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Time... His Script is You and Me

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Hey Guys!

I just wanted to say thanks to everybody who read the first chapter... Please continue to do so with the rest of the story!

Also, any shares, votes and comments would be much appreciated as this is my first fanfic and so it is very nice and welcomed!!!

Anyways, hope you like it ;)

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There was no more denying it: I had fallen unconscious in a park, and David Bowie had woken me up.

We were the only ones there, sitting on the grass next to the white bandstand. David's curly permed golden locks framed his face and his beautiful mismatched eyes looked in mine.

"Are you okay? I found you lying here a few minutes ago..." He asked me.

Oh that accent! That voice!

Surely, this couldn't be real. My concussed brain has probably conjured up an image of the man I had been thinking about all day. I began to stand up, but my head started to spin a bit - so I just sat back down, with my hands on the dewy grass behind me.

David stared at me, and a slight smirk appeared on his lips. I realised I never answered his question.

Though I was somewhat slightly dazed, I replied, "I'm... fine... but... what is going on?"

"I've come down here to set up for a festival I'm about to hold. What's your name?" David inquired.

I answered, "My name is Florence. Florence Haywood."

At this he turned his head away for a moment, looking into the distance. My name had somehow left him deep in thought. He seemed troubled by it, but turned back to me with a small smile, trying to shake off whatever had dipped his spirits.

I wanted to investigate, but knew that asking an imaginary David Bowie I've never met "what's wrong?" would be a bit weird and invasive.

Instead, I asked him another question, one that had been burning in my mind since I had woken up; "What year is it?"

Admittedly, a small part of me was giddy that I got to say that. It was like I was in a sci-fi movie! But I had to keep calm...

"It's August 16, 1969." He answered, interrupting my thoughts.

Oh. God.

It was 1969! 1969, the year I was learning about in class. The year of the moon landing! The year of Space Oddity!

I took a breath. I was simply stunned, and David could tell. He joked with his signature blend of British humour, "Well, what else did you expect?" He added a cute wink and chuckle, but I was still shocked. I had no idea what to do.

Only then I noticed my arm was stinging. I turned it over to see my elbow, where it was scraped and bloody. Obviously I had cut it in the fall. Not that bad, but now I was fully conscious, it was starting to hurt.

David saw, and without a word pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. He used it to dab at the graze until the blood had come off and then tied the handkerchief around my elbow. As soon as he had touched my arm to do so, a tingling went through my body, not so different from the one I had felt before I fell unconscious. The feeling was so gentle, so human, so real.

Something inside me, from that feeling, told me this was no delusional fantasy. I don't know how, or why, but at that moment, I faced the facts:

This was real.

I was with David Bowie, in a random London park, in 1969. And he was holding a festival - evidently his famous 'free festival'.

I decided to get up. By now, a few other people were arriving, musicians and others bringing seats and portable amps.

I had no idea how or whether I could get back to 2016. But, I decided to just wait it out, as there was nothing better I could do. Plus, what better way to wait than to enjoy a David Bowie show?

"So... David... when is the festival? Can anyone come? I mean, like, random people who show up unconscious in parks?" I humorously pleaded.

"How... how do you know my name?" He asked.

Oops. I had forgotten he hadn't introduced himself.

"Oh, I uh..." I tried to think back to all I knew about him. Yes, that's it! It was August 1969, so he must have already released Space Oddity, his first hit. So I continued, "...I'm the number one fan of yours. Really loved Space Oddity. But... can I please come to the festival?"

He chuckled, and seemed flattered he had a fan. He obviously wasn't too famous yet.

David said, "Of course you can come! The festival's free after all. And I'll be sure to show my 'number one fan' around." He added with a wink, "But, please, no more falling unconscious."

I smiled. "Yes! I mean, I would love to come. Thank you. And I'll try not to faint again." I said this, though the more pressing issue in the back of my mind was whether or not I could somehow travel back to the future. I pushed that away. For now I would enjoy David and the festival - no matter how unbelievable it seemed.

The equipment was now loaded onto the bandstand behind us, and the park was starting to fill up. But David told me it was still another half hour until he had to play, and so he tugged on my hand to go and introduce me to a few people behind-the-scenes.

They were obviously musicians and organisers, and to me, their 60s hair, flared pants, and aura of self-assurance made them seem like gods (though all paled in comparison to David).

There were three of them, two men and one woman. David introduced me, "This is Florence... Haywood. I found her in the park and apparently she's a fan of mine." I blushed, but was still confused why he said my name like that, all slow and sadly.

