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Description
A TG Caption commissioned by the everlastingly wonderful I honestly had some trouble making this one, but now that I've put a bit of work into it, I really hope it turned out well. This one has a bit of ambiguity about it that I really enjoyed, and hope you will too.

As always, I do not claim ownership or credit for the picture, only the story attached to it.

I'll try to fix the actual resolution and such later, but for now, I will post a transcript of the story.

Transcript:
David DeSanta was bitter. It was that weird sort of bitterness not felt by ordinary people, not the bitterness of failure or life not turning out the way one wished, it was actually quite the opposite. To an outside observer, David had little reason to be sad or bitter. He lived in a giant mansion, replete with all the conveniences and luxuries one could ever want, as well as a full staff of servants. His bank account was downright bursting with cash; even his nearly hedonistic orgies of drugs and sex could barely make a dent to his massive funds. He didn’t even have to work, granting him the ability to idle away the days, playing his guitar before hosting lavish, wild parties. But when the high wore off and the partiers left, he was left to look at his life. Here he was, 55 years old, trying to live it up like a young man but feeling the age in his bones, feeling the tiredness in his muscles, feeling the emptiness in his heart. It wasn’t always like this, it wasn’t always this lonely life of decadence desperately fighting against the knowledge that he was wasting away, his peak long shattered, his time long over. No, once upon a time, long ago, he was a god. A true rock and roll legend! He was a talented guitarist, shredding beats with ease. He fondly remembered those old days when he and his band, the Soul Shredders, were barely getting by, slumming from bar to bar, until they found their one chance, the event that thrust them onto the music world’s center stage, driving them into fame and fortune while changing rock and roll forever. After that concert, it was the rush, the high, the greatest part of his life. He played concerts all over the globe, relishing the rush of the crowd’s screams and the roar of the music. They were on their way up, each concert bringing in bigger crowds, each album bringing in more money, each night bringing in more women, beer, and drugs. It was a fast paced rush of a life, long days of recording followed by wild nights of partying. He travelled all over the world, experiencing the local pleasures and rocking out. His band raced to the top of the charts, and he felt a bit of pride when he turned on the radio and his songs poured out of it. He was a god, the Rock and Roll Renaissance man, the creator of many hits, the owner of dozens of platinum records, the famous playboy whose parties were always full of people and fun. But alas, even gods are forgotten in time. He started to get older, his hair graying and his skin wrinkling. The drugs and alcohol started to take their sweet revenge, damaging his body and addling his mind. Women were getting less interested in him, and his friends were getting tired of the rock and roll lifestyle. The industry began to change, to move away from the Soul Shredders and their rollicking, hedonistic ways. The public didn’t want old men singing about drugs and sex anymore, they wanted happier fare, sung by a cuter sort of musician. One by one, his friends left, content to be done with their careers and settle down. He had none of that, and tried to cling on, first by finding new members, later by trying to go it alone. His numbers on the charts sunk lower and lower, his concerts began getting emptier and emptier. He gave up on it, confident that he could find happiness at the wild parties of his mansion. After all, that mansion and his money were what he had worked so hard for in the first place. At first his new life of pleasure was enjoyable, but he soon found that the only solace he had come from the bottom of a bottle, or from an empty syringe. But it just didn’t’ work. He was old, the high, the buzz, all of that that was already over. Now all he had left was the hangover. And as he woke up this morning, head burning from another night of craziness he really was too old for, he realized that maybe he needed some help. He was past his prime, he was bitter and depressed, and nothing seemed to help. He wished he could return to those Halcyon days before the fame and money, before the big bands and giant concerts. He wished he could turn back the clock, make a new start, and try again. But he was too old for that; his fingers were slow and tired. And besides, wishing never really fixed anything at all.
It was on that day, during that dark day where he realized how he had wasted so much time, that a rather fortuitous event occurred. Well, it was an event considered normal by most. It was a simple call from an old friend, asking him how it was going, how he was doing, all of those rituals that we naturally complete when talking to someone we have not seen for a while. David was happy to talk with an old bandmate, and his excitement, and tendency towards depression, showed in his voice. The retired drummer immediately picked up on his old friend’s sadness, and remembered a dark time in his life. He told David about a woman, a fortune teller. She was expensive, but she could cure any problem. David grew annoyed and hung up after the usual pleasantries. He looked at the number his friend had gave him again…the drummer was always superstitious, but maybe he could’ve been right this time, especially since he was old now. David had more than enough money to lose, and he had all the time in the world. He got in his prized sportscar and drove down to the house of the fortune teller. He entered the fortune teller’s parlor, scoffing at the schlocky, almost stereotypical aesthetic the woman had chosen. He waited his turn before being greeted by a beautiful woman in traditional gypsy clothing. She was gorgeous, but had an aura of wisdom about her, like a woman who has seen much in a long life. She welcomed David. “Ah, you have lived a long life, with longer sorrow, you are a rock star no?” David was very impressed, at least until he noticed one of his old CD’s in a dusty corner. He sighed, wanting to listen to the woman anyway. She looked at him with a more frank face and dropped her accent. “Alright, I know you’re here for a new start. You’ve screwed up, I mean, just look at you.” Now he was surprised at her insight, and her quite frank demeanor. “Actually, I can give you a do-over, a reset, well, sort of anyway. But it’ll cost you.” He started pulling out his wallet. “A lot more than that. You’ll lose everything.” He took pause and pointed out to the car. “Yes, your car, your house, your fame, all of your money. You’ll lose everything. It’ll be a new start, but you’ll start with very little. You’ll lose almost everything about you, even if it takes some time for everything to go. Is this okay with you?” David thought long and hard about her question, and about his entire life. He realized that it wasn’t the money or fame he loved, but the thrill of the crowd, the rush of the music, the love and passion that grew with each and every song. If he could relive that, even a little, it would be worth it. He asked a question. “Will I be successful?” She shrugged. “I can only give you a chance. It’ll be up to you, the new you, after that. Do you still want to go through with this?” He thought once more, he could give up this tired old life, maybe he’d do better next time. He nodded. The gypsy woman nods as well. “Well Ms. Jessica Smith, unless you’d prefer your stage name Lady Luna…I’m sure you’re aware that this is all a dream.” He looked at her quite confused. “Oh, I’m sure it feels very real right now, but it’s going to get surreal for a moment, and then you’ll wake up. I hope you’ll be ready for your first concert, even if you really shouldn’t be sleeping right before it. I do hope you’ve learned something about what you really want from your dream though.”

