A Directioner's War

What would the world be like if there was a war between Directioners and Beliebers? Meridia O'Day lives in the United States, and would do anything to go to a 1D concert. When she meets Niall Horan, her entire life changes.


2. Invited

*Meridia’s P.O.V.*   “Hey Meridia, would you like to walk with me today?” my friend Cashmere asked. Her duffle bag was thrown over one shoulder, her book bag on the other, and her purse in hand. Today she wore simple jeans, double lace converses, and a white v-neck.   “Sure. You want to listen to music with me?” I asked. I was always listening to something. Never could stand silence, and music seemed to help me concentrate in class as well.  

“Depends, what are you listening to today?”   We walked out of the cafeteria at school, and I gave her one ear bud. Right now it was “Rock Me.” by One Direction.   

“I would say the song title, but I’m afraid to with all the… others 'round here.” I answered and she recognized the song quickly.  

“I love this song!” she said ecstatically.   

“Me too! It just makes me want to dance.”  

“I’d dance right now, but there are watchmen around.”   

Watchmen are people associated with one side of the war, that, believe it or not, watch you to make sure you aren’t overly projecting which side you support. If we were to sing anything One Direction, they would quickly put an end to it. You were lucky if you were caught by your watchmen, because if they other got you, you might not be alive to see the next day.  

“Sadly, not our watchmen either.” I sighed.  

“Don’t worry, the Masquerade will be soon.”  

“Yeah, like we’ll get tickets to that?” I scoffed, we then stepped outside to go to our cars.  

“You signed up didn’t you?”  

“Of course and I even entered about ten contests, but in this little no-where town? No one around here gets anything.”    

“Be positive.”   

“I’ll try.” I laughed.  

Now we made out way up the hill to the twelfth grade Senior parking lot. Cashmere and I always parked beside each other. We also lived near each other. But in the mountains of Virginia, “near” meant closer than five miles.   

“So I will call you tonight?” she said once we got to our cars. Normally we would park beside another dear Directioner nicknamed Sparkle. I didn’t even know her real name because that has been her nickname since I met her. Today though, her car wasn’t here.  

“Yeah I need to talk to you about the College Chemistry homework.”   

“Okay. I want help with Government.”  

“And you’re asking me?” I laughed.  


“Lord, you must be desperate.”   

“I am.”  

“Maybe afterwards we can talk Direction?” I whispered.  

“If our phone lines aren’t tapped.”  

“Cell phones too?”  

“You never know with those Canadians.”   We laughed and slid into our cars, after saying our goodbyes. 

My car is a red Mustang, with the nicest interior, and best stereo ever. I wasn’t simply given this car, I had to work for it, and save every penny to help pay for it.   Cashmere’s car is a red Convertible, she had to do the exact same thing. I remember her literally stopping to pick up pennies in parking lots, so she could get that car.   

Before I pulled out onto the road, I checked my phone.   

One New Message: from Sparkle - Hey, what did I miss in Foreign Language?    

I’ll reply later, I thought. Turning my iPhone 4S to the Do Not Disturb mode so I wouldn't be distracted by it if it was to ring.   

*Sparkle’s P.O.V.*  

I hate being sick! Thankfully after today I can go back to school because I won’t be contagious.  

“Honey, you got a letter today.” my mom said coming through the door and dropping a fancy envelope on my lap.   

“Thanks.” I said in my scratchy and sick voice.  

The envelope was white with gold designs drawn on it. Calligraphy spelled out my name and a crest held the back down.  

Carefully, I pulled it open and found many papers inside. Stationary that matched the envelope folded over three times so it would fit, a passport, and a card. Opening the letter I read,   

Dearest Sage Lighter, You have been selected to join us at the Directioner’s Masquerade in the beautiful London, England. Enclosed is a passport we have already made for you. The ball will be at the address listed on the card. No card, no mask, no entry. Do not speak of this to anyone fighting for the opposite side of the war.  This was specifically planned to be during Winter’s break or close enough to it that all those invited may come. If there are any complications, please contact us (phone number also on the card) and we will settle any feud there might be with school, work, family or other. -1D Management   

At the bottom were five beautiful signatures I have come to know so well. The passport already had information and a ticket to London from any airport in the states.   

Oh. My. Lord. This cant be happening! I must be dreaming. But oh, the proof is right in my hands. It must be true! I’m invited to the Masquerade! I get to go to London! Maybe even meet them and hear their special Masquerade concert.  

“What is it?” my mom asked from the kitchen.   

“It’s my invitation.” I chocked out.  

“To what?”  

“The Masquerade ball.”  


“Over in England. You know the one I’ve been talking about since forever.”  

“Oh, the Direction thing?”  

“Directioner thing, yes.”  

“I don’t know if you should go or not.”  

“Huh?” my voice squeaked, “Why not?”  

“With the war and everything it’s not safe.”   

“Mom, over in England there’s no fighting. It’s a war country, but they don’t kill people like me.”  

“I know. England isn’t what I’m worried about.”  

“They will never know at the airport.”  

“What if they ask to state your business in the country?”  

“I will answer that I’m going on vacation, visiting, or something like that?”  

“We’ll talk to your dad about it.”  

“What did sis get in ‘d mail?” my little brother asked. He was about five, but knew every single One Direction song word for word. My doing of course, my mom hated the thought that her little boy might get hurt because of it.  

“Just a letter.” I answered.  

“Oh, okay.” then he went back to his room.         

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