Inside a small, weathered café in Los Angeles, California, along the LA River Bike Path in Frogtown, an unkempt, weary-looking man in his mid-thirties sat.
Propping his chin on an open palm and deep in thought, he aimlessly stared through the fogged-up windows, his gaze vaguely taking in the nighttime view of passing cars, glowing streetlights, and the dark river stretching into the distance.
A failed, washed-up actor.
That was whom Niall Parker, was.
After starring in a couple indie movies as a teen actor in the early 2010s, a young Niall had believed he was talented enough to push harder and become a renowned actor in Hollywood.
In an effort to live up to those dreams, he had reluctantly succumbed to the path his agent had laid out for him, taking on every script the man had deemed right for him to breakout.
Most of the movies he had acted in from thereon, typically tended to have pretty big budgets too. However, it went without saying that higher production values involving a well-renowned director, producer and A-listers, didn’t necessarily translate to success.
True to that thought process--and as Niall had equally expected--the results had often spoken for themselves.
Flop, after flop, after flop.
And even the movies that did seem to do well?
Niall was frequently criticized by critics and fans alike for being the weakest link in said movies... not because his acting was terrible, but rather because they had come to expect said performances from him.
Simply put, Niall Parker, aged 25 at the time, had been typecast.
Practically no director, or studio in Hollywood wanted to work with him whenever new projects or diverse roles requiring versatility was involved.
The producers were a different case though. Since they liked things safe, easy and dependable, Niall had become a resourceful commodity to them. One they could milk for all his worth.
And for a while, Niall, unable to swap out the hand he’d been dealt for a better one, continued his artistically restrictive, safe, boring streak of one-dimensional acting in movies.
Afterall, even though he had begun to truly loathe acting, he still needed to sustain his contract.
A contract which very much required him to suck up and pay the bills lest he’d lose all the progress he’d made up to that point in his career.
But that had only lasted a year.
Realizing he wouldn’t get anywhere if he continued down the same old path, Niall pulled back, refusing to act until he was finally able to work on something different and new.
Even amidst heavy pressure from his agent and a predatory contract looming over his head like a guillotine, Niall refused to budge and stuck with his decision.
As a way to while away time amidst all these, and to equally take his mind off things in general, Niall took to a new hobby.
Writing.
With so much time on his hands and literally nothing better to do, he invested all of his free time and energy into it.
First, it started as a way to vent his frustrations... to pour down his heart in a way weaving words only could.
Then, it became something more.
It became an avenue for him to think objectively.
To truly reflect and reassess his standings, views and the likes on many things in life.
And most of all, to deeply reconnect with what had made him fall in love with acting in the first place.
Stories.
Specifically, the process of telling a story through a medium.
And because acting, at least for him at the time, had allowed the most expressive form of storytelling, he had ventured into the profession and had chased a career in it.
In any case, with his passion for acting slowly rekindling, Niall, now in his early thirties, began to seek out new stories.
It didn’t matter what medium it was from. All he had cared about, was sinking his teeth into it.
That said, it soon became apparent to Niall after a couple more years that his favorite of the medium, inclined towards novels.
With that realization, he decided to write a novel and tell a story of his very own.
A story that had taken shape in the form of an epic, heroic fantasy.
Sadly, amidst all this enlightenment Niall had stumbled upon, his acting career had long since hit rock-bottom.
Four years with not a single acting role... many had called it the end of his career, and rightfully so.
Added to that, his contract with his agency had long expired and they were unwilling to renew it.
Even more, since he’d signed their predatory contract from day one--a contract that stipulated he’d be heavily penalized if he failed to act over a long period of time--he was required to repay all of the salary he had earned over the past couple years.
That, as one would’ve expected, financially devastated Niall.
Quickly, it became a huge news on the tabloids. And for a brief while, everyone seemed keen on wanting to know what the now failed actor would do.
Yet, for Niall’s parents, digitally disconnected old souls whom had lived on a ranch in a quaint little town just outside of Nashville all their lives, the news had hit them like a freight train.
Ever since their son had run away from home to pursue his dreams of being an actor at the age of eighteen, a decision he’d been forced to take given his father’s stance on things, they had only heard from him via the occasional phone calls and mails he’d send.
Added to that, despite their pleas that he return home, their son had remained adamant on sticking to his decision.
With nothing more they could do, especially since he assured and continued to assure them over their calls and messages that he was in fact, doing well for himself, they had chosen to blindly believe him.
Afterall, asides that single act of rebellion, their son had always been very filial.
