Noddy and Lola

A girl called Noddy who lives forever, and all she has are the people she knows and the memories of the people she knew. One day she meets an interesting girl called Lola, and they adventure together.

Prologue

 

So for the last time ever, Noddy sat in her caravan, alone in her own world, with her own thoughts, although there was nothing more to think about. Around her lay old diary entries, articles, photos and records she had cherished not that long before. Ever so carefully, she picked one of her records up. It was a Beatles album, from 1969, she had listened to it until she began to hate it with a passion, and then would wait just some months, before loving it all over again, and regretting ever hour she had not been listening to it. Then she would hate it again, and so on. She placed it in the record player, and it began to sing.

 

Here Comes The Sun

 

She would get high to this song back in the 70s, when getting high was the equivalent of getting coffee. She didn’t get high like other people got high though, other people got high like in parties, groups of four or five, it was a fashion statement nowadays, not a pleasure. Noddy would get high alone, in perfect blinky, hallucinatey solitude; she got high like she got coffee. By herself, in a simple, treasured moment of loneliness and happiness.

 

She started to cry.

 

But these tears were messy and precious, these would be the last tears Noddy ever had, this would be the last song she ever listened to, and these would be the last breaths she ever took. The worst part was she had no weed to die to, all she had were the torn pictures of lost friends upon her walls, and a Beatles album. She removed a picture from her wall, it was from 1950, when she lived on an island with a beach. She couldn’t remember it’s name, it’s people or it’s colours. All she had were the fleeting memories of tossed greetings with friends who were now strangers, and a shell she had taken from the beach. Although it no longer smelt of the sea, it now bared sickeningly nostalgic odour of marijuana, piss and pancakes. 

 

A little later, some point around the fifth Beatles song and 11^th photo from her wall, she realised she was remembering too much, and there was little time left. Beneath her floorboard and under her handkerchief, lay a box, unfortunately she had lost the key for this box many years ago, so she pulled a hammer from under the bed and smashed it into pretty little shards, she felt bad for ruining all the intricate patterns and scars somebody had worked to put into it, but it was not in her nature to be selfless, especially not at a time such as this.

 

Glinting as bright as the day she first found it, she found her little gun. She didn’t know what type of gun it was, what kind of bullets it used or how it was made, but that didn’t matter to her, the gun killed, and that was all she needed. She picked it up and brought it to her face, which she noticed was hot and sticky, it seemed she had been crying more than she’d liked to have.

 

She looked around her caravan one last time, and waited for her life to flash before her eyes, it didn’t though, only one thing did, just Lola. I think that hurt me a little bit. Noddy had promised herself this is what she wanted, and she had reassured herself, as Lola had so many times, that it was okay now.

 

She brought the gun to her head, and pulled the trigger.

Author's Note

It contains swears (omg ikr) and this is just the prologue. I hate getting criticism but I need it so please feel free to provide it! I probably won't write an more of the story unless asked to do so, but I hope you like it! :)