Status: Finished, but never forgotten.
Live Forever
Because maybe, you're gonna be the one that saves
“Get off me!” I shriek in a whisper. Excellent, fresh meat for them, a prey to let out their frustration on. Frustration that seemingly stems from the fact that Manchester United are losing 3 – 1 to Aston Villa. Manchester United? Pah! They’re not real Mancs.
I hold still because wriggling away does not work. I’m a worm being eaten by a bird; there is no escape. I’m pinned against a shop wall and its beige blandness will soon be splattered with my blood unless I give them all my personal belongings; this amounting to five measly pounds I have with which to buy my tape. It can’t end like this, surely? I suppose I am being melodramatic, but the flash of steel that comes from their pockets and their drunken amusement at the way I flinch when the blade comes within a metre of me is to be experienced before one can judge me.
That’s when he comes in. With grubby white trainers as his trusty steeds, he rescues the damsel in distress. I have no idea what happens here, though he does tell me later that he kicked one of the inbreds in the stomach and made him technicolour yawn into the gutter, before blacking out on the ground. His friend, incensed, falls over his friend and passes out. I had blanked out slightly from the trauma.
The next thing I know, he’s propping me up in his whippet’s arms and asking me questions. Am I ok? You answer that yourself, moron. Are you hurt? Not on the outside. Did you know them? I nearly take offence, but I stammer out that no, I certainly don’t. He smiles. My vision is blurred from salty, sappy tears; but his eyes are like slightly melted Malteasers and they’re just as tempting. I could drown in chocolate and I could drown in his gaze. Nothing else about him is particularly original; he’s predictably dark-haired and average-looking.
“Were you going to go in here?” he queries, even though it’s none of his business. I realise I’m being needlessly vicious in my head. Supposing that no harm could come of it, I nod.
This is when it all changes for me. A silly music store and a boy with beautiful eyes.
I hold still because wriggling away does not work. I’m a worm being eaten by a bird; there is no escape. I’m pinned against a shop wall and its beige blandness will soon be splattered with my blood unless I give them all my personal belongings; this amounting to five measly pounds I have with which to buy my tape. It can’t end like this, surely? I suppose I am being melodramatic, but the flash of steel that comes from their pockets and their drunken amusement at the way I flinch when the blade comes within a metre of me is to be experienced before one can judge me.
That’s when he comes in. With grubby white trainers as his trusty steeds, he rescues the damsel in distress. I have no idea what happens here, though he does tell me later that he kicked one of the inbreds in the stomach and made him technicolour yawn into the gutter, before blacking out on the ground. His friend, incensed, falls over his friend and passes out. I had blanked out slightly from the trauma.
The next thing I know, he’s propping me up in his whippet’s arms and asking me questions. Am I ok? You answer that yourself, moron. Are you hurt? Not on the outside. Did you know them? I nearly take offence, but I stammer out that no, I certainly don’t. He smiles. My vision is blurred from salty, sappy tears; but his eyes are like slightly melted Malteasers and they’re just as tempting. I could drown in chocolate and I could drown in his gaze. Nothing else about him is particularly original; he’s predictably dark-haired and average-looking.
“Were you going to go in here?” he queries, even though it’s none of his business. I realise I’m being needlessly vicious in my head. Supposing that no harm could come of it, I nod.
This is when it all changes for me. A silly music store and a boy with beautiful eyes.