“The secret to happiness is freedom… And the secret to freedom is courage.”
~Thucydides
I looked up at the 67 story building which had been haunting me for the past 19 years and thought to myself, today is the last day, the day I finally free myself of the shackles of restraint this job has adorned upon me.
My job? I was a major rapper working with horrible producers who simply did not understand my vision and the genre of music which it was in my best interests to make. I did not care for pop culture, or creating anything that modern day music enthusiasts would particularly be fond of, I cared instead to voice my opinion on matters of true importance such as the struggles of the oppressed citizens of war torn countries, or the large economic divide between the upper classes and poor people, all through my art. Doing this likely wouldn’t help me at all financially, but it would certainly provide me with the freedom I have yearned for all these long, gruesome years.
As I entered the building, I was greeted by a great many posters of me in my youth; the company had signed me right as I had graduated high school, at 18. Then I was fascinated by the vast nature of the industry, consumed by the everyday turning of the cycle, I was restless to set my career in motion, mesmerized even by the relatively minuscule crowds at my concerts.
I continued walking and saw the progression of my career on the pictures which embellished the walls. From a squeamish, happy child to an oppressed adult working at the disposal of others. I looked around at the images of my very first tour, Fire, I had called it, looking back, it was clear why.
I lived in this unrealistic reality well into my twenties, when in a freak accident during one of my tours I was rushed to one of the best hospitals in Pakistan. There, I genuinely believed I was being held captive due to the poor conditions of the room to which I was confined to and which all of the non-English speakers would not allow me to leave. Following this accident I began donating heavily to worldwide charities and writing music which expressed my thoughts and emotions on the conditions individuals residing in third world countries dealt with; until I didn’t. Or, rather couldn’t as, according to my production company, it was causing a great controversy regarding my public image which they wished to maintain. It was from then on, that, in the images, one could easily see the great distaste for what I was doing in my eyes, even through the smile on my face.
I entered the room.
“I want to leave the contract. I need to leave. I need more freedom with my music.” I started off with this, awaiting the reply of my producer.
“You are joking right?”
“Can you provide me with the assurance that I’ll be able to play MY music, cause I can provide you with the assurance that it’s the only thing that’ll enable me to stay.”
“Come on Walter, we’ve been over this, your music causes no rise in revenue and only ages you all the while destroying your image!”
“My image is something that I have no reason to protect, as it isn’t something that truly represents me, so I’m sorry but I don’t care and after all these years, I want out!” I was already yelling.
“You know as well as I do what that would mean.” He was getting worried I would do something he wouldn’t approve, and instead of standing there and staring at his face, for the first time, I shot back a reply.
“Yes! I would lose all my money. What else do you want from me?”
The door opened, “Good morning, Mr. Mitty, hope you’re having a fine day so far, anything to drink for you?” It was the doorman who had been absent when I entered.
“Morning, Simon, a water would be fine, thank you,” I responded.
“You may go.” My producer told him. He continued our conversation, “No, that is a mere fraction of it, what would you even do if you seriously are considering leaving?” He asked with an egotistical smirk on his face.
“Move east.”
“With what resources?”
“With whatever I have left, all that I can scavenge.” I was beginning to get agitated.
“Um, you won’t have anything to scavenge, you’ll go completely bankrupt parting ways with the company. You’ll owe us every penny you made while working under us. Ensuring the complete destruction of your life, your children’s education, and your marriage, eventually.”
I was in awe, I hadn’t the understood the extent to which the company truly controlled me.
Simon came in with the water. I took a sip, and started at the face of my producer.”
“Go home, and stop making all these irrational remarks.”
I got up and slowly walked out the office. I wasn’t leaving after all now was I, this building would stand over me for much longer than anyone had thought. Someone else controlled my life.