Real Life In Fiction

She opened the door to the roof of the twenty-storey tower and scrambled over the barrier. Her vision was hazy with tears and the nearly-empty bottle of vodka in her hand shattered as it fell clumsily to the floor.

Her phone was buzzing with concern, but to avail; she had sunk so deeply into the darkest recesses of herself that she was able to make excuses for every ‘concerned’ person who was trying to contact her. They didn’t care. They really didn’t.

She climbed to the very edge of the building and the phone in her shaking hand fell, lost to the huge drop she was about to hurl herself into.

She steadied herself; took two deep breaths, and jumped.

But this wasn’t falling.

ALEX DAY-STUPID STUPID

Back in September, I wrote an article in which, amongst other questions, I asked Alex Day how he planned to achieve his goal of making it to #1 in the charts by 31st December 2012. He told me; ‘By working bloody hard and doing everything I possibly can! I’ll give it my all and then at least I won’t regret it if it doesn’t work out.’

Well, December has finally rolled around, and the song Day has chosen to compete for the top spot is ‘Stupid Stupid’.....

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Real Life In Fiction

Wrapped in her thick duffle coat, her icy breath forming in front of her, she made her way towards the figure in the distance. It was a dark night and the streets were devoid of life; she didn't know what time it was or how she had got here, but her mind wasn't on such trivial things. She was ten paces away and the figure, hearing her approach, turned around to face her.

This was a dream.

Sucking on his trademark Marlboro Red, his green eyes met hers. She stared and stared, her eyes feasting on him; how long had it been since she was able to look upon him like this? She stepped closer, until their heads were nearly touching, and smiling, gently took the cigarette from his mouth.

"How many times do I have to tell you? They're bad for you," she said.

He grinned, and placed his hand gently on her cheek.

"I've missed you telling me off".

A tear escaped from her eye but she continued to smile.

"I've missed you, too".

He was dressed in his usual white vest and battered Giorgio Armani jeans; his handsome face sporting two day-old stubble, and despite the cold, his tanned skin was warm, as if a beating sun was shining down only on him. On her beautiful Italian boy.

This was a dream.

She closed her eyes and let him hold her. Wrapped in his arms, everything was how it should be, everything was perfection. And though she finally felt him fall away, replaced by reality, she couldn't open her eyes, she couldn’t let him go. Not yet.

JUSTIN BIEBER-BEAUTY AND A BEAT

Okay, I have a confession to make.

I like Justin Bieber.

I wouldn’t go as far as to say I was a ‘Belieber’. But I do like him.

There, I said it. And now we can move on and look at ‘Beauty and a Beat’-his latest music video.....

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Real Life In Fiction

She sat next to the window with her small caramel lattè and opened her novel to part three of ‘Anna Karenina’. To many, the act of being able to relax in a coffee house was nothing to relish. But to her, small things like this meant everything.

Four years ago she would have walked past the warmth of a coffee house with red rings around her eyes, too spaced-out and broke to even think of entering. And besides, what was coffee in comparison to cocaine? Nothing.

But four years on, she was clean, had been for ages, and the small coffee in front of her was just enough, tasted better and didn’t leave her wanting to die from the comedown every morning. Coffee didn’t make her stay up late, force her eyes into sunken hollows, and prevent her from enjoying the smaller things in life; things that others often take for granted.

No, this was the life she had craved for so long. She breathed in roasted coffee beans and fresh, clean air, and smiled.

Real Life In Fiction

She walked quickly and with purpose; her heels pounding on the concrete floor and ‘Supermassive Black Hole’ filling her ears. To passers-by she looked disgustingly arrogant; her eyes focused dead ahead, ignoring the faces of those who looked quizzically into hers. She walked like she owned the world, even though she often felt like she was drowning in it.

Pushing past people without apology she didn’t make many friends on the way to her appointment. It began to drizzle and she pulled her hood up over her head. Now she looked threatening. Her friends had always said all her walk needed was a knife in her hand and she’d look like she wanted to murder whoever was in her line of sight. She smiled at the thought, and at the look two older women gave her as they passed. The disdain she managed to draw from strangers amused her.  

But she was finally there and the person who waited, the person who knew her inside out, smiled, knowing the woman behind the walk.

MUSE-THE 2nd LAW

I have always been an avid Muse fan. From ‘Showbiz’ to ‘The Origin of Symmetry’, from ‘Absolution’ to ‘Black Holes & Revelations’ to ‘The Resistance’. Like most Muse fans when ‘The 2nd Law’ was announced, I watched the album trailer and was excited to hear Muse’s latest offering.

However, after trawling forums and fan sites to see what others thought, I found that ‘Muse Go Dubstep’ was met with horror as well as excitement.
 

