The room was decorated in old pictures of “The Miracles, “The Jackson 5”, and “The Supremes. From wall to wall, there was old Golden Records given to him by their owners. However, one could not help but notice that the room was mostly covered in pictures of a young, smiling Michael Jackson.

“Send them in.”  A very old, very tired looking man sighed.

“Sir, are you sure. You told me you were done with music 20 years ago. You said it had been nothing but misery, and pain. This woman—she could be trouble. What if it’s all a scam?”  The woman asked, quietly.

“Suzanne, I’ve know you a very long time. And you were with me through the rise, and fall of Motown. But, I haven’t seen talent— since Michael. What if the boy has a gift? Send them in.”

“Yes. Mr. Gordy.”

Suzanne de Passe walked over to the door, and opened it. “Toby Johnson, Mr. Gordy will see you now.” In walked a woman by the name, with a young boy peeping from behind her back.

“Mr. Gordy, it is an honor to be in your presence. Every since I was a little girl, I was in love with Motown.” She held out her hand, and Berry Gordy gazed at it, but did not shake.

“This is the boy?” He asked, coldly.

“Yes, sir. I knew Toby was special from the day he was born—and I know most mothers say that, but he is. Toby say hello to Mr. Gordy.”

From a first glance, one would have thought that Toby was about five. He was short for his age, almost a midget. However, once you gazed into those dark brown eyes, you’d see the eyes of a man who had lived a thousand years. Toby Johnson was in fact 10 years old, thank you very much.

“Hello, Mr. Gordy.” Toby whispered, shyly, still hiding behind his mother’s back.

“How do you expect him to perform, if he can’t even speak properly?” Suzanne asked, angrily.

Before Toby’s mother could defend her son, Berry Gordy snapped.

“Quiet, Sue! If memory serves me correctly, Michael himself was shy offstage. But when he got on, that boy sure was something else. I knew—even then, that Michael was destined for greatness. He was my pride, and joy, that boy.” His voice broke at the end. In all his One hundred and two years, he had never felt so much pain, only when thinking of Michael.

“Mr. Gordy, I assure you that Toby is very shy, but when he sings…”

“Woman, are you wasting my time? Make him sing something” Gordy snapped, impatiently.

“Toby, Mommy wants you to sing for the nice man. Can you do that?” Toby nodded, wide eyed, and solemn.

“Sing, “I Got The Feeling”, by James Brown.” Gordy demanded.

“But sir, that’s the same song—“Suzanne interrupted

“I know. I was there. Sing it boy!”

Toby whimpered, gazing at his mother.

“Mr. Gordy! I will not let you torture my son! He has talent. I wanted him to make it out there. And I thought, “Why not make it with the great “Berry Gordy” himself”. As I stand before you today, I realize that THE “Berry Gordy”, is nothing but a fussy, mean old man, who has nothing better to do with his life than terrorize young kids. I was 16 when Michael Jackson died. It’s been twenty years, Mr. Gordy! Twenty years since 2009! I know how it feels, trust me. My world came crashing down too! He was my idol. Just think how happy I was when I found out Toby could sing. I figured he could do something with his life, become someone—like Michael did. Yet, here you stand before me. Broken. Depressed. Old. I’m sorry Mr. Gordy, but I’ll take my business, elsewhere. Toby deserves better.” The woman’s face was angry, sad even.

She grabbed her son’s hand, and they turned to leave. Just as she reached the door, she turned back, and frowned. “Not everyone can be Michael Jackson, Mr. Gordy.” With that, they were gone.

“Sue, I need my medication. Give it to me, now.” Gordy sat down in his old leather chair, and rubbed his temples.

“Mr. Gordy, did you see the boy’s eyes?” Suzanne, asked, as she dug in her purse for his pills.

“I did. What about it, Sue?”

“I remember eyes like that—60 years ago. A boy. He had those eyes. Sad, hopeful, yearning. Michael Jackson had those eyes.”

“There will never be another Michael Jackson!” Berry Gordy yelled!

“I understand, sir. But, the boy deserved a chance. You didn’t even give him a chance.” She said, kindly.

“Yes I did! I let them in, didn’t’ I? That’s chance enough. Give me my pills, god-damnit.”

