I want to be on TV / the fabulous fantasy life of Hesta, chapter 1
Prologue
My name is Heather, although I'm better known as He'sta and I'm just under 15 years old. This is my story, all my dreams, fantasies and nightmares intertwined into one, mixed with a lot of truth at the same time. All the characters are real people, either that I know or know of, and quite a few of the scenarios near the beginning are factual events. So I hope you can make sense and understanding out o the words that spin from my mind (I've put this in small parts, I think it reads better). I also hope that you realise I am just a young person with an imagination and lots of spare time to kill. So here is where it begins:
Part One
I was utterly devastated. My boyfriend of just seven weeks had finished me. I had asked him all day what was wrong and if there was anything that he wanted to tell me. But it turns out he'd rather tell my best friend, Sarah. I was pissed off at Stokell the whole way home and when I got there I picked up my guitar, a pen and paper and locked myself in my bedroom. It was possibly the best break up I'd ever have. I didn't know it then, however.
A month later my mate Stacey called me,
"Do ya wanna go to the forum tonight?"
"Maybe"
"Stokell's playing"
"Meet you there at seven?"
We swaggered inside with our micro mini skirts clinging to our hips, and slouched down on the leather seats by the bar. The forum is our local music centre people play there everyday of the week. But on Sunday nights it only attracts one kind of customer - unsigned local bands. And there 'fans' of course. This being because it's open Mike night, and it's free admission. Since neither Stacey nor I was in a band (and weren't planning to be) we were aptly labelled 'fans'. We sat pouting for about five minutes before they stalked in. Sonit 852.
Stokell was the rhythm guitarist and lead (ahem) 'singer'. But he did look like a front man; hot as hell, but vocal wise he didn't have an ounce of talent. But did I fail to mention he is the fittest punk in year ten? Behind him came Sam, the lead guitarist and songwriter (like writing one song makes you a songwriter) and finally the ever-mysterious drummer Harry. The only thing I knew about him is that he goes out with the drummer of 'Kendra' a lesbian/Goth/slag bag band that I don't particularly get along with. The female singer goes out with the female bassist. Enough said.
Stokell said, "Hi" in a confused 'what're you doing here' manner and then sat down next to Stacey. Damn her superiorly longer legs! Sam and Harry went to set up, I guess they didn't really need Stokell there to do that seeing as the last time I saw them play the 'valve' in his 'guitar' broke. So as you can see he knows his instruments...
Stacey started talking at us about her two horses or something to do with them, while Stokell and me just looked at each other like we were taking in the scenery. I'd always loved his big blue eyes, and the way his blonde hair with black streaks fell across them. I felt unworthy to look at him; his skin glowed like some kind of punk cherub.
"... So then Thelma started to canter... "
I looked down at my feet in my cherry print pumps for a moment. Then I noticed Stokell's shoes. It reminded me if a conversation we'd once had where we ended up swapping shoes, I wore his size seven PODS and he attempted to stuff his feet into my size three white flats. He gave up.
I smiled at him and saw that he was looking intently at Stacey as though thoroughly intrigued by her story.
"... So then Jaimeson nearly bit my hand off... "
It hurts when someone you're still not over gets over you all too quickly and moves onto somebody else. Like you were just a link on their way to getting someone else. It hurts like a stab in the chest from both people.
I was quietly pondering over my down hill love life when Sam came to usher us into the main hall with the stage. Stacey and me sat at a black table near the front and started to discuss our expectations.
"They'll be better than they were at the cabaret"
"They'd better be"
"Well this is a more comfortable place for them to play in, and a lot less stuffy"
"Was that the excuse they used for the quality of their last performance?"
"Oh, they had a whole list of alibis"
"Hmmm, I bet Stokell still can't sing in tune though"
"That's a certainty"`
My name is Heather, although I'm better known as He'sta and I'm just under 15 years old. This is my story, all my dreams, fantasies and nightmares intertwined into one, mixed with a lot of truth at the same time. All the characters are real people, either that I know or know of, and quite a few of the scenarios near the beginning are factual events. So I hope you can make sense and understanding out o the words that spin from my mind (I've put this in small parts, I think it reads better). I also hope that you realise I am just a young person with an imagination and lots of spare time to kill. So here is where it begins:
Part One
I was utterly devastated. My boyfriend of just seven weeks had finished me. I had asked him all day what was wrong and if there was anything that he wanted to tell me. But it turns out he'd rather tell my best friend, Sarah. I was pissed off at Stokell the whole way home and when I got there I picked up my guitar, a pen and paper and locked myself in my bedroom. It was possibly the best break up I'd ever have. I didn't know it then, however.
A month later my mate Stacey called me,
"Do ya wanna go to the forum tonight?"
"Maybe"
"Stokell's playing"
"Meet you there at seven?"
We swaggered inside with our micro mini skirts clinging to our hips, and slouched down on the leather seats by the bar. The forum is our local music centre people play there everyday of the week. But on Sunday nights it only attracts one kind of customer - unsigned local bands. And there 'fans' of course. This being because it's open Mike night, and it's free admission. Since neither Stacey nor I was in a band (and weren't planning to be) we were aptly labelled 'fans'. We sat pouting for about five minutes before they stalked in. Sonit 852.
Stokell was the rhythm guitarist and lead (ahem) 'singer'. But he did look like a front man; hot as hell, but vocal wise he didn't have an ounce of talent. But did I fail to mention he is the fittest punk in year ten? Behind him came Sam, the lead guitarist and songwriter (like writing one song makes you a songwriter) and finally the ever-mysterious drummer Harry. The only thing I knew about him is that he goes out with the drummer of 'Kendra' a lesbian/Goth/slag bag band that I don't particularly get along with. The female singer goes out with the female bassist. Enough said.
Stokell said, "Hi" in a confused 'what're you doing here' manner and then sat down next to Stacey. Damn her superiorly longer legs! Sam and Harry went to set up, I guess they didn't really need Stokell there to do that seeing as the last time I saw them play the 'valve' in his 'guitar' broke. So as you can see he knows his instruments...
Stacey started talking at us about her two horses or something to do with them, while Stokell and me just looked at each other like we were taking in the scenery. I'd always loved his big blue eyes, and the way his blonde hair with black streaks fell across them. I felt unworthy to look at him; his skin glowed like some kind of punk cherub.
"... So then Thelma started to canter... "
I looked down at my feet in my cherry print pumps for a moment. Then I noticed Stokell's shoes. It reminded me if a conversation we'd once had where we ended up swapping shoes, I wore his size seven PODS and he attempted to stuff his feet into my size three white flats. He gave up.
I smiled at him and saw that he was looking intently at Stacey as though thoroughly intrigued by her story.
"... So then Jaimeson nearly bit my hand off... "
It hurts when someone you're still not over gets over you all too quickly and moves onto somebody else. Like you were just a link on their way to getting someone else. It hurts like a stab in the chest from both people.
I was quietly pondering over my down hill love life when Sam came to usher us into the main hall with the stage. Stacey and me sat at a black table near the front and started to discuss our expectations.
"They'll be better than they were at the cabaret"
"They'd better be"
"Well this is a more comfortable place for them to play in, and a lot less stuffy"
"Was that the excuse they used for the quality of their last performance?"
"Oh, they had a whole list of alibis"
"Hmmm, I bet Stokell still can't sing in tune though"
"That's a certainty"`
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