How It Is | 5SOS
  • Reads 277
  • Votes 15
  • Parts 14
  • Time 1h 3m
  • Reads 277
  • Votes 15
  • Parts 14
  • Time 1h 3m
Ongoing, First published Jan 01, 2015
The name Zoe Wells. 
Sure, it's not a tragic, teasing magnet, type of name, but it's not my name. Well it was the name put on my birth certificate by my parents, but it was also put on hundreds and thousands of other babies birth certificates. And each one of those human beings assigned the name "Zoe" are nothing like me. I don't want them to be. I want to be different. 
My story is not a sappy romance novel, nor is it a action packed sci-fi thriller (I wish). My story is about me. I'm some teenage girl who has grown up my whole life being controlled by everyone, and everything around me around me, leaving me with nothing to decide for myself. I intend to lead an extraordinary life and be a name people will remember for centuries to come. But in my time as a human being on this lovely planet, I've come to realize the sad fact that greatness is almost impossible to achieve alone. So, I've decided to turn to a certain band for some advice on taking on the world. Who knows what will happen. 
Zoe Wells, write that name down... You're gonna need it.

(Luke Hemmings love interest)
(There is swearing and talk of alcohol and other mature topics)
All Rights Reserved
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Write about me

28 parts Complete

"I saw you last night, at Starbucks, I don't think you saw me though, you looked pretty concentrated on what you were writing." I started giggling and hid my face in my hands. "What?" "I was thinking of a name to use for one of the main characters in my story I'm writing and I heard the barista call your name and I thought it was such a beautiful name so I used it." He looked so touched. "You're writing a story about me?" His hand was over his heart. "That is the most heartwarming thing I've ever heard." "Well, It's not really about you... just your name." His smile fell from his face. "Well, why don't you just write about me then?" "I don't know you though." He leaned in closer. "Isn't that what writers do? They make things up." He put his arm around the back of the couch; his fingers lightly touched my shoulder and I felt myself blush again. "I guess, ya." "Good. Then it's settled. You're going to write about me." He said with that breath taking smile.