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Time... His Script is You and Me

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Hello all!

Just asking to please vote, comment, share and do anything you can to help support my story!

This is my first fan fiction I've ever written, though I've written short stories and poems before. I really hope you like it!

Also, any suggestions, improvements, and ideas are 100% accepted and encouraged!

Enjoy :)

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Life is just a series of lifeless sporadic colours. And mine: well, mine sadly consists of dull greys. I get the greys and mediocrity, because that's the life I live.

Well, most of it.

The only thing that brings any colour into my life is David. Listening to his music, watching his videos, these are the only things that can bring happiness back into the dullness and palour. Vibrant reds, brilliant blues, lovely greens that brighten the greyest of days!

But even this is only fleeting, for when the silence creeps in after the credits of Labyrinth, or after a song has finished; I'm still me. I'm still Florence Haywood, a 17-year-old nobody in the middle of London.

And it's hard, too, to be comforted by his music. Especially now. Because though it brings me colour, it only leaves me empty inside. Why?

Because it's 2016.

And David Bowie is dead.

"Just great," I mutter to myself, "Another existential crisis before 7am. Good morning Florence! Why don't you just go become a Tibetan monk before lunch whilst you are at it?"

Though I was in rather a state of disrepair, I couldn't help chuckling to myself at my inside joke. David Bowie was once training in Tibetan Buddhism, why can't I? Well, I know why. Firstly, I'm not a Buddhist. Secondly, I'm sure if I shouted to my mother, "I'm off to Tibet!" She would simply reply, "As long as you're back before teatime." My brother, a stereotypical pre-teen, probably wouldn't care.

And I would shrug, and roll my eyes, but stay put. Ultimately, though my dreams are large, it is as if everyone around me knows I will amount to nothing. I may listen to Rebel Rebel and lovingly sing every lyric, but on this cruel Monday morning I have to face it: I am a nobody, going nowhere.

I didn't look special: I was simply a mass of average weight and height, with a splattering of freckles on my pale cheeks. The only thing I liked was my mousy brown hair, the one thing that made me feel special. It was as if whenever David sang Life On Mars? He was singing especially to me; the girl with the mousy hair. Although I know he wasn't.

I look around at my room; plastered in David Bowie posters, there was a small desk crowded with books and papers, a wiry single bed in the corner, and a record player next to it. The room was hardly small nor large, but it was my space - and though I knew full well I could be playing my music from my phone, I always loved to shut the door and put on a record.

I almost want to cry. No. Who am I kidding? I do want to cry. Last night, somewhere on the complete other side of the world, David Bowie has died.

And now I have to go to school like it is a normal day?

No days can be normal from from now on. It was as if last night the brightest star was taken from my life. "Technically, he was never in my life." I say to myself, but I push the words away. It did feel like he was a part of my life, and, an important part too, something inside me knew it.

I look down at my watch, and it was already 8am. The first day back to school after Christmas break starts in twenty minutes, and on the worst possible day.

"Shoot!" I shout, and hurriedly grab some clothes, pulling my Aladdin sane shirt over my head. I hesitate as I do this, would seeing his angel face on my body all day only make me more sad? But I had to! To commemorate him.

I quickly grab the closest books scattered on my desk, shove them into my school bag, and run out my bedroom door, holding back my tears as I leave my walls full of David.

As I run down our hallway, and down the stairs of our suburban London house, I quickly say goodbye to mum, "Gotta go! Sorry... I... woke up late... See you tonight!"

I just couldn't bear to voice the fact of David's passing, and the fact that I spent the morning pondering life's meaning as a result. Mum, however kind she was, just wouldn't understand my pain.

I give mum, a short woman with even shorter dyed blonde hair, a quick peck on the cheek as I run out the door. I try not to think of Tibet whilst looking at her. Or David.

The door shuts behind me, and I jog all the way to school. I come sweatily into the classroom just as the bell rings, and sit at my desk in the middle. Nobody bats an eyelid. "As always - nothing special," I think to myself as I drop my bag and grab out my books, sighing as I see my Aladdin Sane shirt.

The classroom was an old-fashioned small thing, with regimented desks in lines, and dark grey walls. The only modern thing was the projector screen up front, and even that was never very reliable. There was a small window down the left side next to the wooden door, which was used by students to tell when to shut up as the teacher was coming.

