Had some time so I thought I'd write a few my streams of consciousness.
These are raw drafts, they have not been edited or drafted.
They are based on songs by Frank Turner, who has been a great influence in my life, he's my inspiration.
The title of this blog is from the song Wessex Boy by Frank Turner.
This is based on the song Worst Things Happen At Sea by Frank Turner.
He perched on the edge of the bed,
Hands clasped in front of him,
and eyes focused on the floor.
He couldn’t look up,
Didn’t want to see her packing her belongings,
He sat in silence,
Her footsteps the only sound.
Shivering slightly in the cool October air,
That was streaming through the open window.
He stared at his bare feet.
The zip of a bag cracked the air.
She was done, then.
He raised his eyes slowly,
Her bitter gaze stared back,
One hand clutching a bag,
The other, her keys.
He nodded jerkily.
Her mouth opened,
As if she was going to say something,
Apologies for cheating,
Come up with some sob story.
He raised his hand,
Trying to ignore the trembling in his bones.
They both knew what was going to happen.
What was the use in prolonging the torture?
The world flew from his lips,
The corner of his mouth twitched,
His gaze back on the floor.
He shook his head,
He heard her step closer.
He could feel her hesitating.
“Just, just get out,”
He ran a hand through his hair,
It was already disheveled anyway.
A bit like his life.
“I said, get out,”
Wrapping round them like a snake.
Then footsteps retreating,
The creak of the stairs.
The front door opening and closing softly.
Based on the song I Am Disappeared by Frank Turner.
(This one slightly ran away from the song)
Looking up at the building,
That reminded her of Hogwarts,
A thrill of excitement shot through her,
Mixed with anxiety and foreboding.
She shifted the box in her arms,
The edges biting into her skin.
She should have accepted her mam's help,
She had sent her away with a kiss,
And a promise she would go home as soon as she could.
She was at university now,
She didn’t need babysitting,
She was an adult.
So why was she feeling sick?
Rushing footsteps bounced into her ears.
She craned her neck,
A whoosh of air and colours knocked into her,
Sending her to her knees,
The box fell from her grip,
And landed with a thump.
Her books flew out,
She scrambled to pick them up,
Hair in her eyes,
“I’m so sorry! Here-“
She looked up,
Her eyes met dazzling brown.
The guy raised his eyebrows,
“I didn’t mean to knock you over-“
She blinked owlishly.
“It-it’s fine, honestly,”
Her fingers grasped at one of the books
That were laying around her.
“Let me help-“
She shook her head,
Cramming books back into the box.
A warm hand settled on her arm,
Halting her movements.
“It’s the least I can do,”
She glanced up,
The guy smiled back.
A moment later,
They were stood,
Sunlight blazing down,
The box in her arms once more,
The guy smiled,
She smiled back.