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

The Man Who Sold The World

I was disgusted. Obviously.

But I couldn't let him get to me. Even though Ashley had decided to ruin my backpack, I just couldn't let him hurt me inside. This was one problem I could fix with a stern glint in my eye, toughness in my soul, and a lot of soap and scrubbing.

At least, that was what I had planned to do.

Back at home, I set my bag out on my bedroom floor, tore up the note Ashley had written, and threw it in my bin.

Then I got to work on the gummy mass that lay clinging to the inside of my bag. It was a lot harder to disentangle the half-chewed mess than I had originally thought, and it took 15 minutes just to scrape most of it off with my fingernails.

I was left clutching a ball of sticky gum-clump.

And that was when whatever thing that controls the universe was like, "let's send her, and her gross ball of gum, back to 1970 again! That'll be good fun!"

Firstly: it was not fun.

Secondly: I swear, I should file a formal complaint to someone.

I mean, come on! Me and the gumball get hitched back to 1970?

***

I arrived in front of a door to a pub, probably some time in the middle of the night. There was a loud buzz coming from it, shouts and music too, but I wasn't really focused on that.

I was more focused on the rock god who stumbled out the door that moment.

His long tendrils were slightly knotted, and he seemed a little dazed. Make that more than a little dazed: closer towards drunk.

There were barely two seconds from when he stumbled through the door to the time he tripped and fell: onto me.

We cascaded through the air and, luckily,
landed onto the grass beside the pub instead of the concrete sidewalk.

It had hurt, a bit, but I didn't really care so much. I cared more about the man sprawled next to me, who was grinning with his crooked teeth.

He lay there in a drunken stupor for a few minutes, and he seemed to be off in another world.

I took the moment to try and discreetly scrape the gum off my hand and onto the grass beside me. It wouldn't budge.

The sticky mess was still there when he snapped back to reality and we made eye contact. It was like the recognition of me had knocked some sense into him.

"Florence?" He said, still a bit tipsy.

I replied, "Hey, David. How are you? You seem a little..."

"Drunk? No... I would never..." He gave me a mischievous wink.

At this point, I was still trying to scrape the gum onto the floor beside me, and he looked at me confusedly.

I was rather embarrassed, so I just started to stand up, and he followed.

Once we had both straightened ourselves up, and picked the grass from our clothes, David was the first to say anything next.