𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐞(𝐞𝐝) 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬.

Waiting On A Friend (B. Jones)ع˖

welp. im back. Suddenly i have some sort of motivation to write a little imagine or sum??? Welp. Enjoy baby.
~
~
~gon be sad luv, grab a tissue or twenty..
~
He was supposed to meet me for breakfast this morning.

I had been waiting for like an hour at the coffee shop for him to show. I know he likes to sleep in most days. He lives out on this peaceful farm that used to be winnie the poohs pad. But he really left me hangin here.

"Brian.." i sighed under my breath, agitated that he was yet again late to meet with one of his best friends in the entire world.

After it seemed the morning would be brian-less, i slid out of my chair and tossed a few crinkled notes on the table for the cup of coffee i sipped while awaiting for his highness to arrive.

I left and got into my car. Driving back to my flat, i got this sort of uneasy feeling over me.

I shrugged it off and parked, walking up the few flights to my small abode.

When i got inside, i picked up the phone and dialed the number to winnie the poohs house. When it rang and rang and i still recieved no answer, i scoffed.

He was probably out rondavoing with his chick, Anna Wohlin, in their precious english gardens.

I can see it now. His phones about to ring off the hook, but he's out snogging in the roses with the love of his life.

Some pal he is..

Nah. I still love brian very dearly even if he pisses me off at times. He's my friend. My very best friend.

I figured id just stop by to give him an earful and a scolding about leavin me behind (again).

Maybe something just came up and he forgot to call. I'll just have to see.

~~

Hartfield is a bit of a drive for me. But i gotta do what i gotta do.

Upon reaching his literal castle, i just felt so odd. It felt almost.. a bit cold to me. Typically brian has this gift of making any place he occupies very warm and colorful.

He's been to so many different cultures and has all this funky hippy furniture and stuff. He's definitely got some wonderful taste in wardrobe and furniture, so his pads are always filled with a touch of brian jones.

Walking up to the door, I placed a plain old knock to the aged wood.

The place seemed awefully quiet. I mean not even a bird seemed to chirp.

"Brian, Anna? Is anyone home?" i spoke.

Nothing.

Usually, his beloved dog is always laying by the front door, but today he wasn't there. Not one of his many cherished cats lurked amongst the shrubs.

Something was off...

I went round back and found none of the builders that were working on his property. No discarded beer cans in the lawn from them, not a tool around.

"Brian! Hey Jones!!" i shouted.

"What the hell is going on today?.."
i asked aloud.

A slight breeze blew by in the early july morning. I shivered just a little and approached the broken back door.

Opening it cautiously, i saw that no life lingered inside. Not a person, not a happy pet, it was empty.