2This is my entry to xTimeGirlx's song fic contest (go and have a look on their profile...go on!) The song I got was Eet by Regina Spektor xD
It's like forgetting the words to your favourite song.
You can't believe it; you were always singing along.
It was so easy and the words so sweet.
You can't remember; you try to feel the beat.
9:00 PM
Alex Drake sat on her sofa, a glass of wine in one hand, a remote in the other. She had spent her entire evening channel hopping, hoping her TV would show her something, anything that would tell her she was still alive. The world of reality, her world was slipping right through her fingers and all she could do was get pissed and watch countless, outdated TV shows. She had to analyse it, figure it out, and come at it from all angles. She was forgetting her own life, her own culture and even her own daughter. Her daughter! What sort of mother could sit by and let her daughter's face dissolve from her memory? She put the remote down and ran her hands through her hair, she needed to remember Molly. Her Molly.
She couldn't do this anymore. She just couldn't live with this ridiculous hope anymore, she just couldn't win.
You spend half of your life trying to fall behind.
You're using your headphones to drown out your mind.
It was so easy and the words so sweet.
You can't remember; you try to move your feet.
11:00 AM
'Your a worrier, Sharron.'
'Calm down, Sharron!'
'Will you do this for me? I know you won't mind...'
The voices of her past buzzed around Shaz's head as she sat alone in CID, Chris and Ray were busy being idiots. Apparently, flicking screwed up balls of paper at each other was more important than work. So who got stuck with the paperwork? That's right, quiet little Sharron Granger! She pushed her hair out of her eyes and put pen to paper once more. Every since she was a little girl, she'd been comfortable being last, being behind. Being at the back meant you weren't noticed, meant no-one commented on your hand-me-down clothes or your home-cut hair. She wished she was three again, wished she could of been louder, she had to grow up and out of this, had to stand out and yell 'I MATTER!' Had to...
Someone's deciding whether or not to steal.
He opens a window just to feel the chill.
He hears that outside a small boy just started to cry
'Cause it's his turn, but his brother won't let him try
2:00 AM
Should he? Shouldn't he? Gene didn't know, which wasn't something that happened often. Fickle wasn't in the Gene-Genie's dictionary. Loud was, Arrogant maybe, but not Fickle...defiantly not. He knew it was possible, nip in, grab Bolly's file, have a look-see then put it back. But his gut was telling him not to, something inside of him deterred him from figuring her out, maybe his brain was telling him to work her out himself. Maybe he liked the mystery of her. Or-and this was just a wild guess-maybe he should stop being such a nosy bastard.
He sighed and opened the window to his flat, lighting a fag and breathing out the feather-light smoke into the cold air. He closed his eyes as a breeze caught his cigarette ash that had fallen astray. He hadn't planned to open them for a while but a noise caught his attention. A wailing of a small boy out in the street floated up to his window, causing Gene to re-enter the world reluctantly. The crying seemed to have been caused by an older boy-his brother probably- they seemed to be fighting over a bike. God he wished he was a little kid again; life was easier when all he had to worry about was pocket money and Stu stealing his football.
It's like forgetting the words to your favourite song.
You can't believe it; you were always singing along.
It was so easy and the words so sweet.
You can't remember; you try to move your feet.
Three people, three beating hearts, three decisions to make. Three futures hanging in the balance, but it takes one chance, one thought and they could fall to pieces.
Should she give up all hope of getting hope?
Should she take a stand?
Should he sneak about, to learn more of the woman he may be in love with?
It was so easy and the words so sweet.
You can't remember; you try to feel the beat...
Three people who wanted to go back, three people wanted to remember. Three people just had to remember the beat.