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'.