Well, We're Not Alone Now - Book One - Alex Turner

The Dandelion and Burdock Girl

- The Dandelion and Burdock Girl -

"You're rarer than a can of dandelion and burdock "

-18th December 2011-

I watched myself, as If I was nowhere, but everywhere all at the same time. I was running down some stairs in an unfamiliar house, the white walls swirled around me as if they were turning into mist. Picture frames dotted the walls. I was crying, sobbing."What have you done. You promised me. You promised..." I watched as I stumbled to the bottom of the stairs, and collapsed on the ground in a heap, weeping. "Please don't. Please don't leave me. Just please, not now...not ever...please" The hall morphed into a green field, grass waved lazily around my still huddled figure. The sunlight shone from an invisible sun. A single point aerial hoop swung softly from a small Oak . A faceless woman with long blonde hair balanced on it, her back to the curve of the hoop. Standing underneath her was a faceless Man, face turned upwards to the Woman. As if by unspoken words, they moved towards each other, lips slow and sure as they met. Hands tangled in hair as each pulled each body towards them. The aerial hoop shook and swung, the Woman jerked struggling to regain her balance. They seemed to fight, the Man pulling the Woman down to the earth, the Woman pulling the Man up to the sky. The more they fought to be close to each other, the more the Woman swung, and the more the Man stumbled on the ground. They were unbalanced. I watched in horror as the lovers struggled, a whisper swirled in the breeze tickling my ear. "She is His, and He is Hers and yet they struggle to be as One, to be One Whole. And so they shall, until each is ready to relinquish what they know and step into each other's Worlds." I trembled as the voice slipped away. The Lovers had now separated. Both were bent, shoulders hunched, hands still grasping for each other. And then to my despair, the Woman seemed to drift upwards towards the gaping Sky, while the Man was slowly being swallowed up by the Earth. "They are unbalanced, and so shall disappear into their Worlds..." I shivered once more, tears slid down my face.

When I awoke, only the feeling remained.

_/\_/\/\_

Her head was tucked into my chest, the smell of musk and lavender overwhelming my senses...

Her arm was thrown over my waist, legs intertwined with mine, like ivy we were entangled, like a moth she was drawn to a flame...

I awoke to the cold winter sunlight streaming through the cracks in unfamiliar powder blue curtains. Dust motes drifted lazily. I was swamped in the middle of a white cloud, a feather duvet was wound around my body, my face buried in soft pillows. Body completely relaxed, I was unbelievably hot. Kicking the duvet off me and sitting up, I scanned the room and my memory for some clues as to how I got here. On the wooden chair that stood next to a white dressing table, a flower patterned dress lay across it's back, black tights hanging limply from the seat. A woman's bedroom. Shit. And then I remembered. The dandelion and burdock girl, Rhea. The dark blonde hair curling around a face that was studded by a winking blue nose ring. Sparkling blues eyes that said so much more than her mouth. Oh yes, I remembered her now. Standing up, swaying slightly, I looked around for my clothes, as I realised that I was in nothing but some flimsy pajama trousers, my chest bare. Finding my t-shirt and jeans neatly folded on the bedside table, I quickly stripped and donned them, my body rapidly cooling. After I had finished I became aware of the steady beat of a bass and singing coming from downstairs. Opening the door, I noticed that it was covered in many pieces of random quotes, pictures and drawings. Studying one particular quote closely, I realised that I recognised it. It was my own words after all. 'Perhaps Fuck off might be too kind' was scrawled across a dirty white card and pinned at a jaunty angle on the center of the door. I remembered writing that lyric well. It had come from a time I would much rather forget, hence the fact that we no longer played much of it at shows anymore. If only people would understand that songs are memories for me, and some of them I do not want to replay night after night. Shrugging off the feeling of impending doom, I made my way out on to the landing, plush cream carpet warming my feet. As I stepped down the stairs, the smell of toast and coffee wafted towards me, along with the steady beat of what I recognised as You Know I'm No Good, Amy Winehouse. And oh god, did that bring back memories. An embarrassing noise from my stomach brought me back to the present, as I stepped off the last step of the stairs. I glanced out of the window in the door at an unfamiliar street. A black Porche drove past. Fancy. Heading towards, what I remembered to be the kitchen door, I pushed it open to see something I did not expect to see on a Sunday morning, or anytime really. Before me on the narrow corner of a counter, stood a woman with what seemed to be an extremely short dress on, her bright purple clad legs seemed endless as my gaze ran down to her pointed feet. I might add that, on my inspection of Rhea, I noticed that her dress-thing was actually very short, barely covering her bum. I quickly looked down and cleared my throat.