Catch a Falling Star

My entry to the BeatGirl fanfiction competition- hope you enjoy! :D
Amy is a realist in a dreamer's world, which is hard work when you want to make a fantasy come true. This is the story of how Amy and Steve found each other. Can Amy ever get her feet off the ground and fly? Or will she become a falling star?
(apologies for the clichéd rhetorical questions, can't think of a way to avoid including them)


5. Catch a Falling Star

I woke up suddenly and checked my alarm. 2:00 am. I had successfully managed to crawl into a over-sized t-shirt I used as a nightie before throwing myself on my mattress and pulling the blanket over my head. An hour or so's sleep wasn't bad and then it dawned on me- it was the first time I had got drunk. I laughed, but all that came out was a hoarse groan, coated with a bitter citrus flavour- damn that 'rhyming-orange'. My head felt like it was being slowly cracked open by a blunt rock and then filled with melting ice. Or something to that extent. Sampling the uneven jaggedness of my chapped lips, I got out of bed and went over to the kitchen for a glass of water. I passed the couch- and Steve wasn't there. I darted over to the light switch and slammed the lights on. Scanning the room, there was no sign of him. 

"Steve?" I croaked, biting my lip until I could taste the blood. I checked each room, but there was no sign of him. "Steve!" I shouted loud at first, but then stopped myself, knowing the hell I might get from my friendly neighbourhood psychopath. I terrifying thought crossed my mind and I sprang to the window, checking for Steve's mangled remains that might have been spread across the pavement like a fried egg, after a moment of sheer drunken insanity. But what if he was about to jump? The idea channeled through my mind like a plague of locusts and I rushed up to the roof as quickly and quietly as possible. Sure enough he was there, looking down at the world passing below him. 

"Steve!" I screamed, completely forgetting Mrs. Thompson's policies. "Steve, you can't fly! You're just drunk, get down! Get down!" I wailed flinging myself at him. 

"Amy!" He croaked, hands held up in shock. "I'm not going to jump- and I'm certainly not drunk. Anymore, that is. Bring on the hangover." Steve reasured me, holding his head in pain as he sat down next to a sheet of blue tarpaulin that was billowing in the night breeze. 

"Oh, you too?" I sympathised, sitting down next to him. "Then why are you up here?"

"To look at the stars." He said, directing his eyes up to the diamond pricked blanket that was settled above our heads. Light pollution covered up some of the gems, and turned the black blanket into a deep curdled purple.

"Look at them, Amy," He breathed, entranced by them. "They're fascinating. I bet you anything that Alexander McQueen is up there, watching over us." He sighed, smiling emptily at me.

"They've never made me feel small." I said, studying each one of them. "I feel like I'm a part of something big and so mind-bogglingly important. It's... so special." I smiled and averted my eyes towards the ground. "To think," I laughed, "I didn't even know you less than two days ago. And now I'm talking to you as if I've known you since childhood."

"That's the way things happen, I suppose." Steve responded, staring back up into space. "What if I did jump, Amy? What would happen? Do you think we'd fly? Do you think we'd end up up there?" Steve chuckled to himself. 

I laid back, blocking out everything else other than the stars. "My mother always told me that there are two types of people in this world: the realists and the dreamers." I said, "The dreamers are the ones who think up all the magical things, they're always flying up near the clouds. But the realists are the ones who make the magical things happens, but they're always stuck on the ground, see? And the two need each other. 'Cause the dreamers need the realists to stop them from flying into the sun. And the realists need the dreamers to get them off the ground once in a while. You're a dreamer, Steve. I'm a boring old realist."

"No," Steve retorted, sitting up. I sprang up too. "No, Amy, you're just a falling star. You just need a dreamer to catch you some time." 

"And who would ever bother to catch a falling star?" I answered back, laughing as I relaxed. "I want to own my own clothes shop one day, but I know it won't work, so I-"

"Maybe you just need a dreamer to get you off the ground for a while..."

"Says the gay man, who is still wearing a waistcoat..." I joked and the roof shook with laughter. 

"It was your story!" He cried out, gently nudging me in the shoulder. "I'm tired." He stated, stretching out and yawning. "Uni begins in like, 5 hours." It was a solid argument. I had a rebuttle.

"Let's just be stars, for a little longer." I said and closed my eyes and imagined flying. 

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