Give Your Heart a Break (Kanye West} oηε

Persona ONE

ü Kanye Omari West III

ü 34 years (June 8th, 1977)

ü Born in Atlanta, GA

ü Grew up in Chicago, IL

ü Currently lives LA

ü Is a producer, Rapper, Musician, Singer

ü Instruments: Vocals, Keyboards, Synthesizer

ü Artist since 1996

ü GOOD Music, Roc-A-Fella, Def Jam

{Two weeks ago}

“Why are you here, Mr. West?” The stiff therapist named Jane Fishburne asked me flatly.

“I need help. I don’t feel as…happy as I used to. I keep having these outbursts, I keep hurting people, I never want to go to church anymore, and keep havin’ these terrible-ass nightmares.” I told her.

“Mhhm.” She mumbled as she stroked the keys on her small black Netbook.

“What are these nightmares about? How often do they happen?” She looked up for a moment.

“I get them every night. They’re not exactly the same, but their pretty similar. Each one is about me dying, but that’s not the scariest part. Once I die, I’m automatically sent to hell. I don’t get to be with my mother in heaven, or anything. I just go straight to hell, where I’m offered to either be Satan’s servant, or to be locked in a pit of flames for all over eternity.

“I don’t want to serve the devil, so I choose the fire pit, every time. But he always tricks me. That’s not an option, so I have to serve him. I’m just trapped. He makes me build statues of him, in the exact same color black that he is. He’s not red with horns or a tale. He’s shaped like a regular man, with pitch black skin, and he’s naked, only he doesn’t have a penis. He’s like a statue. Just tall, lean and black. When he opens his mouth, his breath is more than foul, and his teeth are brown and crumbling.”

It gets silent after I finish talking, and all that can be heard is Ms. Fishburne’s annoyingly loud tapping on the keyboard.

“Mr. West, may I suggest something to you?” She finally says, looking up from her Netbook. “Maybe you’re having these dreams because you’ve lost sight of what’s important in your life. Your grace in God. You no longer have it since your mother died, and this Amber person leaving you didn’t exactly help you, and now you’re deciding to take a break from your career as a musician, and you told me that the media is having such fun tormenting you about this…but the most important part for a man like you.” She pauses to make sure I understand what she’s saying.

“You don’t even want to go to church anymore. So, why don’t you set a goal? Now that you’re taking a break from the industry, you could become a minister. Share your story with other people who’ve struggled to get through their lives, who’re losing faith in God, like you are. This is a great chance to regain your grace in God, and help rekindle others’.”

I shrugged. “I don’t think I’m cut out for church communities. People are often very quick to judge me when they see me and realize that I’m Kanye West, the guy who ruined Taylor Swift’s first VMA experience, the biggest douche bag on the planet.”

“Well, I know of a nice little church back in Chicago where the people wouldn’t even dare to judge you. Maybe it’ll be good for you to go home for a while. Reconnect with some old acquaintances. You know, chill with your oldies…whatever it is that you’d say.” Ms. Fishburne suggested.

“How do you know that they won’t judge me?” I asked.

“Why would they? They have their own flaws. Nobody’s perfect and nobody ever will be.” Ms. Fishburne said, looking at the sliver Rolex on her wrist.

“But they’ve never attended the same church as Kanye West. I’m part of the “Illuminati”, remember?” I said, referring to a stupid rumor that had surfaced onto the web a few years back.

“If you really are, then they’ll be even more excited to help you out. The Illuminati is full of geniuses. Scientists, doctors, psychologists, you know, the everyday Albert Einstein.” She said comically.

“But everyone thinks that the Illuminati were devil worshipers.” I said.

“Then enlighten them. Set the record straight. You’re not a devil-worshiper, and you never were. They aren’t real quick to judge. They don’t even have a pastor anymore they were so crazy that they drove the poor fella to retire.” She chuckled.

“OK. This could work. I’m willing to try this out. Maybe if I work hard enough, I could become the new pastor.” I said confidently.

“Sure could. They’d like you. You could keep the old folk from falling asleep during the sermons with your rhyming skills.” Ms. Fishburne suggested while rustling through the many compartments of her desk.

“So, you’ll set everything up, right?” I asked.

“Sure, if you’re sure this is what you want. They won’t let you back out, no matter what. Once you’re in, you’re in.” Ms. Fishburne warned.

“I’m very sure. I can’t wait to get started.” I told her.

“Well, take this card, and feel free to call the church if you have any problems. I’ll call the church clerk in the morning and see if the slot for the pastor is still open. I’m sure she’d be happy to train you.” Ms. Fishburne said before dismissing me.

Once I was in my car getting ready to pull out of the small parking lot, I pulled out the card from my pocket.

New Beginnings Baptist Church

2101 Messiah’s Palace RD 12430

Chicago, IL

PO box #287943

Where starts are finished…LITERALLY!

I almost laughed as I read the bottom of the card.

It was obvious that someone had scrawled that last word onto the card just before it was thrown into the copying machine. Where starts are finished? That in itself was just weird. But the whole ‘literally’ part made me worry just what I was getting myself into.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

That was Kanye’s introduction…I liked it, but that’s just me.

No pictures of anyone in this story. I don’t believe in that because it means that you’re too lazy to be descriptive, or you just can’t be descriptive. I’m none of the above, and y’all should know what Kanye looks like.

I’m gonna shut up now. X=

RATE please.