However, upon hearing about the miserable state he was in, they’d rushed straight to the airport and booked the quickest flight they possibly could.
But that was when tragedy struck.
Niall’s parents died in a fatal plane crash before they ever even got the opportunity to reach him.
Just like that, the dominos came crashing down, and all the good in the failed actor’s life was slowly sapped away.
All that was left, was a husk of a man whom had lost everything. His joy. His passion for acting. His will to even live.
Yet, one thing persisted.
[The Token of Fate].
Shifting his gaze towards the manuscript that now lay on the old diner table before him, its size bulky and its papers weathered, Niall’s gray irises swept over it with a jaded demeanor.
This was the culmination of his passion.
Of everything he’d had to learn and discover over the years, even as his life and his soul became a complete shell of what it once was.
Yet, even after submitting it to several publishing companies over the past couple months, it had faced rejection on most fronts.
And the ones that did respond, they seemed notably okay with shortchanging and taking advantage of his depressed, miserable state.
As for the one company that had been willing to actually publish his work by normal industry standards, things hadn’t panned out favorably on that front as well.
As a result, Niall was stuck with something he could only attribute to as an irreversible waste of his years.
But even then, he currently couldn’t bring himself to truly feel anything towards it.
And that, somewhere, deep down in his shattered, broken soul, infuriated him to no ends.
Letting out a deep sigh, he soon got up from the chair, picked up his manuscript and made his way out of the café.
Stepping out onto the busy street, the cool night’s breeze tousling his unkempt, dirty-blonde hair, Niall began the long walk back to the shelter he was currently residing at.
Having strolled across the busy streets for a couple minutes though, Niall came to sudden stop in front of a lively bar.
It was quite funny.
For all the parties he’d attended in Hollywood--the normal ones and not the sick, depraved ones--Niall had never gotten drunk. Not once.
Tonight though... he was banking on it.
If his heart was so unwilling to be responsive, he’d drag those emotions out whatever it took.
A couple hours later, late into midnight, Niall was zigzagging across a desolate neighborhood street with a drunken sway.
In one of his coat pockets, the folded manuscript hung out, while in the other, an unopened beer bottle stuck out, further adding to the comical nature of it all.
Yet, with frequent hiccups that seemed unwilling to stop anytime soon, he soon traipsed headfirst into a lamp pole, his skull rattling from the impact.
Retreating backwards whilst groaning in pain, he tripped over a bench and fell right into it.
Then he hiccupped, again.
Forced to gaze at the twinkling stars above, Niall simply remained as he was.
It was a bit curious though.
Albeit shooting stars weren’t exactly a rare occurrence, the odds of frequently seeing them was minimal.
Especially since they practically blitzed across the night’s sky.
Not that it explained why Niall’s gaze could track the one he was viewing as if it was moving in slow motion.
"My, my. A shooting... hic... star..." he hiccupped in-between words, a tipsy smile stretching across his lips.
"Starlight, starbright... hic! Can you... hic... accept a... hic... couple wishes of mine?" he continued speaking.
"If you can... hic, that would be... hic... lovely!" he pumped a jocular fist into the air.
A couple minutes passed in silence after that, the quiet street disturbed by nothing but the occasional rustle of breeze and distant honks of vehicles.
Then, Niall’s field of vision began to blur.
Before he knew what was happening, tears had continuously began to stream down his eyes.
Accompanying it, were his quiet sobs.
It had been so long since he’d cried... so long since he’d truly felt any emotion for that matter.
And with it came the familiar wave of bitter regrets.
That he’d been so naïve.
That he could never see his parents again.
That he’d lost his passion, only to find his way back, and then lose it again.
That he’d remained unable to achieve his initial dreams of being a renowned actor.
That even his last hurrah at something he’d poured all his heart and soul into eventually amounted to nothing.
For the next hour, Niall continued sobbing, unable to stop the tears from streaming down his face.
In the next hour following that, he had thoroughly cried himself to sleep.
Yet, high up in the sky, the odd shooting star had halted, lingering about as if studying the man whom had made a polite request for a couple wishes even in his stupor.
Then, seemingly coming to a decision, it flickered out of the skies... only to suddenly appear above Niall’s sleeping figure as a tiny, almost imperceptible ball of light.
Meandering about him for a while, probing for whatever facet only it knew, the tiny wisp gently gravitated towards Niall and then whispered in an angelic, celestial cadence;
Very well, Niall Parker. Your wishes shall be granted.
No sooner had that happened, an ethereal glow illuminated the desolate neighborhood street, blinding everything within a visible radius.