I am almost finished with my other story so thought I would give you gals a taste of things to come on my next Bono venture.....
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WARNING & DISCLAIMER
This story is will be dark and disturbing in places as it explores one of my previous characters Angie (Bono’s first wife.. on the part of my imagination) from my story The Little Stranger and her torment of dealing with sexual abuse and drug addiction this story is inspired by U2 song BAD and RUNNING TO STAND STILL and is pure fiction, rubbish out of my head and no bearing to any reality to any members of U2
PROLOGUE
The small private grave yard was deserted as Bono pulled his car up beside the entrance gate; it was a grey September afternoon the leaves on the trees were starting to turn a golden brown already some of them on the ground, the strong wind blowing them about the grass and pathways between the headstones.
Bono was trying hard not to let a feeling of depression settle over him for the reason why he was here. He glanced in the rear view mirror feeling his spirits lift a little as he eyed his two year old daughter Katie who was strapped into the child seat in the back.
Some might not agree bringing her along today, but it was something Bono felt he had to do, to finally put to rest the ghost of his dead wife Angie and Katie’s mother on what would have been her twenty eighth birthday if she had lived.
He got out of the car opening the back door to lift Katie out into his arms and also to grab the large bunch of roses he had brought to lay on the grave.
Closing the car doors and locking them, he sauntered through the gate with Katie in his arms, making his way sombrely down the path where Angie was buried.
He stood for a moment before the headstone before setting Katie down on her feet and holding her hand whilst hunkering down to lay the flowers on the grave.
Some might have thought it wrong to bring a small child to the grave, but for Bono it was important and he was glad his wife Karen understood that it was something he needed to do.
Despite all that had happened in Angie’s tragic past, Katie was still her daughter. Bono was reminded of it constantly when she looked into Katie’s brown eyes, so much like her mothers
His blue eyes resting on the headstone… seeing her name engraved in gold lettering against the black marble stone, he still found it hard to take in that she was lying there lifeless and cold underneath the ground.
He could still see her in his minds eye, as she was when he first knew her when they both had been in their teens, the vibrant crazy wild child, a tough nut a hard case, who stood out in the crowd, with her short spiky haircut dyed black.
As it was the time of the 70’s punk revolution, which had not caught on greatly in Ireland as it had done on the British Mainland, she looked more outlandish and outrageous, her long slim figure in the short leather mini skirt and black fishnet stockings and long boots with sharp spiky heels, the safety pin pierced through her ear the black kohl eyeliner accentuating her eyes.
Bono recalled his father prophetically warning him that she would lead him into trouble and for once the old guy had been right.
But at that time he was a young teenage lad full of life and lust and fascination, drawn to her like a moth is drawn to a bright open flame… And she had burnt him on more than one occasion, created chaos where ever she went
It was only later he started to understand why she behaved the way she did… that it was more of a cry for help.
Maybe somewhere deep inside himself he had sensed this desperation the time they had first got together as a couple, and why he always let her back into his life when everyone told him he was better of without her and to forget her.
Looking back now it was easy to recognise the small signs, but back then they were not so obvious to a seventeen year old lad whose hormones were running havoc and his whole life stretched out excitedly before him.
He never realised that night that drew them together would take him hell and back,
It had not seemed a particularly different night than any other for him, being with the other U2 members and the rest of their crowd of friends Angie included, hanging out in a pub as they usually did getting pissed having a laugh until it was time for the pubs to shut and they all slowly but surely started to wander to their respective homes, Bono found himself remembering it as clear as it was yesterday………..
**********************
WARNING & DISCLAIMER
This story is will be dark and disturbing in places as it explores one of my previous characters Angie (Bono’s first wife.. on the part of my imagination) from my story The Little Stranger and her torment of dealing with sexual abuse and drug addiction this story is inspired by U2 song BAD and RUNNING TO STAND STILL and is pure fiction, rubbish out of my head and no bearing to any reality to any members of U2
PROLOGUE
The small private grave yard was deserted as Bono pulled his car up beside the entrance gate; it was a grey September afternoon the leaves on the trees were starting to turn a golden brown already some of them on the ground, the strong wind blowing them about the grass and pathways between the headstones.
Bono was trying hard not to let a feeling of depression settle over him for the reason why he was here. He glanced in the rear view mirror feeling his spirits lift a little as he eyed his two year old daughter Katie who was strapped into the child seat in the back.
Some might not agree bringing her along today, but it was something Bono felt he had to do, to finally put to rest the ghost of his dead wife Angie and Katie’s mother on what would have been her twenty eighth birthday if she had lived.
He got out of the car opening the back door to lift Katie out into his arms and also to grab the large bunch of roses he had brought to lay on the grave.
Closing the car doors and locking them, he sauntered through the gate with Katie in his arms, making his way sombrely down the path where Angie was buried.
He stood for a moment before the headstone before setting Katie down on her feet and holding her hand whilst hunkering down to lay the flowers on the grave.
Some might have thought it wrong to bring a small child to the grave, but for Bono it was important and he was glad his wife Karen understood that it was something he needed to do.
Despite all that had happened in Angie’s tragic past, Katie was still her daughter. Bono was reminded of it constantly when she looked into Katie’s brown eyes, so much like her mothers
His blue eyes resting on the headstone… seeing her name engraved in gold lettering against the black marble stone, he still found it hard to take in that she was lying there lifeless and cold underneath the ground.
He could still see her in his minds eye, as she was when he first knew her when they both had been in their teens, the vibrant crazy wild child, a tough nut a hard case, who stood out in the crowd, with her short spiky haircut dyed black.
As it was the time of the 70’s punk revolution, which had not caught on greatly in Ireland as it had done on the British Mainland, she looked more outlandish and outrageous, her long slim figure in the short leather mini skirt and black fishnet stockings and long boots with sharp spiky heels, the safety pin pierced through her ear the black kohl eyeliner accentuating her eyes.
Bono recalled his father prophetically warning him that she would lead him into trouble and for once the old guy had been right.
But at that time he was a young teenage lad full of life and lust and fascination, drawn to her like a moth is drawn to a bright open flame… And she had burnt him on more than one occasion, created chaos where ever she went
It was only later he started to understand why she behaved the way she did… that it was more of a cry for help.
Maybe somewhere deep inside himself he had sensed this desperation the time they had first got together as a couple, and why he always let her back into his life when everyone told him he was better of without her and to forget her.
Looking back now it was easy to recognise the small signs, but back then they were not so obvious to a seventeen year old lad whose hormones were running havoc and his whole life stretched out excitedly before him.
He never realised that night that drew them together would take him hell and back,
It had not seemed a particularly different night than any other for him, being with the other U2 members and the rest of their crowd of friends Angie included, hanging out in a pub as they usually did getting pissed having a laugh until it was time for the pubs to shut and they all slowly but surely started to wander to their respective homes, Bono found himself remembering it as clear as it was yesterday………..
annj. I really enjoyed the first edition of this story.