But he then continued by introducing me to his friends, "This is George, a mate from school, he does my album covers and plays backing," pointing to the man on the left who had long brown hair and overalls.

He then pointed to the man in the middle, "This is Porter. He's gonna be playing after my set." Porter was tall (made even more so by his large Afro and platforms), and seemed nice enough.

He then looked over to the woman, who had short brown hair and was wearing a small mod dress and sandals. David introduced her, "This is Angie, she's a... friend. And has been putting me up at her place after I had to leave my last." At that, David's face saddened again, as if something of the memory stung him, but decided not to continue, so I didn't push him.

The conversation we had was nice, though David's mood was still a bit off, however. No matter how many jokes he cracked, there always seemed to be a sadness behind his features that I couldn't understand.

After a while, Angie caught my eye, and seemed to be signalling for me to go to the side and chat with her privately. I didn't want to leave David's conversation, and I really didn't want to talk with her (knowing all I did about her rather rude behaviour), but maybe she had something to tell me about David, so I excused myself from the conversation and followed her.

She went straight to it, in a very confident and curt manner, "David is in a tough spot right now. His father died last week. And just before that he split with his ex. Rather ratty girl, might I say. I was called in here by the record company to... cheer him up."

Before I could ask her how I could help, her facial expression changed from concerned to nasty. She glared at me and snarled with her perfect lipstick.

"I don't want anybody interfering with him. You know, everyone thinks he will be Britain's next big star, and so soon I will be too. I'm sure you are all nice and whatever, but David will be mine. I have it all mapped out. So don't. Cross. Me."

At those final words, she stabbed a perfectly manicured finger into my shoulder, pushing me backwards. Turning on her heel, she walked back to the boys, a smirk plastered on her features.

***

The concert was wonderful.

By the time David had started to play, the sun was starting to set and an orange light surrounded the park. It illuminated the hundreds of little heads on the lawn, and acted as a beautiful spotlight.

His songs were wonderful. There were some I knew, and some I didn't, but all the while I sang and smiled, the happiest I had ever been my entire life. I finally felt free.

Afterwards, David got down from the stage and Porter started to play. Angie was there waiting for David at the front, and he said hello to her, but then went around to me.

"How'd you like it? Was my #1 fan satisfied?" He grinned. I laughed, glad that out of everyone in the crowd, and Angie, David came to talk to me: the girl he just met today.

I replied, hugely excited, "Like it? I loved it! You were fantastic! All the songs were great, and your voice was stunning and... oh, sorry... I'm getting carried away."

"Thanks. It was good, just..." He said, trailing off. The sadness hit him again, and he bowed his head in melancholy.

I decided, if I was stuck in 1969, I might as well help my idol. He was obviously in a lot of emotional turmoil.

"Hey, David... Angie told me about what had happened with you and your dad, and your breakup too... My dad passed away too, when I was five, so I understand. It must have been really hard to put on a brave face and entertain the masses tonight. You should be proud, I'm sure that your father would have been."

He looked up at me, his eyes wet with tears, running down his beautiful features and cheekbones, dampening his golden curls. "Thank you, Florence. It was hard."

Though I was a solid 3 inches shorter than him, I comforted David and he rested his head on my shoulder. The tingling sensation came back again.

He continued, wiping the tears from his face, "The reason I was so upset by your name earlier is that Haywood was my dad's name. When I saw you unconscious in the park, and you told me your name, it was as if I was meant to find you. To help you."

But now, I knew it was my time to help him, "Hey David? Why don't we take a photograph to remember today by? And you could even write a song." I smiled sadly, still feeling the tingling. He smiled back.

I instinctively reached to my pocket for my phone to take the photo, but stopped myself. That would not go down well in 1969. Instead, David grabbed a Polaroid and got someone to take a photo of the whole crowd, including us.

When it had printed, David offered it to me. But I said, "No. Keep it. For your father. And don't forget to write that song, too." I looked up at the starry sky, now all dark, and we just stood there for a few minutes.

After a while, David turned to me. I looked back at his gorgeous face. Leaning over, he kissed my cheek. Just friendly, but the best feeling in the world nonetheless.

The tingling was starting to intensify. I didn't want to be around David when or if something happened, so I made a quick excuse and started to walk away. I know it was rude, but it was as if my body was rebelling against me; like pins and needles all over.

I caught a sneak peak of David before I turned the corner, and he was smiling, looking at the Polaroid. I think he was happier.

As soon as I saw this and had turned the corner, my head started to spin again. The tingling intensified and I fell to my knees, spots in my eyes.

Once again, I fell unconscious.