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Post by comicforce on Mar 29, 2014 21:25:10 GMT
Any original stories, or fan fiction you feel like sharing with us?
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Post by Deleted on Mar 29, 2014 22:13:15 GMT
One question: does it have to be Coldplay related??
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Post by comicforce on Mar 29, 2014 23:26:51 GMT
No, of course not.. whatever you want. It CAN be too of course.
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Post by Deleted on Mar 30, 2014 22:37:50 GMT
FragmentsSo here is the first part of what I promised Row I'd write Sorry it's short, future parts will probably be longer. And you'll probably guess, but it's a Coldplay fanfic {Chapter 1 }Jonny strummed the top string of his guitar furiously. Why couldn't he think of anything? It was normally so easy, but today seemed to be outwitting him. He gave up, pushed his guitar to the side and rested his head on one hand, noting how strange it was that the world seemed to be the right way up still. That had always confused him.
His eyelids were just beginning to drop when the door started to open, and in one quick manoeuvre he was awake, guitar in hands again. Chris didn't normally come in at this time, did he? “What's happening, J?” asked Chris.
“Just… you know… working on things…” came the reply. Chris stared at Jonny with a dumbfounded look on his face. Then he started to laugh.
“Jonny, you're SUCH a bad liar!” he cried. “What were you really doing, huh?”
“Ok, so I've hit a block. I can't think of anything. It's just so difficult!”
“You can normally do it.”
“Well fine, YOU have a go then!” He passed the guitar to his bandmate, sniggering, as Chris started to strum a few chords.
“Well, whatever, you're better at this stuff than me anyway,” Chris said, pushing the instrument away.
“Thanks for the help,” Jonny replied sarcastically. “What brings you to The Bakery at this hour anyway?”
“Bored.”
“Right, so are you actually going to do anything, or…?”
“Nah, just came to watch TV I guess.”
Jonny sighed, and thought nothing of it. He slipped his phone out of his pocket and stuck his headphones in, letting the minutes slip away.
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A hard morning breeze hit Will in the face as he ambled down the street, autumn leaves slipping past his face. What was it he needed again? Milk? He hadn't made a list, as per usual. What an idiot, he thought to himself, as he endeavoured to remember why he was outside in the first place. Just as he was reaching for the shop door, he froze.
Gunshots. Close. His head turned to face the sound, but he couldn't quite see where it was coming from. All he knew that he had to run, and quickly. His feet could hardly carry him fast enough; he was only aware of the tremendous danger that was rising inside him, threatening to overcome his thoughts. Everything started to blur slightly. The ground rose and fell with his breathing. Dizziness started to frame his vision and suddenly, without warning, everything fell out of place. Trees crashed around him; houses tumbled unceremoniously to the ground. All he knew before he blacked out was that something was undeniably wrong.
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Post by LdySpace on Mar 31, 2014 4:08:51 GMT
Oooo, drama! I love a good ffic, and this sounds very intriguing. Keep it up!!
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Post by comicforce on Mar 31, 2014 6:24:29 GMT
Wow me too! It's really great!! I guess I promised to post something if you did. I'll dig it out this evening Amelia! Thank you for doing this! VERY BRAVE!
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Post by Deleted on Mar 31, 2014 15:03:13 GMT
Thank you guys It's my first fanfic I try to make it dramatic And please do find that piece of writing Row! A promise is a promise
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Post by comicforce on Mar 31, 2014 20:30:12 GMT
OK.. creeps in. Here it is.. Please be kind. The Gig Chris removed his t-shirt, the girls in the front row went beserk! Screaming, shouting, grabbing for the scraps of material that were now being torn from it. Stuck three rows back, I jumped up and attempted to reach some of it. Failing miserably , but loving the emotion of the moment, the frenzy. He smiled wildly at us all, stripped to the waist, gleaming in the bright lights as sweat coated him. He was breathing hard, I couldn’t tear my eyes off him, wouldn’t even if I could. He stared transfixed, unmoving, as if hypnotised by the screaming mass of hormones in front of him. Then as if waking from a dream he backed up and then with the rest of the band, left the stage to tumultuous applause.
