Cigarettes and Alcohol

Blue

"If you could go back in time to do anything, what would you do?"

"I'd shag Marilyn Monroe. Or someone that fit."

"as if she would let you near her, you mug,"

"Alright, fine then, what would you do?"

"Either save Kurt Cobain's life, or shag him- or do one after the other."

John choked on the smoke from laughter, and I burst into a giggle. He passed the joint on to me after his own belt of laughter, and coughing fit. I take a long, hard, hit and breathe out, my eyes following the smoke delicately drifting out of my mouth. My eyes drape across it as I felt the weed take effect, my sight slowing gently. Whoever was next to me peeled it from my fingers, myself barely noticing, with my entire focus on the high.

"What is this stuff? It's rate, so different to your normal shitty grass," asked Johnny, to whatever mate of his brought the stuff. I slowly rolled my sight down to tonights dealer.

"Some swank new shit from fuckin' Netherlands, best quality I could find for you and Eff, mate." I realised at this point that it was Dan who brought it. I liked Dan, he wasn't a bad guy but I knew he had a big fat crush on me. I gave him a wide, stretched, beaming smile I felt spread all the way across my face.

At this point I realised I'd had enough, so I slowly begun uncrossing my legs, getting up and keeping my balance. At one point I had to lean on John's head to stay upright, but once I was up I wandered towards the door.

"Where are you off to, Effy?" John asked blearily, turning from the circle to face me.

"To go back in time, to save my main man, Kurt Cobain of course!" I near yelled, still grinning wide.

"Of course! say ta for all the good music for me!" He cheered and turned back around, likely assuming I'd merely collapse in the hall and he'd lug me home in a couple of hours.

My already muddy boots tracked across the tatty carpet as I sauntered off down the hall, my fingernails scraping along the patterned wallpaper someone had put up. It was a shoddy old house at the end of the street that nobody had lived in for years and was me and my friends' favourite hang out spot. It was dry from the rain and nobody ever came here other than the odd junkie, but they were usually quite quiet in the corner of the room. The house would have once been more than a tumbledown crackhouse, but a home to someone, perhaps a family. I wonder what they were like. If they played the happy middle class family so many strive to achieve in suburban England.

My boot caught on a torn up part of the carpet and let me to stumble. My head swirled about, gravity going completely perpendicular to where it was meant to go. I felt as if I was falling at a million miles per hour, with no clue what was happening. My body felt like it was glitching out of place, liquifying and drizzling all over the universe until I hit the floor with a mundane thump.

"Wow.." I utter, followed by a trail of loud expletives. I held my scruffy head in order to stop it spinning as fast as it was just prior, and hauled myself up. I glanced around, trying to gather my bearings when I'm burned by a terrifically bright light.

"John? Turn the fucking light off, mate," I grumble, when I hear an oddly familiar voice.

"Are you okay?" comes a man's voice. Who's voice is this? I don't recall there being any Americans at the party. Or anyone sounding over the age of 19. I try to place the voice but my head still refuses to stop being madly dizzy.

"What the fuck is a bloody American doing here?" is all that came out of my mouth.

"Well, you are in America, but god knows why there would be any Americans there," he said in a sarcastic tone.

I know that sarcastic tone.

I instantly try to stand up away the wall, but oddly enough, find myself sinking back down to the floor.

That is, until arms wrap around my waist, and haul me back up, however with mild difficulty. My eyes finally manage to focus and stop either blurring or spinning and I find myself staring into a set of stunning blue eyes.

I'd know those eyes anywhere.

The eyes I'd always look at on my poster, above my desk, across from by bed.
The beautiful sky blue eyes I had so desperately wanted to see in reality.
Not on paper. Not on a phone screen.

The blue eyes of Kurt Cobain.

I stare, my mouth ajar, my brain empty of all thought.

everything I thought I would say if I could meet him.

How grateful I was for his music.

How inspirational he was.

All silenced.

"Who are you? if you don't mind me asking. Just a bit abnormal seeing an English girl in Seattle; at 3:30AM; after my party; when everyone else left 2 hours ago. Unless that's your thing, or something." He said, with a soft chuckle.

His voice snapped my out of my trance, and I rubbed my face with my hands, trying to rationalise my thoughts. Guess that weed killed me and I've gone to heaven. Somehow.

"Not my typical pastime, but I do like to try new things," I reply in a heartbeat, looking over him. I try to stand up without the support of the wall or his arms around me.. As much as I'd love to keep them there. The heaviness of my boots seems to hold me up straight enough, and I finally stand up straight to look at him.

"Could I ask you something a bit odd? I must've hit my head pretty hard,"

"Sure, go ahead."

"Whats the date?"

"Wow, you hit your head really hard, I ought to have carpets," He says with another little grin of his. A beautiful grin. I smile back at him sheepishly, rubbing the side of my head where I had in fact hit it.

"Its march 15th, 1994."

20 days till he commits suicide.

Fuck.

guess I really did go back to stop Kurt from killing himself.

Perhaps my other wish will come true too.

!

My writing has improved since I wrote this chapter (nearly two years ago) so you should totally continue and point out any mistakes or anything you see or tell me things you'd like to see :))

xoxo