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You Loved Me And I Froze In Time

Her eyes always lit up when their name appeared on her iPhone screen. As did theirs with her name. How did they still have the power to make each other feel like this? It had been years after they first met.

She would lie in bed at night wishing the arm around her was theirs. Wishing for their kiss, for the feel of their body against hers.

But it was a doomed love. Too much had happened. Too much fire.

Put them in the same room and their eyes would always lock for just that second too long. Their chemistry was palpable; their array of significant others over the years falling to the wayside with jealousy. They both jumped from relationship to relationship; never able to fully commit because of each other. Both their hearts forever wasted.

 

ALEX DAY-BREAKING THE MOULD

Today, I am going to talk about a successful musician from Essex. Now, you may think that there is nothing particularly original, innovative or special about that. But let me tell you, Alex Day is different.

On paper, many record labels would have sneered at his chances of success. He promotes his music through YouTube, allows fans to use and listen to it for free on his website, releases multiple songs at the same time, and continues to remain an unsigned artist despite interest from the record industry. Yet Day still manages to get his songs into the charts; not only in the UK, but all across the world.

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Real Life In Fiction

She was so stressed. Like incredibly, immensely stressed. Lying in bed she knew she would quite happily have taken a nightmare over what had just happened in reality. She had never felt so uncomfortable in all of her life!

Sitting up, she shook her head and made her way downstairs. She felt sick. And it wasn't the one vodka and coke she had sipped slowly throughout the night. It was the person who had tried it on with her relentlessly for the past half an hour; ignoring her ever-increasing protests and continuous repetition of the word 'no'. The image of her shifting across the sofa, further and further away from the person who was causing her this discomfort, until she was practically backed up against the wall, would have been comical, if it hadn't been her in the situation!

The person had been trying to touch her knee and stroke her face and she had recoiled at the touch. She was very Christian Grey-esque in that sense; she hated being touched. Only one person was allowed to touch her like that. And my God, she wanted to see that person so much right now. Instead, she had to settle with the second-best option; pouring the milk into a tall mug she sat down at the kitchen table and sipped the hot, comforting tea.

A BAND CALLED QUINN-‘SCOTLAND’S BEST KEPT SECRET’

I first stumbled upon A Band Called Quinn through BBC Serial Drama, Lip Service. Described by Scottish pop pundit Jim Gellatly as ‘Scotland’s Best Kept Secret’, this Glaswegian quartet, consisting of Louise Quinn, Bal Cooke, Robert Henderson and Steven Westwater, produce a unique, fun brand of electro, indie pop that blurs the boundaries between music, film and theatre.

The woman at the forefront of this band is Louise Quinn, and her voice is like silk. It’s literally beautiful; the kind of voice you could listen to for hours, tirelessly.  I managed to speak to her and get an insight into the songs she writes and sings so skilfully.

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Knife Party -‘100% NO MODERN TALKING’ and ‘RAGE VALLEY’

In June 2012, Rob Swire, producer and lead singer of Pendulum, announced on twitter that there would be no further Pendulum live shows and no current plans for a new album in 2013. Having been seriously impressed with their third studio album, ‘Immersion’ and seen them put on an incredible live show at Nottingham’s Capital FM Arena, I was disappointed to learn of this news.

When asked why Pendulum were splitting, Swire responded.....

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Real Life In Fiction

She sat on the edge of the bed with her head in her hands. This was the fourth night in a row and her head was pounding. The nightmares were getting worse. 

Like her own brand of horror film they seemed to consist of everything she was afraid of; in never-ending sequels that deserved Oscars for their imaginative content. Flashbacks mingled with new scenarios; all playing on her biggest fears. They made the woman who everyone thought was so strong, so unafraid of everything, feel like a scared, little child.

She sneered at their stupidity. No one really knew her properly. Only one person on this earth saw past the 'ice-queen' to her insecurities. The rest were in the dark, and there they would remain. 

She thought of Charlie; he'd make these nightmares go away. But she wouldn't go back to him, even though he'd pined for her for years. Poor Charlie. She didn't love him anymore. He'd been chased away by the boy who could make swans out of paper.

Instead, she reached into her make-up bag for his sensible older brother. Popping a paracetamol into her mouth she lay back on the bed, praying for a peaceful sleep. 

Real Life In Fiction

Saying goodbye to her friends, she shut the door behind her, plugged herself into her iPhone and began to walk the five minutes home. 01:42am and the roads were completely empty. She didn't mind though; strange though it was, she quite enjoyed the peacefulness of a late night walk. 

The orchestral tones of Hans Zimmer's 'Aurora' playing in her ears, she made her way up the path and turned the corner into the underpass. As she entered, she could hear a faint groaning between the bars of the music. Her eyes narrowed as she spotted a figure, a man, lying face down on the floor at the end of the tunnel. Pulling her earphones out and tucking them into her pocket, she cautiously approached him. 