The Viva chant went round, louder and louder, the encore was coming. The die-hard fans knew this, feet were being drummed, hands clapped, excitement firing on all cylinders, we knew the set list off by heart, knew every word of every song.
Suddenly to a thunderous creshendo of noise they retook the stage! Chris leaping onto the piano stool and crashing into Clocks, the noise, the lights the lazers, it was enormous. There was a girl in front of me jumping up and down like a yo yo.. she bashed into me constantly. Screaming and shouting, I was shoved from behind, it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but this moment, this song, this band. This piece of magic being played out around me. Finally to the end, the saddest part of the show and they took their bows, Chris bent to kiss the stage. I couldn’t believe it was over, my ears were ringing in the sudden quiet. It seemed only a few minutes and now they were going, waving, clapping us, leaving us, now they were gone. Only a few short minutes ago we were part of them, connected to them, we had been part of the band, part of the show, now it was over and we had to come down to earth. I stood as people started to move around me, pouring out of the stadium, I stared at the sea of paper confetti at my feet. I should try and pick some up, but somehow the picking up of the confetti signalled the end and I didn’t want it to be over.
My friend, nudged me ‘time to go?’
I stared at her sadly shaking my head I didn’t want to leave.
She put her arm around me, smiling ‘come on. I know. I don’t wanna go either. Let’s go and see if the roadies will give us a set list?
Three girls were at the barrier ahead of us, leaning over, shouting at the roadies rudely ‘We want a set list ! Oi.. mate! Give us a set list!! Here! We want one!!’
I rolled my eyes at her, part of me wishing I had the guts to do that too. Fortunately my friend isn’t scared of anything and she pushed in between the rude girls, smiling sweetly at them, then yelling loudly
‘Hoppy! Hey Hoppy?!’ The other girls stared at her, ‘she knows him!’ they looked impressed.
Hoppy turned at her shout and raised his brows, carefully winding up cables .
‘Hi Hoppy!’ she smiled up at him, the stage was so high. ‘If you get a chance would it be possible to get a set list or a pick maybe?’ He nodded at her. The girls next to her screamed indignantly. ‘That was OURS!’ one shouted in her face.
She raised her brows at them and shrugged. ‘Some of us ask NICELY.
Hoppy suddenly appeared to our right, and beckoned to us and we went towards the side of the stage away from the others. He produced a set list and two picks. We thanked him profusely. ‘It never hurts to be polite does it?’ He winked at us as he left.
My friend pushed a pick into my hands, I stared at it, transfixed, ‘thank you!’ I breathed, a huge smile on my face, one of Chris’ picks. It had been my dream to get one. Tears pricked at my eyes. ‘This has been an amazing day.. amazing.’
The place was a mess, covered in discarded bottles and confetti, shattered plastic cups, I didn’t envy anyone who had to clean this up! We scooped some handfuls of confetti into our plastic bag and knotted it. Careful to weed out the bits of plastic cup and various debris. Then sighing that it was over, we made our way towards one of the exits.
A little later we sat in a late night MacDonalds, drinking cokes, so thirsty. Watching the sea of people pour past the windows, we’d wait until it died down a bit and then grab a tube home.
‘That was amazing..’ I turned the pick over in my hands. I had just become my favourite thing ever. I sighed ‘Chris touched this!’
My friend grinned over her soda, ‘I know…’ she put hers down on the table top and studied it. ‘You can probably see his actual sweat if you look closely.’ She raised her brows at me.. ‘his ACTUAL sweat..’ She sighed..
‘Ahhhh…’ I grinned at her, ‘DNA!’
We burst out laughing, it had long been a standing joke that if we could just get a strand of hair or some sweat, we could make our own Chris Martins. The day had been extremely long. We had been outside the venue since 7am. Lined up and ready to enter, 12 hours before the show had even started. Exhaustion sent our giggles into borderine hysteria.