David was more than a bit confused and a little angry. What the heck was she talking about? All of this is a dream? And that he was someone else? It made no sense! He was an old gray-haired man, not a young pink-haired girl! R-right? Wait…how did he know he was supposed to be young? And have pink hair? Well, actually, the hair was brown, it was just dyed pink, and it was a lot of work to keep it that way…how did he know that? His mind grew very confused as the world and his clothes seemed to disintegrate before him. His hair seemed to grow out, changing from grey and stringy to long, pink, and clean. His hair was always so long…it was a lot to deal with sometimes, but when it was tied up with those little bows, it just looked fantastic. Now that he looked at his arms again, they didn’t’ feel right, the felt kind of like someone else’s. He watched as they shed the bulk of fat and wrinkles that resulted from a life of indulgence. They were slim now, flexible and feminine. He moved the digits back and forth, remembering just how easy it was to play the guitar with them. His shoulders move inward, shrinking while the flesh smoothened out to become clean and radiant. His face tightened up, losing its leathery wrinkles while rounding out to form a more feminine visage. He coughed, the voice sounding higher and girly. His frame started to shift and twist, his torso thinning while his hips extended outwards. What was going on? A voice in his head told him he was an old man, and shouldn’t have this perfect clean skin, that his arms should be big and fat and wrinkly instead of cute and thin, that his voice should be gruff and wheezy instead of youthful and feminine. Another voice answered with a question. Was he really an old man? He didn’t’ have a good answer to that question…his memories were mixed and strange. He looked at his chest, at the large breasts that had emerged from his chest; the breasts that he remembered had grown in during those difficult days where hormones ruled. He looked at his thin, toned, but girly legs. The thing dangling between his legs seemed unnatural. Could she really be a guy? That didn’t make any sense, why would she be a guy in her dream? She looked at herself for another moment as the whole world seemed to start collapsing, snapping, disappearing. She started to hear a name whispering its way into the dream. “Jessica…Jessica…JESSICA!”

