ten years time. Would anyone remember the fresh faced British actor Orlando Bloom or would he be just another distant memory?
He'd put his heart and soul into all the roles he played to date and on each and every project he'd given a piece of himself away, in order to bring that character to life. Of course that had left gaps within him, but some of the characters he'd played stayed with him, helping to plug up the gapping holes that remained behind. It was the characters who would be immortalized, not him. Why would anyone remember him, it wasn't like he'd done anything spectacular. At the end of the day, he was nothing more than a commodity. If only there was another away, then he might not be so confused over who he was supposed to be. A way to keep the real live Orlando and the psuedo part of him separate, but this line of work was so physically demanding and exhausting that it was difficult not to bring your character home with you. It was a cross you just had to bare and pray that enough of you remained to get up the next day, so that you could carry on.
Who am I...? The words run through his head like an out of control freight train, chugging along its ill-fated track. Granted, he might recognize his own face in the mirror, but who really lies beneath the almost flawless complexion? The disposable razor glides over his freshly prepared skin, cutting off the facial hair. A thought strikes him then, if only he could remove his much sought after face as easily. Just peel away this cursed face that everyone had come to know and worship. Then who would he see staring back at him? Legolas or Will Turner, maybe or would it be just raw, ragged and bleeding flesh. He closes his eyes, in an attempt to banish the vivid images, then yelps in pain when he catches his skin.
Orlando's eyes snap open and a wry grin begins to form on his face, when he sees the thin line of crimson blood, seeping from the fresh cut.
"Who am I?" he says out loud to himself. Then goes one step further and answers himself. "I am a little bit of all my characters but they are only a small part of me. Who am I? I'm Orlando fucking Bloom, that's who I am."
THE END
