Gimme a fix!

Rush

"When there was doubt
I shot it up or kicked it out
I faced the wall, and the wall
And did it my way."

[ Trigger warning ]

"Sid, wake up you tosser! We have a show in about half an hour. Johnny says if you don't come he'll make you regret it for the rest of your bloody life." She shaked him heartlessly making him roll of the washed out couch he drunkly collapsed on a few hours ago. His frail and almost skeleton looking body hit the wooden floor of the Chelsea Hotel with a loud noise. "Johnny the bloody bastard! I'll show him what I think of his show! He truly IS rotten. The Pistols. Gigs. The entire Kingdom can go to hell for all I care!"
"Bullshit! You love it here. You love the fame. The attention and no matter how many times you deny it you love the Pistols. Come on it's your life now."
The young, black haired guy stood up stumbling over empty beercans, fresh ashes, burned out cigarettes and nasty needles. All he was wearing was his underwear. Quickly he managed to pull a pair of black leather pants and a heavy belt decorated with metal studs over his bare legs. He was mumbling about appearing too wasted and worn out of the night before. His look was faded when he checked himself out in a tiny mirror hung up crooked on the wall situated behind him. As if it was even possible to make his hair more spiky then it already was due to his bed hair he sorta suceeded in making it stand up like he'd been electrocuted. Unlike his girlfriend who was dressed in all black fashion with a touch of elegance, heavy eyeliner and gorgeous, blonde, puffy hair, Sid looked like he's never heard the word decent.

It's not like he's failed on wearing a shirt. No. He just didn't. The chain and lock necklace sat perfectly on his pale and bony body. His collarbones popped up dangerously. Like he'd faint anytime soon. The mostly faded and healed scars on his torso made it hard to look at without feeling some sort of emotion.

"Hey, Nancy! Have you seen my bass? I've been searching for it for almost 15 minutes." He harshly shouted. "Right. I already load the Van with your stuff early this morning. Come on now. Hurry up."
On the way to the pub Johnny, Sid and Nancy were arguing about some stuff so loud that people on the street turned their heads to distinct where all the yelling came from. The streets of London. Not really polished. Not a smelly dumpster either. Still, the Royal Family wouldn't dare to set foot in this part of London.

"God save the queen, the fascist regime
They made you a moron, potential H-bomb
God save the queen, she ain't no human being
There is no future in England's dreaming"

Crowd surfing and Moshpits. Empty (and full) beercans were flying around. Hitting the drummer in the face. The red-haired lead singer struggled hard kicking cans and other hurtful stuff off the small pub stage.
Sid was plugging the strings like a lunatic. He looked terrible. Like he's been through hell. Blood spilled all over his torso. He'd gone over his old scars carving the words GIMME A FIX (give me drugs) with a broken bottle someone threw on the stage during their concert in Dallas 1978. A stream of blood pured outta his nose due to a fight with a fan a few minutes ago. He couldn't just leave it like any normal humanbeing. He smirred the blood all over his face and his already severly in blood drenched torso.

It's the late 70's. United Kingdom. Crazy times.  Even Bowie couldn't keep up with this vicious and morbid scene. It's a revolution. It's ANARCHY IN THE UK!

(A/N: Hi. This is the first chapter of Sid and Nancy. I hope you liked it. If you did don't hesitate to leave a comment.
To be frank I have no idea where I'm going with this. I just wanted to write about the Pistols and the 70's Punk scene.
If I feel like updating, I will. If not. Don't hate me. As you may have noticed I'm not very eagger to write continiously.)