Time... His Script is You and Me (A David Bowie Fanfic)

The Girl With The Mousy Hair

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 :)

***********************************************

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 pallor. 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.