Sing- Bastille FanFic

Chapter 1

"Think about what you do. Think about what they say. Think about how to think. Pause it play it, pause it play it, pause it!" I sang into the mic.

The 1975's Chocolate was my song. As in, everyone wanted to only hear me sing it. I don't know why but they did. So I sang it. Because they wanted me to.

"Carter! Carter! Carter!" They chanted. No longer wanting me. But, I was used to being treated like that. Used for a short time and then left alone. Sometimes it's a blessing, but other times it is a punishment.

I started to walk away unil I heard someone call after me.

"Landon Christian?!" The person asked.

I turned around to see a familiar face. This man with a light brown beard matching his brown hair. He had pale skin and shiny blue eyes. It felt like I knew him. And then it hit me! "Daniel Smith?!"

He laughed jogging over to me. He smiled, "Hi, it's me Dan. From Junior High!"

I smiled a small smile and nodded,"Why are you here?" I asked. I may have been a girl but this is no place for a newbie to be at this time of the night. It's when all the perverts and prostitutes come out. Like werewolves on a full moon, or cockroaches in the night.

"I'm working for my father's music company, now trying to get a feel of how the company is by scouting singers and rappers who haven't been discovered." He looked at me.

"Good for you. Why did you call me, though?" I asked with obvious curiosity and sarcasm. But he was oblivious to the matter and said,

"I actually saw you singing up there, and it was really good!" His eyes beamed "I really think you have something. Everyone can see you have talent! The A-Factor! Potential! Perfection!"

"Honestly?" I looked at him arms crossed.

"YES! I can see it in you! Like you where ment to be famous and rich with-!"

SLAP. "Don't give me that crap! I know your just working for for your father, telling you to choose whatever whore looks good enough to promote themselves, and with a little voice Sync and edits you'll create the next big thing!"

I yelled all at once and took a breath,

"I work here for the pay, not because I "I wanna be famous and dye my hair the colour of Michael Clifford's hair!", but because I, like most people here, am struggling to make ends meet! I know what it is to be used and played with. Just because you can edit a persons singing, doesn't mean they have talent or the real deal!"

I looked at him one last time, my blonde hair in front of my steaming red face. '

He's cute. Would have been cuter if he wasn't a robot'.

I thought as I walked away fron him and home, to the loving arms of the kindest person in the world.

My son, Harry.