The Punk Composer (prog/punk fanfiction)

Carnival or KarnEvil?

Throughout the months that came afterwards, Eleanor's development got more and more visible, day by day. She felt more secure, more confident with herself. She didn't wear so much foundation anymore, as she used to. A friend from her company had even got her a small tattoo on the back of her arm, in the old school style, typical of skinheads' taste: two olive branches and a spartam helmet in the middle of them. It was a symbol of her commitment to those SHARPs, the first group she really felt to belong to.
She'd not changed her mind about her country - Northern Ireland - though, but atleast she did not feel so ashamed to say she came from there, as of then.

Despite her family's finances were worsening more and more, she could still cling to the love her company gave her; to music; to... Gilbert.
Nearly five months'd past after their kiss: a sudden and unexpected event, for both sides.
It was still not clear who of them had made the first move, but little mattered at that point: the two kids had detached a bit one another. The atmosphere around them just felt odd and a veil of embarassment covered them whenever they were close. Sure, they still talked and hanged around, in group, or sometimes even just the two of them: just like when Eleanor rushed to his house to watch ELP live at the California Jam on TV, (since her family had sold their own one) where she also saw the best drum solo she ever recalled, of course by Carl Palmer, who was entirely surrounded by a gigantic drumset: he even ringed a bell with his teeth and kept up an unimagineable speed for five minutes straight!
Watching them on TV, after all, was the only way she could afford to see their performances as of then: whilst their tickets rose in price, her family was becoming more and more poor. They still could mantein the basic things intact, they did not starve either: though, much'd be given away, sold. Eleanor had to fight with her parents not to have her Hammond sold and she refused to eat for a bunch of days as protest until her mother eventually allowed her to keep it. The promise was: she would try to make some money out of that keyboard. It was time she got to perform again, no matter when, where or who with. She needed some money. Desperately.

Whatsoever, things didn't feel as loose and spontaneous as before for the two friends...
On one hand, Gilbert somehow felt guilty and uneasy about the way he behaved that day: he thought that kiss'd happened too soon, he felt ashamed, even a bit offended, for he'd felt rejected for no apparent reason. His pride was strong and he just didn't want to be fooled by Eleanor, or to act against her will.
On the other hand, the girl had not managed to tell Gilbert about her sexual assault, which was the only reason why she'd shown signs of uneasiness right after that kiss. She felt guilty for having rejected him like that, for not apologising properly and she blamed herself for having not found the courage to speak out about what Brandon'd done to her.

But now, months'd past by and she'd had enough time to collect all the information and confidence that she needed to elaborate the whole thing. It was now or never. This time, the fear of losing Gilbert would win over the fear of her past.
Atleast, that's what she hoped...

August, 1974.

The black haired girl was leaning on the door of the swinging wagon of the tube.
She was alone.
Direction: Notting Hill. The district that, along with Brixton, dealt about integration. But compared to where she lived, that district felt more... joyful, colorful and secure; atleast, to her standards.

Inside that tube, she felt observed by those common people that were scanning her as if she was some outcast, some criminal: she was wearing leather shoes, a denym skirt, a light blue shirt, but most of all, her hair revealed a lot. That chelsea cut she had was a clear expression of what kind of people she belonged to: people who had a bad reputation around the city. Though, she didn't care, for those same apparently 'dangerous' people had given her confidence and strength.

That day, she would finally take part in the legendary carnival of Notting Hill: that year in particular, that event became a symbol for integration towards black people, who still felt emarginated by society and an easy target for the police.