Prince, 51

"2morroow and a day, is 2 long 2 stay away!"

Prince reached out and punched a button on the glittering console in front of him and the drum loop in his headphones started again.

"2morrow and a day, is 2 long 2 stay away!" he sang again, harmonizing with the lyrics he'd just sung.

He hit the button again and sang the line again, this time in a lilting falsetto.

He did it again in a slightly childish, bratty voice.

And then a fifth time, speaking the line instead of singing it.

He took the headphones off and hit the button to transfer the output to the studio's surround sound and another button that replayed all of what he had just recorded.

"2morrow and a day, is 2 long 2 stay away!"

"Yeah..." he murmured to himself, "I like that."

He stood, stretched his legs and walked over to the enormous guitar rack lining one whole wall of the studio.

He stood looking for a moment, then smiled and selected Cherry Red, his favorite Gibson.

"Always come back to Cherry..." he said softly to the guitar, placing a small kiss on its neck.

"Always, always..."

As he plugged in the guitar, he heard the solo he was about to record writing itself in his mind.

"Yeah, all right..." he said, agreeing with himself and nodding along with the music in his head.

He stopped for a moment, a small line creasing his smooth brow.

He shook his head slightly, paused, and then smiled again as the small correction was made.

He began humming along a harmony to the newly written guitar loop.

"That's nice..." he said to the studio as he gently strummed Cherry Red.

He reached forward again and pressed three buttons.

Three loud clicks issued from the speakers and then his own voice backed by a drum beat and Rhodes piano filled the studio.

For the next twenty two minutes, he was gone; gone to the place where dreams originate, to the place where colors are made, to the place where light comes from.

During these twenty minutes, he was mostly playing the guitar, but every once in a while, he would stop playing and just sing, sometimes using words, sometimes just his voice.

At two points, he dropped Cherry Red and grabbed the nameless bass guitar leaning against the wall and once he sat at the Yamaha grand piano in the corner.

By the time he touched the "Stop" button on the soundboard, he was sweating and there were tears streaming down his face.

He was smiling though, almost laughing.

"Man..." he almost sang, "Man...you got this down..."

He tapped a few keys on the laptop sitting next to the soundboard.

This was one of the best songs he had ever written.

He knew it, could feel it.

The processor made a small whirring noise as it converted the beauty and magic which had just occurred into a sound file.

A moment later, an icon appeared on the screen.

He hated that.

He hated that everything that had just happened in this room was now an icon on a screen on a machine.

On a machine.

He almost growled.

He'd hated when what he did was on a vinyl disc, he'd hated it when it was on a strip of plastic and he'd hated it when it was on a plastic disc, but this...dots and dashes and numbers and letters...on the screen...of a machine?

He clicked on the hateful icon quickly and then smiled beatifically as the room filled up with the sound of what he had just created.

He sat that way, smiling for some time and then, when the sound stopped, he thought again that this was one of the best songs he'd every created.

He clicked once more on the icon titled "Untitled(109)" and dragged it into the small garbage can at the bottom of the screen.

"Not 4 U..." he said under his breath as he clicked "Yes" when the machine asked if he really wanted to discard this file permanently.

He sat back from the screen and sighed.

This was maybe the thirtieth time he'd done this in the four months he'd sequestered himself in his underground studio at Paisley Park.

"2 good 4 U...not 4 U..." he hummed under his breath.

Notes and words were weaving themselves together in his mind.

Maybe the piano this time?

He walked over to the piano and struck a few chords.

"Baby U no this groove is...2 good 4 U...baby U no my love is...just not 4 U..."

He was about to begin the process again when he felt a sharp pain in his chest.

"Damn..." he gasped.

He'd forgotten to eat again.

"Need fuel 4 the Machine," he said absentmindedly, unconsciously glancing at the laptop again as he rose and walked to the large refrigerator in one corner of the studio.

He opened it and peered inside.

"No food 4 U." he said to the empty ice box.

He felt another pang hit him.

"Good lord..." he hissed through gritted teeth.

This had happened before with catastrophic results.

That's why he'd had the refrigerator installed.

But if you didn't put food in the refrigerator, there would be no food in the refrigerator.

He smiled at the little circle he'd just made in his head.

He walked through the door to the studio, enjoying the hiss of air that told him nothing he did in that room would leave that room unless he wanted it to, not even the air.

At the end of the long, purple and gold carpeted hallway was another door, also sound proof, that lead to a stairway that lead up to a third and final sound proof door (this one locked with three locks) from the studio to the house.

After he ate, he was going to write three songs—

He smiled and stopped himself.

Fool.

After he ate he was going to record the three songs that had blossomed inside of him while he had walked from the inner studio, down the hallway and up the stairs.

He inserted his key in the first lock, turned it

The first on piano and organ...

He did the same for the second

The next on bass and tambourine to start, maybe some flute...

He unlocked the third and final lock on the heavy, sound proof door and pushed it open

And for the third? Shoot...for that one...something special—

He heard a sound to his left and turned toward it.

The last thing to go through his mind was the most beautiful piano arrangement the world would never hear.