"Shut up! The teacher is coming!" A boy calls from the back. Ashley Morrison, a boy whom every girl at the school fawned over, and he knew it. He smirked from the back, sitting atop his table, and quickly slid into his seat smugly as the rest of the class followed his lead.

The teacher came in, a stout woman who rather teetered than walked, as if her fat body could fall at any moment. Mrs. Abbot was her name, she was our roll call teacher. She told us all to "sit still and be quiet, and listen for your name." As always.

I tried to focus on what was going on, but just found my mind kept going back to David. "No, Florence. This is a new semester, and maybe if you shut up and listen you can make up for what happened last year..."

I thought back to what had happened on Mrs Abbot's roll call last year, and decided it was best to leave that behind. I was a good girl, doing as I was told, and said my name as it was called. All the while, a saddened feeling kept nibbling at my heart. All I could think about was David.

It was the same all day. English; reading, reading, reading, oh didn't David like to read? Yes. He did. Maths; well, I could only think of David here, when the only other thing to occupy me was trigonometry. Every other subject brought me back to the blackstar-shaped whole in my heart.

Then, the last period of the day, was history - the USA-Russian space race.

Just. Great.

I tried to keep it in. I tried to stop the dark, lonely, horrible feeling from consuming me. When they talked about space, I tried not to think of Starman. When they talked about astronauts, I tried not to think of Major Tom. But when they played the BBC broadcast - I just couldn't. There was a sadness, an emptiness, that couldn't be defeated.

When the broadcast came on the projector screen, and Space Oddity started to play (as it did on the broadcast), I couldn't handle it any more.

"I will regret this..." I thought to myself, as I tried to hold in the tears.

"I will regret this..." I murmured to myself, as I stood up from my desk.

"I will regret this..." I spoke to myself as I grabbed my bag, wiped the tears now streaming from my face, and ran down the school hallways. I just had to get out.

I didn't bother to look behind me at the window into the classroom as I ran away. I knew there would be serious repercussions for my little escape, but I didn't care.

How could the day be going on so normally now that he has gone? Ever since hearing this morning's news, normality in my life was forsaken. Nothing would be the same again.

Little did I know, this prediction would come to pass in more ways than I had originally thought...

I left the school. It actually was a lot easier than I had thought - not that I was thinking that much. I just went outside the main building, over the grass front, and out the gate. It was wide open, and nobody saw me.

All I wanted to do was escape, anywhere. I just let my feet guide me where I needed to go. All this whilst trying not to listen to my heart pumping in my chest, and a tingling feeling developing throughout my body - "Wow, I am unfit," I thought.

I rounded corner after corner of the London streets. Modern traffic - so busy yet so still, mingled amongst modern workers - so uncaring yet so judgemental.

"Haven't you seen a hysterical, crying teenager running through the streets before?" I wanted to shout.

Everything was especially grey now. The streets, buildings, cars. Even the sky - though this was rather normal for England, it seemed to be worse today. It was oppressive, and hung on my shoulders like a weight, constantly reminding me of the loss.

By this point, I could have been running for minutes or hours, I just didn't know. How far was I from school? From my house? But I drew my mind away again.

Suddenly, a large park appeared to my left, with trees on either side that hid it away from the rest of the city. In the centre was a large grassy oval, with a white wooden bandstand in the middle, obviously unused for many years.

I stopped in the park, with my hands on my knees, heaving and wheezing. The green surrounded me - a beautiful contrast to the outside greys. It was as if it was another world, another place.

After a few minutes, the heavy breathing hadn't slowed down. And I was tingling even more than before, all over my body. Bending over, full of grief and exhaustion, I started to feel lightheaded. Rather lightheaded, indeed.

Little stars danced over my eyes, and spots too. The world started to spin.

I fell to the floor, unconscious.

***

I didn't know how long it had been when my eyes fluttered open.

Above me stood a man.

He was in his early twenties, and had a face with the most god-given bone structure. Curly sandy-gold coloured locks dangled around his head, cascading onto his shoulders.

He spoke in the most angelic voice, the best of all British accents, casual yet sophisticated. Beautiful yet masculine. Sexy.

"Are you okay?" He asked. My heart fluttered. I knew this voice.

Wait... Wait... Wait...

I rubbed my eyes, they were still fuzzy from the fall. Surely I wasn't seeing and hearing what I thought I was?

But as I looked up again, there was no longer any doubt.

The man who stood above me was David Bowie.