“Aaah!” Screamed a suddenly woken Jessica Smith. “Come on Jess! What are you doing asleep!? We’re on in five minutes!” Jess looked around confused. Everything was normal, she had her smooth skin and her thin body and her very long hair, thankfully tied up so it wouldn’t get in her way during the show. She looked at her clothes, they were maybe a little flashy, but hopefully the audience would like them. “Sorry, it’s just that I had the weirdest dream…I was an old man.” Her friend rolled her eyes. “Oh no, not those dreams again…have you been reading the biography of that loser again?” She stood up and took on a slightly angrier expression. “Hey! David DeSanta’s a hero of mine! He was a legend!” Her friend sighed. “Doesn’t mean you should be him in a dream…” Jessica pouted. A lot of people didn’t like him, some calling him a warning to future musicians not to lose themselves in drugs and sex. But one quote, taken from him near the end of his life, struck a chord with her, connected to her on a deeper level. “It’s not about the money, it’s not about the fame, hell, it’s not even about talent or artistry or any of that stuff the record labels shovel down your throat. It’s about that thrill, that rush of energy and hope and life as you light up a crowd. It’s about making a few bitter people happy, even if it’s just for one song. Now I’m an old man who wasted his life, but if I ever had a kid, or a second chance, or anything like that, I just wish they’d take those words to heart. Hell, I sure wish I would’ve.” Those words inspired Jessica as her friend pulled her out onto the stage. She smiled wide. This was her first concert, the start of everything. She lifted her pick and readied to play, loving the look of anticipation in the crowd’s eyes. “I’m Lady Luna and this one goes out to a legend, someone I’ve never met but know better than anyone. I hope he’s happy, wherever he is. Are you guys ready to rock!?”

Description
A TG Caption commissioned by the everlastingly wonderful I honestly had some trouble making this one, but now that I've put a bit of work into it, I really hope it turned out well. This one has a bit of ambiguity about it that I really enjoyed, and hope you will too.

As always, I do not claim ownership or credit for the picture, only the story attached to it.

I'll try to fix the actual resolution and such later, but for now, I will post a transcript of the story.

