Get Home // l.p [Short Story AU]

Get Home // Liam Payne [Short Story AU]

please listen to the track list of this song ! you can find it here http://8tracks.com/wreckedkids/get-home 

so my short stories do get a lot of postive feedback /mostly/

and this is quite risky 

so if no one likes this, i will delete it and make a new one

i got inspired by the song killer by bastille and made this in two days time

read it for yourself, and comment some feedback whether you like it or not

i really don't know if this is stupid or good

so please tell me! 

stay gorgeous <3

// playlist //

http://8tracks.com/wreckedkids/get-home

“The ghetto’s like a prison,

you’re locked,

but you’re still living

Barely breathing,

up until if you’re leaving”

- Basement / Bastille featuring F.Stokes & F*U*G*Z

                    “Hey. . . can we talk?” the young girl whispered as she peered around the corner, that led into a spacious kitchen slash living room. She fiddled with her fingers, pulling the ends of the sleeves of her old oversized thin grey sweater, that was punched with holes, yet nonetheless the flaws that pretty much sewed the sweater together, it was her favourite sweater.

                    The boy turned around in one swift motion, he was playing with his bottom lip, capturing it between his thumb and index finger. “Yeh?”

                    She took a few steps closer, her body posture radiating fear and anxiety, even though she tried to hide it from him. “I – uh.”

                    How could she possibly start with something she was dreaded to start with, and something she knew wouldn't end the way she would like to. It was bad news, for him mostly, but things can backfire, and that clung to the back of, Robin’s mind.

                    The boy didn’t notice her distress, instead he stayed looking out from the view they had of London, of the top flat floor. It was more of a studio, beautifully spacious, light bouncing off the walls in summer and spring. Robin, always adored the sound of thunder and rain when she sat inside the room, usually with a mug of tea.

                    Robin finally managed to control her legs, and forced them to walk over where the boy stood, his hands in his front pockets, the thumb sticking out. He was wearing black tight jeans, a scarf being tied into the loops where the belt usually went through. He was always oddly in fashion, something, Robin couldn't understand.

                    He was changing more by the day, and Robin hadn’t figured out whether that was a good or bad thing.

                    “Isn’t London beautiful?” he hummed as he skimmed his eyes around the city that he very much cherished.