“Gordy, what that woman said about you was true! You’re not the man I once knew. I give up” Suzanne slammed the pills onto his desk, and stormed out of the Office, slamming the door behind her.

Berry Gordy’s eyes filled with tears. He gazed at the picture on the wall of Michael Jackson, and him. Michael had been a son to him. But what would he say? He’d look at him, and say “Mr. Gordy, that was really mean of you. That boy deserved better.”

“I know, Michael. I Know. They aaallll come to me, trying to be you, but they can’t.” Berry muttered

“He didn’t say that.” Michael pointed out. And suddenly, he was there. In person. Wearing the same clothes Michael had worn, when Berry first laid eyes on him. He was young, and smiling, and…happy.”

“Michael.” Berry sighed.

“Hello, Mr. Gordy. You did that boy wrong, and you know it.”

“Why are you here, Michael?”

“I’ve come to bring you home, Berry.”

“I’m d-dead.” Berry stuttered in horror.

“You just suffered a heart attach, Mr. Gordy.” Michael said, kindly.

“I didn’t feel anything, though.”

“That’s the easiest way to died.”

“Michael, before you take me…up there; there’s something I’ve always wanted to tell you. When you walked into Motown all those years ago, and you performed that song—I knew you were gonna’ be somebody. I knew it. I just didn’t know how big of a somebody you would be. But I’m sorry. Maybe if I had turned you away, they wouldn’t have crucified you like they did. Maybe you’d still be alive today.”

“Old man, everything happens for a reason.” Michael held out his hand—small and innocent, and together they went away to the world of God. And for once in 20 years, Berry Gordy was happy.

“After being turned away by the Late Great Berry Gordy, 10 year old Toby, and his mother Nora, took his talents elsewhere. Toby is now 14, and he’s stunned crowds of all ages.  Everyone seems to be getting infect with “Tobemania”. The way he dances is incredible—little girls swoon over him. Having been compared to the likes of Michael Jackson himself, Toby surely is a “Thriller”. The boy has sold over 37 million records in all—before he even hit puberty. Every album he’s released has turned to gold. I’m sure Berry Gordy, himself couldn’t have know what lay in store for little Toby Johnson. And to you Toby, never let anyone tell you, you aren’t good enough..”

Toby Johnson gazed at the documentary of himself, and smiled. Music was apart of him. It was easy—like breathing. Sometimes, he felt as if he was the reincarnation of someone else—maybe even Michael Jackson.

He laughed at the thought. The only thing people said he and Michael Jackson shared was talent, the boyish soprano—and maybe the eyes. They always compared the eyes…

Coincidence? I think not.

The sound of the calliope danced around my ears. Classical music was something I had always enjoyed. I started to hum, along when my little sister infected my train of thought.

“Eww, it smells like old, nasty horse poop!” Janet complained, loudly.

“Shut up, Dunk. You were the one who wanted to come here in the first place. ‘Please, Michael. I’ll be good. I promise.’”  I quoted.

People were giving me the eye, but none had dared to approach me yet. After giving my bodyguard the ‘slip’, Janet had begged me to take her to ride the carousel. So here we stood, in line, like normal people, waiting for our turn on the carousel.

“That was before I knew how bad it smelled. ‘Sides, since your new album came out, you haven’t had time for me.” She folded her arms, across her chest, and jutted out her bottom lip.

“Aww, Dunk. Don’t be like that. Just wait. “Off The Wall” is gonna’ be—well off the wall.” I looked up and realized we were next in line. “Oh, gee. We’re up next. What do I do?” I started to panick, and look at Janet for support.

I know, I know. Why should the BIG brother be asking the LITTLE sister for help? Truth is, Janet was better at this ‘normal’ stuff, than I was. Having been raised away from all of the music, she could actually go out without getting stampeded. I on the other hand, was sweating like a pig. It had been dumb to leave Bill.

“Hand her the tickets, Stupid.” Janet muttered.

“Don’t call me stupid, Stupid!” I protested.

“Next in line.” The woman—more of a girl, than woman called.

I dug in my back pocket, and extracted two tickets, timidly handing them to her. She took them, barely glancing up. “Aren’t you a little too old to be riding the carousel?” She asked.

I chuckled, nervously. “I didn’t know there was an age limit to riding the rides.”