Transcript:
David DeSanta was bitter. It was that weird sort of bitterness not felt by ordinary people, not the bitterness of failure or life not turning out the way one wished, it was actually quite the opposite. To an outside observer, David had little reason to be sad or bitter. He lived in a giant mansion, replete with all the conveniences and luxuries one could ever want, as well as a full staff of servants. His bank account was downright bursting with cash; even his nearly hedonistic orgies of drugs and sex could barely make a dent to his massive funds. He didn’t even have to work, granting him the ability to idle away the days, playing his guitar before hosting lavish, wild parties. But when the high wore off and the partiers left, he was left to look at his life. Here he was, 55 years old, trying to live it up like a young man but feeling the age in his bones, feeling the tiredness in his muscles, feeling the emptiness in his heart. It wasn’t always like this, it wasn’t always this lonely life of decadence desperately fighting against the knowledge that he was wasting away, his peak long shattered, his time long over. No, once upon a time, long ago, he was a god. A true rock and roll legend! He was a talented guitarist, shredding beats with ease. He fondly remembered those old days when he and his band, the Soul Shredders, were barely getting by, slumming from bar to bar, until they found their one chance, the event that thrust them onto the music world’s center stage, driving them into fame and fortune while changing rock and roll forever. After that concert, it was the rush, the high, the greatest part of his life. He played concerts all over the globe, relishing the rush of the crowd’s screams and the roar of the music. They were on their way up, each concert bringing in bigger crowds, each album bringing in more money, each night bringing in more women, beer, and drugs. It was a fast paced rush of a life, long days of recording followed by wild nights of partying. He travelled all over the world, experiencing the local pleasures and rocking out. His band raced to the top of the charts, and he felt a bit of pride when he turned on the radio and his songs poured out of it. He was a god, the Rock and Roll Renaissance man, the creator of many hits, the owner of dozens of platinum records, the famous playboy whose parties were always full of people and fun. But alas, even gods are forgotten in time. He started to get older, his hair graying and his skin wrinkling. The drugs and alcohol started to take their sweet revenge, damaging his body and addling his mind. Women were getting less interested in him, and his friends were getting tired of the rock and roll lifestyle. The industry began to change, to move away from the Soul Shredders and their rollicking, hedonistic ways. The public didn’t want old men singing about drugs and sex anymore, they wanted happier fare, sung by a cuter sort of musician. One by one, his friends left, content to be done with their careers and settle down. He had none of that, and tried to cling on, first by finding new members, later by trying to go it alone. His numbers on the charts sunk lower and lower, his concerts began getting emptier and emptier. He gave up on it, confident that he could find happiness at the wild parties of his mansion. After all, that mansion and his money were what he had worked so hard for in the first place. At first his new life of pleasure was enjoyable, but he soon found that the only solace he had come from the bottom of a bottle, or from an empty syringe. But it just didn’t’ work. He was old, the high, the buzz, all of that that was already over. Now all he had left was the hangover. And as he woke up this morning, head burning from another night of craziness he really was too old for, he realized that maybe he needed some help. He was past his prime, he was bitter and depressed, and nothing seemed to help. He wished he could return to those Halcyon days before the fame and money, before the big bands and giant concerts. He wished he could turn back the clock, make a new start, and try again. But he was too old for that; his fingers were slow and tired. And besides, wishing never really fixed anything at all.
It was on that day, during that dark day where he realized how he had wasted so much time, that a rather fortuitous event occurred. Well, it was an event considered normal by most. It was a simple call from an old friend, asking him how it was going, how he was doing, all of those rituals that we naturally complete when talking to someone we have not seen for a while. David was happy to talk with an old bandmate, and his excitement, and tendency towards depression, showed in his voice. The retired drummer immediately picked up on his old friend’s sadness, and remembered a dark time in his life. He told David about a woman, a fortune teller. She was expensive, but she could cure any problem. David grew annoyed and hung up after the usual pleasantries. He looked at the number his friend had gave him again…the drummer was always superstitious, but maybe he could’ve been right this time, especially since he was old now. David had more than enough money to lose, and he had all the time in the world. He got in his prized sportscar and drove down to the house of the fortune teller. He entered the fortune teller’s parlor, scoffing at the schlocky, almost stereotypical aesthetic the woman had chosen. He waited his turn before being greeted by a beautiful woman in traditional gypsy clothing. She was gorgeous, but had an aura of wisdom about her, like a woman who has seen much in a long life. She welcomed David. “Ah, you have lived a long life, with longer sorrow, you are a rock star no?” David was very impressed, at least until he noticed one of his old CD’s in a dusty corner. He sighed, wanting to listen to the woman anyway. She looked at him with a more frank face and dropped her accent. “Alright, I know you’re here for a new start. You’ve screwed up, I mean, just look at you.” Now he was surprised at her insight, and her quite frank demeanor. “Actually, I can give you a do-over, a reset, well, sort of anyway. But it’ll cost you.” He started pulling out his wallet. “A lot more than that. You’ll lose everything.” He took pause and pointed out to the car. “Yes, your car, your house, your fame, all of your money. You’ll lose everything. It’ll be a new start, but you’ll start with very little. You’ll lose almost everything about you, even if it takes some time for everything to go. Is this okay with you?” David thought long and hard about her question, and about his entire life. He realized that it wasn’t the money or fame he loved, but the thrill of the crowd, the rush of the music, the love and passion that grew with each and every song. If he could relive that, even a little, it would be worth it. He asked a question. “Will I be successful?” She shrugged. “I can only give you a chance. It’ll be up to you, the new you, after that. Do you still want to go through with this?” He thought once more, he could give up this tired old life, maybe he’d do better next time. He nodded. The gypsy woman nods as well. “Well Ms. Jessica Smith, unless you’d prefer your stage name Lady Luna…I’m sure you’re aware that this is all a dream.” He looked at her quite confused. “Oh, I’m sure it feels very real right now, but it’s going to get surreal for a moment, and then you’ll wake up. I hope you’ll be ready for your first concert, even if you really shouldn’t be sleeping right before it. I do hope you’ve learned something about what you really want from your dream though.”