A phone lay smashed near his feet; coins and loose cigarettes were scattered around him and blood lay in patches on the ground at his face. This man had clearly been beaten up and left for dead, but by who she didn't know; there was nobody else around and it looked as if he had been there for a while.

Hearing the sound of heels walking towards him seemed to encourage speech and she heard two pained words struggle from his mouth; 'Help me'. Kneeling beside him she knew he was in desperate need of medical attention. Gently putting one hand under his head, she rolled him onto to his front, revealing his face to her in the one flickering light of the underpass. It was him. She couldn't breathe. It was him.

Feeling physically sick, a wave of hatred began to flood through her veins. This man had caused her so much pain; he had watched her suffer as he was suffering now, he had caused that pain! He knew it too and tears began to fall down his face; she wouldn't help him, he would die alone in this dreadful tunnel. She stood up and stared down at him, an internal struggle consuming her. She wanted to walk away, to watch him die; she hated this man with every fiber of her being. 

But she knew what she had to do, despite her hatred and her desperate want for revenge. She pulled out her iPhone and dialed three numbers on the keypad; 'Ambulance, please'.

Real Life In Fiction

The sound of her heels resonated on the tiled floor and walls of the deserted underpass. Pulling the hood of her leather jacket further over her head she climbed the stairs to platform six of Rugby's train station. When she arrived at the top there was no one to be seen; every platform was empty and there were no trains in sight.

She pulled out her iPhone, caught a glimpse of the time; 22:33, a whole half hour until her train was due, before the light faded and the phone turned itself off. She had forgotten to charge it this morning and now her £500 iPhone was utterly useless. She stood in deadly silence waiting for her train to arrive, until a hooded figure strode onto the platform opposite hers. The figure stopped when it caught a glimpse of her and stared with intensity across the train tracks.

Suddenly a gust of wind whistled through the station, blowing the hoods off both of them. Green eyes locked with deep blue and shocked recognition appeared on both of their faces. 

It was her! After all this time. Five years of unfinished business and there they were, just the two of them, alone at the train station. After what seemed like an eternity, the woman on the platform broke their eye-contact, turned on her heel and rushed down the stairs into the underpass; making her way to platform six.   

  

Real Life In Fiction

She didn't deserve this. She only drank four vodka and cokes! Her head over the toilet bowl, tears streaming down her face, she threw up once more. 

Feeling thoroughly sorry for herself she made her way back to the bedroom, hit by the stench of cigarettes and alcohol when she entered, making her run back into the bathroom for the fourth time that night. It was true, she had only had four drinks. But what she hadn't realised was that pouring your own drinks meant that what she had drunk was equivalent to half a bottle of vodka! Far too much for this light-weight.

Her iPhone flashed in the corner of the bathroom. Oh god, he was calling again. Why had she text him those three words, those eight letters that meant so much?? Ignoring the call, she began to thumb through her text messages. She clicked on his name; *I love you too*. Shit. 

She made to put her phone down but another message caught her eye, from her best friend; *Looking forward to graduation tomorrow? x* Her eyes widened in shock. Graduation! Tomorrow! She had completely forgotten! The familiar pull on her stomach took hold of her, and she was sick once more. 

Real Life In Fiction

In a cold sweat she bolted upright. Consumed by an air of panic her breathing was shallow, her face tight with stale tears and her eyes wildly searching her new surroundings. Relief poured over her as she realised she was sitting in her bed-"it was just a dream", she whispered hoarsely. "It was just a dream".

She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, taking a sip of the now luke-warm water on her bedside table. It was 3:40am on her iPhone and she sighed, making her way to the bathroom to splash cold water on her face. She'd never been a good sleeper and nightmares had always plagued her, but they'd disappeared for a while and she'd begun to sleep soundly for the first time in her life.  

She peeled off the sweaty t-shirt clinging to her body and slowly got back into bed. Snapshots of the girl she loved, dying in agony, flashed like photographs when she closed her eyes, and sleep took hold of her once more.

Real Life In Fiction

She held the origami swans in her hand; crafted using an American dollar from his time in California, they were so delicate and intricate, every fold made perfectly. One was slightly smaller than the other, both in height and breadth-"you and I", he'd said. 

As she stared at those tiny paper creatures in her hand, she knew there were no more tears to be had. He'd gone and she'd finally accepted it. It'd been a long, reckless journey to the shreds of hope-one of anger and cocaine, days sitting in darkened rooms by herself and the constant refusal of company. But those days were over, thank god, and she was now able to think of him without sadness taking her over.

She studied his creations in her hand, and wondered what he would think if he knew she now used his talents to impress his replacements.