Finally calming down we finished out drinks and made our way back home.
TBC.. maybe?
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Post by Deleted on Mar 31, 2014 21:28:24 GMT
^ Row, that's lovely! In a slightly creepy, hormonal kind of way Please please please write more! If you want to, of course.
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Post by comicforce on Mar 31, 2014 21:42:09 GMT
LOL I am slightly creepy and hormonal LOL..
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Post by LdySpace on Mar 31, 2014 22:05:44 GMT
She is, but that's just grand. Stories are fun, and continuations are essential.
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Post by Deleted on Apr 1, 2014 6:11:50 GMT
Fragments So apparently, I can't write anything other than a horrendously short chapter, lol I'm sorry. Please, accept this complementary squirrel. But I'll be posting more chapters as I write them.
Disclaimer: This fanfic isn't meant to be medically accurate. Don't expect it to be.{Chapter 2}“We're not sure how well Will is going to recover. The bullet hit him in the skull, and we think he's suffered some severe memory loss. You can try all you like, but there's no guarantee that he'll remember much from his past.”
Will's face was still and unmoving. He was asleep; Chris was sat next to the heart monitor, listening to each beep. Jonny was perched at the end of the bed, and Guy was sat in the edge of his chair, next to Chris. Marianne, Will's wife, was there too, holding his limp, almost lifeless hand.
“I'll leave you to it,” said the nurse, and swiftly left the room.
There was silence for a long time — none of them knew what to say or do. Guy tapped a rhythm onto the side of the bed with his fingers, but stopped when Chris threw him an icy look. Sunlight streamed in through the window, illuminating their faces in the dreary white of the hospital. Everything was unnaturally sterile and devoid of identity; there was no indication that anything had ever been used or that it was ever going to be used. A bird chirped outside, but the sadness of the room's occupants made it disappear.
It was Jonny who was the first to speak.
“I think we'd better leave you and Will together, Marianne.”
“No, it's ok,” she replied, “you can stay.”
“No really, it's probably best if we don't crowd him. And besides, if anyone can make him feel better, then it's you.”
Then the three men picked up their coats and left, each step heavier than the last.
It was a cold, sunny day outside. Each ray of light highlighted a different drop of dew on a leaf or a delicate spiderweb stretched between two bushes. A cigarette found its way to Guy's mouth, causing the noses of his companions to wrinkle in disgust at the smell of the smoke. However, its user felt the relief spread through every inch of his body, distracting him from the situation at hand.
“I don't understand,” he said as casually as possible, “why would anyone have a gun around here? And why would they aim it at Will, of all people?” There was a stark silence of several seconds before an answer came.
“I'm as confused as you are, Guy,” replied Chris. “It makes no sense — none at all. I just hope he comes round before it gets to the kids.”
“I know,” agreed Jonny, “but I also hope that he can remember how to play the drums!” The thought of it almost made Chris collapse. He hadn't considered the fact that this might mean the end of the band as they knew it. He didn't even want to think about that. All he needed to do was to be strong and look forward. There was nothing he could do to change the situation now, so he just had to accept it. But as he waved goodbye to his friends and turned the corner towards his house, he couldn't undo the knot in the pit of his stomach.
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Post by comicforce on Apr 1, 2014 6:15:41 GMT
Wow, that is fantastic Amelia. Don't worry about the shortness. Looking forward to finding out what happens next
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Post by Deleted on Apr 1, 2014 19:31:35 GMT
Fragments Good (or possibly bad) news! I've got two chapters for you lovely people since I'm in a creative mood Enjoy and leave your opinions as normal. Again, it isn't going to be medically accurate.{Chapter 3}Will sat. He didn't lounge, or rest, or settle down. He just sat. The concrete walls were cold and hard against his skin, and they were unforgiving. Like that bullet.
