1984 - A David Bowie Fanfic.

1985.

So today is the first anniversary of the death of our hero, David Bowie. I've been writing this chapter for weeks, trying to perfect it, changing something each time I look at it just for today! I just wanted to thank all my fans for following both stories until the end, it means a great deal to me!
So this is a chapter dedicated to David who is very much missed, and I really hope you enjoy it.

- BusyScott x

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David POV.

10th January 1985

The rain splattered heavily over us, people huddling together under black umbrellas in their black clothes to say a final goodbye to my darling girl on this chilling day.

A bunch of sweet pink roses lay across her coffin, and rain jumps off of it angrily, trying to spoil whatever is good in the world.

Ziggy holds my hand loosely, his skin, pale and cold, the colours flushed from his face, and there's barely a life in him anymore. Tommy can't control his tears, he hasn't stopped crying since I told him that his mother was dead, the poor boy is exhausted, his mind fogged by the reality of this day.

Zowie's good to them, he tries to be strong for them, but late at night I can hear him wailing, sobbing, as he tries to fall asleep, but all he can think about is how kind Ros had always treated him, his almost mother...

The large lump in my throat weighs my jaw down, and has been all morning. Even now I'm finding it excruciatingly hard to stop the tears slipping away from my eyes. The despair of knowing I'll never see Rosalind again, never seeing those blue jeans on her or the denim jacket or her red lipstick or hearing her sing my songs makes me crumble...

Police are out to find Kevin, sad really, we have two policemen in the back of the crowd just in case he shows up. Policemen at Ros's funeral... It chokes me, and I know that people are afraid they could be next.

With my glossed eyes I peer around to see who else showed up... Of course, Ros's father is falling to pieces inside at the site of his daughter's grave. The poor man, lost his wife, now his daughter... My heart melts in sadness inside, because I could now relate to the old man. I had lost my future wife, and in the same day, lost my unborn daughter.

Henry has his arm firmly around Ros's father, Henry's lip quivers every now and then when he thinks of the good times he had with his sister and places his hand over his mouth every few minutes to hide his hurt.

Old friends show there faces too, many she hadn't seen for years like Abby and her family. Many of the workers from the concert grounds came to show their respect to their fair minded and friendly boss, lots of locals from the pub turned up too.

Even El had decided to show up and she too sobbed loudly. Her thick, black mascara dripping down her icy cheeks as she tries to rock the baby to sleep, hushing him because she thinks he's ruining the service. I could tell she felt out of place, the baby's father was of course Kevin, and the fact that he had killed her best friend disturbed her, and this was clearly a never ending nightmare for her.

I tilt my head slightly over and see Larry was holding his own umbrella. His white locks combed back, his face even more elderly then last week when I went to the pub to drown my sorrows - I'll probably be there later tonight too. He was getting older by the day, Ros had taken the spirit from so many of us, that it was almost haunting.