David was more than a bit confused and a little angry. What the heck was she talking about? All of this is a dream? And that he was someone else? It made no sense! He was an old gray-haired man, not a young pink-haired girl! R-right? Wait…how did he know he was supposed to be young? And have pink hair? Well, actually, the hair was brown, it was just dyed pink, and it was a lot of work to keep it that way…how did he know that? His mind grew very confused as the world and his clothes seemed to disintegrate before him. His hair seemed to grow out, changing from grey and stringy to long, pink, and clean. His hair was always so long…it was a lot to deal with sometimes, but when it was tied up with those little bows, it just looked fantastic. Now that he looked at his arms again, they didn’t’ feel right, the felt kind of like someone else’s. He watched as they shed the bulk of fat and wrinkles that resulted from a life of indulgence. They were slim now, flexible and feminine. He moved the digits back and forth, remembering just how easy it was to play the guitar with them. His shoulders move inward, shrinking while the flesh smoothened out to become clean and radiant. His face tightened up, losing its leathery wrinkles while rounding out to form a more feminine visage. He coughed, the voice sounding higher and girly. His frame started to shift and twist, his torso thinning while his hips extended outwards. What was going on? A voice in his head told him he was an old man, and shouldn’t have this perfect clean skin, that his arms should be big and fat and wrinkly instead of cute and thin, that his voice should be gruff and wheezy instead of youthful and feminine. Another voice answered with a question. Was he really an old man? He didn’t’ have a good answer to that question…his memories were mixed and strange. He looked at his chest, at the large breasts that had emerged from his chest; the breasts that he remembered had grown in during those difficult days where hormones ruled. He looked at his thin, toned, but girly legs. The thing dangling between his legs seemed unnatural. Could she really be a guy? That didn’t make any sense, why would she be a guy in her dream? She looked at herself for another moment as the whole world seemed to start collapsing, snapping, disappearing. She started to hear a name whispering its way into the dream. “Jessica…Jessica…JESSICA!”

“Aaah!” Screamed a suddenly woken Jessica Smith. “Come on Jess! What are you doing asleep!? We’re on in five minutes!” Jess looked around confused. Everything was normal, she had her smooth skin and her thin body and her very long hair, thankfully tied up so it wouldn’t get in her way during the show. She looked at her clothes, they were maybe a little flashy, but hopefully the audience would like them. “Sorry, it’s just that I had the weirdest dream…I was an old man.” Her friend rolled her eyes. “Oh no, not those dreams again…have you been reading the biography of that loser again?” She stood up and took on a slightly angrier expression. “Hey! David DeSanta’s a hero of mine! He was a legend!” Her friend sighed. “Doesn’t mean you should be him in a dream…” Jessica pouted. A lot of people didn’t like him, some calling him a warning to future musicians not to lose themselves in drugs and sex. But one quote, taken from him near the end of his life, struck a chord with her, connected to her on a deeper level. “It’s not about the money, it’s not about the fame, hell, it’s not even about talent or artistry or any of that stuff the record labels shovel down your throat. It’s about that thrill, that rush of energy and hope and life as you light up a crowd. It’s about making a few bitter people happy, even if it’s just for one song. Now I’m an old man who wasted his life, but if I ever had a kid, or a second chance, or anything like that, I just wish they’d take those words to heart. Hell, I sure wish I would’ve.” Those words inspired Jessica as her friend pulled her out onto the stage. She smiled wide. This was her first concert, the start of everything. She lifted her pick and readied to play, loving the look of anticipation in the crowd’s eyes. “I’m Lady Luna and this one goes out to a legend, someone I’ve never met but know better than anyone. I hope he’s happy, wherever he is. Are you guys ready to rock!?”