He didn't remember much, apart from fear, and an X-Ray. He couldn't help but think that there was a large part missing, something he should've replaced. The cell was dark, dingy and damp. It was also cramped. There wasn't much here, apart from the door. But he couldn't use it, of course. To be honest, he didn't feel like trying. He'd already done it, a thousand times or more.
There wasn't any light in the room — it was incredibly murky. He would often see things in the shadows and then turn and notice that they were no longer there. But they didn't bother him too much anymore, apart from giving him a shock sometimes. Perhaps they were his friends. Did he even have any friends? The questions ran circles in his head.
He had absolutely no idea what he was good at. Where did he work? An office somewhere? Perhaps he had some dreary, dead-end job, working at a desk for hours every day. He probably had no money. He seemed like the sort of person who could only afford to go to that place… what was it called? The one with the greasy smell, and the little pieces of food that were yellow and crunchy and salty. Yellow… what a nice colour that was.
Suddenly, there was a voice.
“Will… what are we going to do with you?”
It was the voice of a woman. It raced through Will's brain. It bounced off the walls. The words swapped places and then rearranged themselves. All the time, he was trying constantly to make a connection between the voice and a face, but the void in the middle of his mind made this impossible. He gave up.
Eyelids dropping, he rested his head against the wall. And screamed. {Chapter 4}A white ceiling provided a cold, hard welcome back to reality.
“Will! You're awake!” the woman beamed. He tried to sit up, but she pushed him back. “No, you must stay lying down. The nurses said so.”
“Sorry, who are you?” he asked. He felt a sense of guilt about saying it, but he had to. The woman looked slightly taken aback — surprised even.
“I'm your wife, Will. Marianne. How are you?” It was all she could do to hold back the tears. The clock ticked across to 1am. She hadn't even thought about going home and leaving Will unattended.
“I'm ok. I've got a terrible headache, though.”
“Well I'm glad you're here now. How much do you remember?”
“About what?”
Marianne's face sank. How long was this going to take?
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Chris couldn't sleep. He wasn't unused to this, but tonight was different. Staying up wasn't so much fun when there was worry intertwined with each thought. He perched on the edge of the piano stool in The Bakery, tapping one key over and over. Nothing was there. The radio had stopped. No new songs today, not even with his lack of energy. It usually made him more creative.
The studio felt emptier knowing that one of its occupants probably wouldn't be coming back. Suddenly, his phone beeped and vibrated, and his hand automatically reached for it. It was a text from Marianne. ‘He's awake.' Chris hastily replied. ‘You go home, I'll stay with him.' Then he practically ran out of the door, slamming it shut behind him.
As he reached the hospital, he could hardly wait to get to Will's room. Perhaps he'd be just as before. Chris was hoping more than he'd ever hoped before. The door leading to Will's bed seemed to fly open in front of him.
“Hello,” said Will.
“Will!” cried Chris.
“I'm so sorry… I don't remember your name…” Chris stopped and stared. He'd come all this way in the middle of the night. And all the time he'd thought that Will would be OK! How stupid was he?
“I'm Chris. I'm your friend,” he stuttered, and held out his hand. Will met it with a weak response. “How have you been?” Chris continued.
“Terrible. Nothing seems to fit together.”
“OK…” Chris replied and nodded. He could see Will's eyes scanning and studying him, looking for a trace of their past together. He wondered what on earth Will thought of him now, but pushed the thought away and pulled up a stool. It was as uncomfortable and alien as everything else in the building. His friend turned over, and closed his eyes. He wasn't sleeping again, just resting. He hardly had the energy for his eyes to stay open.
Chris drummed quietly on the bed frame, watching the ghostly face turn towards the opposite wall.
“I'm sorry Will… really I am…”
And all was silent.
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Post by prissieb on Apr 1, 2014 19:38:05 GMT
Great job! Can't wait to read the rest of it My English isn't the best, but despite of that, you keep me on the story. I want to read more. And that's a good thing!
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