“Michael, shut up, and go.” Janet whined.

“You’re the first person that I’ve met today, who’s said something like that.” The girl beamed. “Other people usually just get mad, and tell me to mind my own business. I honestly don’t see anything wrong with it. If you wanna’ be a kid, then be a kid before you’re old, and wrinkly.” She grinned.

She looked up for the first time, and her eyes met mine. Dark blue eyes filled with shock,  framed by long curly eyelashes. Laugh lines covered the outside of her eyes. She was the first to look away, tucking a strand of dark curly hair behind her ear.

“I’m not other people.” I shrugged.

“You’re Michael Jackson. Of course you’re not.” She murmured.

“Not like that. I believe in fun. Life would be boring if you weren’t silly once in awhile.” I laughed.

“I know how you feel.” She gasped. “I ran away when I was nine—ironically enough, to come live with the circus.”

“Hey!” Janet complained. “Are we gonna’ ride.”

“Janet, don’t you see people already on there? We have to wait.” I pointed out.

“But,  I don’t want to wait! Tell them to get off.” Janet demanded.

“I can’t just tell them to get off!” I winked at the girl, who was covering her mouth in her hand. She was laughing, and her eyes just lit up when she laughed.

 “Michael, do you like her? I think he likes you. See, he’s blushing—Mike, you like her, dontcha’?” I covered her mouth in my hand.

“This is my sister Janet. Don’t mind her.”

Janet pulled my hand off of her mouth, and frowned. “See, look they’re done. Can we go on? Please?” Sure enough, people were sliding off of the horses, and exiting out of the back gate.

“Ok, first twenty people.” The girl—I didn’t know her name called. A short man, who wasn’t even APPROACHING five feet walked over, and spoke to her.

“Rose—you can go now. Your shift ended three hours ago.”

She opened the gate for us. “But, Jim, this is the funnest part of the fair. I love to watch the kids. Just one more round?” She begged.

“Fine. But then, you’re gonna’ go and get some chow.”

“Yay! All aboard the S.S Carousel.” She shouted in this fake conductor’s voice.

Janet cheered with glee, and ran right pass the gate. I watched as she picked out a large pink unicorn… thingie, and tried in vain to climb it. Being the big brother I was, I walked over, and lifted her up onto it. By the time I got to my horse, there was nothing left but this, ugly brown horse, that was in desperate need of a good waxing. I didn’t mind though. As I swung my legs over, the calliope started back up, and the ride started to go round, and round. I waved at the girl—Rose was her name, and she waved back, grinning broadly.

I felt like a kid again. I really did. I was just so happy all of a sudden. I waved at the fans that had crowded around to catch a glimpse of me. I rested my head against the horse—let’s call him Bob. Rose—for that was her name, was arguing with the short man, again. She gestured wildly to the ride, and back at herself. She really was something else. Maybe, I’d ask her to join for popcorn, and candy.

The echo of little children laughing, sounded in my ear. It was almost magical, if one believes in those sorts of things. I did.  If I listened hard enough, I could hear  the pony rides that was the cause of the ‘smell.’ This wasn’t my world. I belonged in a world of disappointment, and confusion—oh boy, here comes Bill, and man was he mad!

“Hi, Bill.”  Janet called out, happily.

Bill marched over to Rose, and started gestulating angrily. She frowned at him, and shook her head. Bill, acted quicker than I had seen in a long time, slammed his hand on the stop button, and the ride slowly spun to a stop. As we exited out the back gate, he came around and started yelling instantly.

“You could have been kidnapped! They could have mobbed you! Do you have a death wish?”

“Bill, It’ s ok. They left us alone.” Janet said, happily.

“We are GOING home. NOW!” Bill grasped us each by the arm, and pulled us along. I was twenty-one years old, and I was being treated like a child…

Seven months later…

 The album sales skyrocketed a couple months back. I can’t believe it. Bill practically stalks me wherever I go, now. I can’t even go to the bathroom without him there. He has eyes like a hawk. Janet is still a pest, but she’s my little sister, and I love her. I think, if I’m not mistaking, I fell in love with the Circus Girl—who’s name is Rose. I’d like to call it love at first site. I knew her for a few short minutes, and she had me captured. I think about her everyday. Her smile. Her eyes. Her cute little laugh. Secretly, I hoped she liked me, the way I liked her.  I never did get that date with Rose. I didn’t belong in her world anyways….

