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

I keep a Photograph, It Burns My Wall with Time

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I woke up in a cold sweat.

I was in the bed in my bedroom, and when my eyes opened I looked up at all the posters of David in my room. They seemed so much more real now than ever before. Because I knew them now. I knew him.

Or... did I?

It was hard to remember what had happened last night. It all came in a blur, in fuzzy snapshots:

Waking up in the park at sunset.

Stumbling home, dazed and confused. Walking through the door, Mum already asleep.

Feeling drained. Feeling tired. I got unchanged, and fell asleep.

Now, lying in my bed, I began to start having doubts about whatever had happened the previous evening. Though last night was so vivid; David, the festival, his kiss... it all seemed so impossible. I needed to know it was real. I needed evidence.

Then I remembered: The handkerchief! If I found David Bowie's handkerchief, then I found proof of last night's events.

Looking to my elbow, the graze was still there. It was starting to heal over, so now it was just a smallish red mark. But, that could have happened when I fell onto the grass, whether in 1969 or not.

And the most damning part, the part that tore away any hope that I had really met David Bowie last night?

The handkerchief that I was searching for... that I remembered David had tied around my arm... was no longer there.

After jumping from bed and turning my room upside-down, there was no sign of the handkerchief.

I collapsed back into bed, annoyed and confused. With no evidence whatsoever, I resigned myself to the sad fact that last night was a dream. It simply had to be.

Life was meaningless. I was still Florence Haywood, a random Londoner and David Bowie fan who will never really meet her idol.

I sprawl my arms out on my bed, and lie there for a while, thoughts swirling in my head. I knew things were more simple now that I knew last night was imaginary, but a part of me (a very large part) wanted it to have been true.

After further consideration, I decided it was best not to tell anyone what had happened last night. I had a few friends, and Mum and my brother, but it would be silly to tell them. Plus, what's the point of telling them a delusion?

It would be best to go about my day as normal, so I got up, shrugged on my clothes and walked downstairs.

I couldn't be bothered to say good morning to Mum or my brother. All I needed to do was get through the day. And then the next, and the next.

As I walked through the school gates into the paved courtyard, my friend Melanie came to say hello. She had auburn hair and glasses, with freckles sprinkled on her face. She was the closest thing I had to a friend.

I hadn't seen her much yesterday, probably because I was too lost in my own world. And still am, though now I was trying to focus and act normal.

She said, "Hey Florence. Glad you came today, worried you'd ditch, after what happened yesterday..."