The Greatest Showman #867 - Grand End

"When I die alone, when I die alone, I won't miss it again."

Renly's voice reverberated through the microphone, the sadness and bitterness buried in the lyrics and melody slowly breaking free, no longer hidden behind musical symbols. In this moment, they were not Cleopatra, but Don Quixote.

In the original story, Don Quixote lies on his deathbed, facing his final moments. Before he dies, his heart is full of remorse, regret, and self-doubt, denying the meaning of his life and dreams. But centuries later, beyond the confines of the novel, Don Quixote is resurrected. This time, he is no longer alone.

Heather Cross raised her arms high, a brilliant smile blooming on her cheeks despite the embarrassment, her legs trembling, nearly giving way. But she stood strong, gathering every ounce of her remaining energy to stand tall. She began to clap along, her hands hitting the rhythm with determination.

"Clap, clap, clap, clap, clap, clap, clap, clap!" The lively, rhythmic claps rang out into the infinite darkness, light as a feather yet carrying the weight of emotion. They painted the atmosphere with a sense of grandeur and magnificence.

Heather's movements were clumsy, her palms unable to fully spread, striking only with the lower halves of her hands. The sound was muted, almost drowned out by the vastness of the space. Yet she pressed on, clapping firmly, "Pop! Clap, clap, clap!" The beat was like the pulse of "Cleopatra," rushing like mountains and flowing like rivers, each clap echoing in Heather's mind.

Her slender frame stood tall, as if a lone tree in a vast sky, bearing the weight of the world, like the ancient poetry of old, resonating across the distance.

Ellie raised his hands. Derek raised his hands. Hope, William, Leslie—each person in the audience, all 20,000 of them, raised their arms in unison, joining Heather in lifting the world together.

"Clap, clap, clap!" The applause surged, like a powerful storm, crashing through the air, filling the stage with uncontainable energy. It all focused on Renly, igniting a thunderous eruption of sound, the pride and power of the moment fully realized.

Renly stood tall, straightened the microphone stand, and swiftly strummed the guitar strings. The melody swelled, growing from a gentle trickle to a mighty roar, like the Yellow River meeting the sea. The plaza rang with the sound of golden and iron horses galloping, a wind and rain storm that swept all before it, leaving the audience in a state of blissful disarray.

Sadness evolved into grandeur; bitterness bloomed into magnificence; remorse transformed into daring defiance. Cleopatras and Don Quixotes, raise your hands and dance as if this were the last day of your life!

"I was Cleopatra. I was a young actress. When you knelt by my window and begged for my hand... I was dressed in black, my father in his coffin, and I had no plan."

The audience danced, shoulders shaking, feet jumping, heads bobbing, hands clapping. They hummed along, following Renly's lead, entering the world he had created for them, giving themselves over to the music.

"I left my muddy footprints on the carpet, stiffening like my heart as you walked away... But I'll admit, I will grant your proposal now, curse your wife, just to stay by your side. I will be your lover."

The guitar's melody peaked and then suddenly halted, as though teetering on the edge of a cliff, the wind howling around them. The next moment, it surged again. "But it's too late, it's too late, I missed the love of my life. When I die, when I die, I won't miss it again."

Laughter, singing, dancing... Tears blurred Heather's vision once again. The smile on her face grew wider, the dance more joyful, but the ache and sorrow in her heart only intensified.

Through the tears, Heather saw Madison Square Garden, a boiling sea of people. The audience surged, their energy a volcanic eruption of emotion. When the peak was reached, it was as though the world itself was ablaze in a golden light, enshrouded in mist.

She was not alone. There were 20,000 others, each of them laughing, crying, singing, and dancing together—together in their loneliness, together in their dreams, together in life and death.

In this moment, they were the happiest people in the world.

"The only gift God gave me was life and a divorce. I read the script, and the costume fit perfectly, so I played my part. I was Cleopatra. I was bigger than the roof, but all that's gone now. Now, a nurse in white shoes takes me back to my guest room, with nothing but a bed and a bathroom, a place to the end."

The melody climbed and fell, weaving through the highs and lows, and Renly paused, resting his hand on the guitar strings. He looked out at the crowd, their energy still surging, his chest tight with a mix of joy, pride, and sadness. There were no more walls between them—no masks, no facades. It was raw and unfiltered. He was showing his soul, his dreams, his past, and his present. At once fragile and powerful, his heart was laid bare.

"I won't miss it again. I won't miss it again. I will miss the love of my life," the entire audience sang in unison. With their arms raised, their voices came together, a raw, collective force.

Heather laughed, her face glowing with joy. She joined in, her voice ragged yet loud, singing with all her might, "When I die alone, when I die alone, I won't miss it again." The happiness in this moment overwhelmed her, and she could not stop singing. She felt so alive in this space, so connected to the man on stage, to the world around her.

The singing was not perfect. It was unstable, even a little shaky, but it captured the most beautiful truth of the song.

"I won't miss it again. I won't miss it again. I will miss the love of my life." Renly stroked the strings once more, slowing the rhythm, letting the notes hang in the air, his voice a soft, hoarse whisper, lingering like smoke, drawing the audience deeper into the moment.

And then, the crowd fell silent. They stood, arms still raised, transfixed by Renly's voice, feeling the beating heart of the music. The world seemed to stand still, their own blood still burning with the energy of the moment.

"When Don Quixote dies alone, when Don Quixote dies alone, we won't miss it again."

Heather's eyes sparkled as she gazed at Renly, her face bathed in tears, her smile a reflection of the soul-deep connection they shared.

The music played on, a final echo in the air as the lyrics faded. The song ended, but the afterglow of the performance lingered, leaving an imprint on everyone present.

In the quiet darkness, Heather softly hummed the words to herself, "When Don Quixote dies alone, we won't miss it again." It was a private thought, a whisper in her heart, a promise to herself.

She would not regret, not give up, and never miss her own life again.

She would rise, again and again, until the final day. She would seize every opportunity, chase every dream, and create a future that would be her own. And when that day came—when her life was finally hers to claim—she would never miss it.

The lights flickered out, and Madison Square Garden fell into silence. The concert, One Man's Concert, had come to an end.

In the quiet, someone called out, "Encore!" Another voice joined, and then another, until the sound became a chant, "Don Quixote!" It swelled from a murmur to a roar, filling the space with a storm of emotion, and the curtain came down in a flourish.

Tonight, they were all Don Quixote.