Two months later…

They say that the circus came today. Sometimes, from my house, I can hear the calliope, and I know she’s there. I know she’s waiting...

She was dreaming; that she was sure. For one thing, the pharaoh, years, and years ago, had exiled the man that was holding her in his arms. Exiled, because she chose to love him over the pharaoh. Exiled because he just so happened to be the TRUE heir to the throne.

"Michael." She sighs, blissfully.

That was his name. He was so different from any other man of Egypt. The color of his skin entrances her, like nothing else. His smile could melt even the coldest of hearts. He kisses her, and she realizes how much she misses those soft, sweet kisses.

"I love you." He murmurs against her lips.

Then she wakes up.

She is back in her bedchambers. Back in her cold empty bed; just like her heart. Her husband, Pharaoh Ramses, was away on a very important trip. The whole kingdom awaited his return, except for she. Instead, she awaited the return of one man...

"My lady, you spoke of HIM in your sleep." Kara, her lady in waiting, whispers fearfully.

"That is because I dreamt of him. Only this time, it felt so real. Why is it, that he haunts me, even in my dreams?" The queen whispers, staring up at the ceiling of her room.

"My lady, when Prince Michael was here, all women dreamt of him. All of them wished to share his bed. All of them wanted to be his queen." Kara's voice sounds wistful, regretful even.

"Even you, Kara?" The queen asks, gently.

"Though I am ashamed to admit it, yes tis' true. I, too, have lusted over thy lover. But, blame me, not, my queen. For he has power over damsels, like that of which I have never seen before."

"I do not blame you, Kara. I only wish I had not been such a coward."

"Coward, my lady?"

"Yes. He asked me to elope with him, but my fear of the gods' wrath required me to stay, and marry my husband. I regret that now. I regret every wasted moment that I have spent with my husband, when I could be spending them with my beloved Michael."

"My lady?"

"Yes, Kara?"

"He shall return for you."

"You think so?"

"I speak nothing, but the truth."

^^^

The queen sat in her golden throne, completely dissatisfied with life. Kara walks over with a pitcher full of red wine, which she pours into her husband's goblet. She hands it to him, and quickly retreats. The queen turns to her husband, who had just returned from his successful hunting trip. "I'm bored. I want to be entertained."

He glances at her, and smirks. She gently touches his leg. "Can my pharaoh find some way to entertain his queen?" She asks, timidly. Entertainment she wanted, entertainment she would get. He claps his hand together one time, and the drums start up. A guard comes forth, and announces the performer.

"Behold, o' great Ramses, I bring to you, the "Stick Man".

A man rushes forward, and bows, humbly. He then begins to flip around a bunch of sticks, annoying the queen, even further. However, Kara smiles in delight.

"Throw him to the lions." The queen says, with a flick of her hands. This was NOT entertainment.

The man pleads with his life, but she does not care. She signals for the next performer.

"Presenting, Pyro!" The guard proclaims.

Another man, perhaps a tad bit more entertaining than the "stick man", comes forward, and swallows fire.

He is sentenced to the guillotine.

The atmosphere changes. Almost, like magic, everyone's breath is held as a mysterious figure in a black cloak steps forward. He does not speak, nor does he perform.

"And, what is you're going to do." Ramses asks.

The figure in the cloak pulls back his hood to reveal a handsome man, with raven-black hair. His face, as if sculpted from celestial material. He grins, widely.

"It cannot be." Ramses gasps.

Michael speaks. "I told you I would return for you, my love. Do you remember me, Iman? Do you remember when we fell in love? We were so young, so innocent.

Iman, for that was her name, rises out of her throne, and reaches out a well-groomed hand. "How can I forget?"  He rushes forward, and kisses her hand.

"Guards, seize him!" Ramses bellows.

Michael smiles, and sprints down one of the many chambers. She calls out to him, but he is already gone.

Ramses jumps up, and snatches a sword from one of his guards, racing after Michael.

"Kara, come with me." She rushes away, not caring if Kara has followed.

"My lady, why are you going?"

"I must be ready for when Michael comes for me." Iman explains.

"But, he will be captured, and trialed for treason." Kara wails, fearfully.

"If he is the man I once knew, he will escape even the darkest of holes."

They arrived at her bedchambers, where she proceeded to rip apart her closet, throwing clothes around.

"My lady, your traveling cloak." Kara hands her a brown cloth, and flings clothes about.

"Kara, I must thank you...for everything. But, there is something I need you to do. You must leave me here, or you will be sentenced to death."

"My queen, I cannot-"

"Do not disobey me, Kara!" Iman snaps, loudly.

Kara's eyes fill with tears, as she bows before the queen. "Have I served thee well, my queen?"

"It has been an honor to be by your side, dear Kara." Iman helps Kara up, and hugs her. "You bow for me, no more. Now go."

Kara gives her one last fleeting glance, before she turns and flees the room.

Iman moves past a curtain, revealing a beautiful balcony. The sun was setting, and a beautiful site it was. She had nothing to do, but wait. As she stared into the distance, a memory came sneaking up from the back of her mind.

^^^

"My love, you needn't worry about the alligators in the river. They only fight when threatened." Michael patted her hand, smoothly.

"But, they are so large, and vicious. How could they be so harmless? Oh, I am afraid." She squeals, as Michael gently runs a hand through the river.

"We, humans, are weapons of mass destruction, yet we are not the biggest, nor do we have the tooth, and fang. Never judge someone because of how they look, because it just might not be so."

"Why are you not afraid, Michael? That beast could easily rip your arm off." She tries to pull his hand away from the water, but he does not budge.

"I will only be afraid, when the need arises. My father use to tell me that the only thing I should be afraid of is the Gods', but even they do not scare me. I have done nothing wrong; therefore, I will never feel their wrath. Here, put your hand in the water, tis' very soothing." He gently takes her hand, and runs it through the water.

Suddenly, her face is met with a great splash of water. She glares at Michael, and he winks. "I'm sorry, Love. I could not resist the temptation. You were just there, and the water was so inviting and- splurgh!"

He spits out a stream of river water, and grins. "You have learned well."

She flicks excess water off her hand, and flips a long lock of wet hair out of his face. "Of course. I do spend all of my time with you. You catch onto certain things."

He leans over, and gently takes her mouth in his. "That, my dear, is why I love you."

^^^

Iman sighs, wistfully. Times had been grand back then. They used to take long walks after dark, just talking and laughing. He once took her to Spain, where they made love for countless hours-and he was QUITE the lover. Then, when all was quiet, they would talk the night away. Until dawn; two or three, it didn't matter. In the springtime, as they walked through the garden, birds would sing beautiful songs.

They could have had it all.

She rests her hands on the banister, as she is lost in thought, when someone taps her shoulder. She spins around, fearfully, thinking it's Ramses, but it is not.

"Those memories, I was talking about-they will always be dear to me." Michael declares. He takes her lovingly by the hand, and kisses her-much like her dreams. It was just like she  remembered.

He pulls away, and entwines his fingers in hers. "We must flee, Michael. The guards are on your trail, as we speak."

He smiles at her expression. She had always been one to worry. "You do not fear the Gods' wrath, my love?"

She shakes her head, repeatedly. "My only fear is losing you. The Gods' do not scare me, anymore."

"Then come, for I know a secret passage out of this castle. My father showed it to me, when I was a boy."

^^^

"My Lord, he has escaped, and..." The guard stops speaking, and gulps, fearfully.

"And what?! Speak up, before I have you sentenced to death." Ramses sits on his throne, anger in his every gesture.

"The queen has left a note-it was given to me, by that servant girl." He extends a shaken hand, and the pharaoh snatches the note out of his hand.

My dearest, Ramses. You knew that this day would come, so there was no point trying to deny the inevitable. As you may already know, I have escaped with my beloved Michael. Despite you trying to make me love you, I cannot, for Michael has always had the key to my heart. All those long nights of you forcing yourself upon me, I dreamt of Michael. Perhaps this is all a wonderful dream, and I will wake up. Nevertheless, for what it is worth, I wish to never wake up.  You tried to make me forget my Michael. No matter, what was said, I never forgot what he, and I had. Never...