Yes, I'm back! Just an idea that popped into my head, so I have no idea where this is going! It's probably best if you read Life Is For The Alive, Not Dead to understand this and if you already have, here's the sequal! Thank to Sylverfire-Lilithe-Todd and I LOVE JACK ATLAS for 1) giving me the idea of a sequal and 2) pestering me about it!

If you think it's a good/bad idea, please say so!

Chapter One

When I was little, Mum would tell me the story of Sweeney Todd.

It was an odd story. I never understood it at first, but, as I slowly grew up, I began to. I realised how unfortunate a man he was, and I sympathised with the loss of his wife and daughter. Sometimes I would end up crying. Mum would always hug me if I did, and then sing me a song.

"Green finch, and linnet bird, nightingale, blackbird. How is it you sing? How can you jubilate, sitting in cages, never taking wing?" She'd sing softly, hugging me and stroking my hair. It was a song I remembered for the rest of my life.

I was too old for stories now, though.

Fourteen. A teenager. Far too old for stories and songs.

"And...go!"

The music started, so I quickly stepped up to the microphone, taking it off the stand so I could bob along to the beat. Next to me, Hannah was doing the same with her microphone.

"I wake up every evening, with a big smile on my face, and it never feels out of place." I sung.

"And you're still probably working, at a 9 to 5 pace, I wonder how bad that tastes." Hannah sung.

"When you see my face, I hope it gives you hell, I hope it gives you hell. When you walk my way, I hope it gives you hell, I hope it gives you hell." We sung together.

"STOP."

Frowning, the boys behind us stopped playing as my hands fell to my sides, still clutching the microphone.

"What the hell, Jake?" Hannah demanded, placing her hands on her hips. Jake rolled his eyes.

"Where do I begin?" He moaned. "Boys, you're playing ok-ish."

"Ok-ish?" Matt cried incredulously. "Jake, do you know how long we've been practising?"

"No, and I don't care," Jake replied calmly, and then turned back to Hannah and I. "Girls, girls, girls."

"Well done, Jake, you've finally realised our gender. Your powers of deduction never cease to amaze me." Hannah snapped.

"Hannah, getting angry at me is not going to help your rubbish performance."

"Rubbish?"

"Yes, Hannah, it was rubbish. The two of you have completely different voices that do not work together, and are fitted for completely different genres!"

"What do you mean?" I asked, frowning.

"Uh, hello. Look at yourselves!" Jake cried. "Hannah, you look like something out of a Marilyn Manson video and Amy...you're too cute."

I honestly didn't know whether to be insulted or complimented.

"It's a rehearsal, Jake. How does it matter what we wear?" Hannah asked, throwing her hands in the air.

"Girls, you need to be out-there. I want Cherie Currie and Joan Jett. I want Anni-Frid Lyngstad and Agnetha Fältskog. I want two gorgeous, sexy, dynamic teens that are ready to become the next big thing!"

"Well you're gonna have to keep looking then, aren't you?" Hannah yelled, throwing her microphone on the floor. "C'mon, Amy, I want some chips."

Hannah stormed off the stage, leaving me standing awkwardly. I grinned sheepishly as I placed the microphone back onto the stand.

"Bye," I murmured, quickly shuffling off.

"How dare he?"

As we walked home, Hannah was still fuming about Jake had said.

"How dare he imply that I look like a man? Sure, I love Marilyn Manson, but I do not look like him!"

"Actually, he said - "

"I don't care!"

I chewed my bottom lip, my shoulders hunching slightly as I considered my question.

"Hannah..."

"WHAT?"

"Am I too cute?"

Hannah sighed. "Well, yes, kinda."

I opened my mouth to speak, but Hannah cut me off again.

"Amy, look at yourself. You're fourteen and dressing like you're, well, not."

I paused outside an empty shop to look at my reflection.

My thick blonde hair (definately inherited from Mum) was loose around my face, hanging down to my shoulders. I wore a dark pink cardigan over a light pink t-shirt with my denim skirt, my black tights and ankle boots.

How did I not look fourteen?

I then took a closer look.

A pink Alice band in my hair, a purple rucksack, glitter on my eyelids, pink and purple stripy socks over my tights, a locket Mum gave me.

I sighed and turned to Hannah.

"I'm not that bad."

Hannah shook her head as she grabbed my wrist. "C'mon, I wasn't making it up when I said I wanted chips."

"Mum will kill me if she finds out I'm eating before dinner," I protested. "She's making lasagne tonight."

"I thought you didn't like that."

"She's making me a vegetarian version." I explained.

"Oh."

Hannah dragged me into the chip shop, despite my protests.

"Just relax, Amy, I'm buying myself chips. You don't have to get any if you don't want to."

"No, I don't." I said stubbornly. Hannah laughed. As we waited for her chips, I rested my arms on the counter and then my head in my arms.

"Mum told me the story again last night." I announced carelessly.

"What story?"

"The one about the barber."

"Oh, that story."

I frowned. "You don't believe it?"

"Hell no! And I'm surprised you do too."

My brow furrowed. "Well..."

"Amy Grace Hope, you seriously need to grow up!" Hannah said. "I love you to pieces, girl, seriously, but you're not a teenager."

"Yes, I am."

Hannah looked at me, frowning, and then turned away. I stared at her profile, confused.

Hannah was pretty much everything I wanted to be. She was tall and confident. Her short hair, usually mouse brown, was dyed a bright red and she wore loads of make up. Her outfits were bright and colourful, with low cut tops and short skirts.

"Green finch, and linnet bird, nightingale, blackbird. How is it you sing? How can you jubilate, sitting in cages, never taking wing?"

"What?"

"Just singing." I said softly. Hannah rolled her eyes as she collected her chips.

"Let's go."

We walked home in silence, mainly because Hannah was busy eating; she was rubbish at multi-tasking.

"See ya tomorrow, Amz."

Ugh, I hated it when she called me Amz.

"Bye, Hannah."

Fetching my key from my pocket, I made my way up the garden path.

"Hello?" I called as I opened the door. "I'm home!"

"Hey, Amy!" Mum called back from the kitchen. Grinning, I walked in to meet her.

"Hi."

Mum gave me a quick kiss on the forehead as she strolled past to fetch something.

"How was school? And band practise? How was that?"

"Alright."

Sitting down on a stool, I rested my head in my hands.

"Mum..."

"Yes, Amy?"

"Is..." My voice trailed off. "Is Sweeney Todd...real?"

Mum froze for a moment, her back to me. I stared at her anxiously, hoping I hadn't done something wrong.

"Why do you say that, Amy?"

"It's just...Hannah..."

Mum turned to face me, rolling her eyes.

"Of course, Hannah. Don't listen to her, Amy."

"I won't, Mum." I mumbled.

Mum smiled sadly as she moved to sit opposite me, placing her hand on my cheek.

"Amy Grace Hope, I promise you that Sweeney Todd is real. He is real, Mrs Lovett is real, Turpin is real. They're all real."

"But - "

"No, Amy, there are no buts about it," Mum interupted softly but firmly. "They're real. As real as you and me."

I frowned, my brow furrowing as I stared at Mum. She smiled.

"Amy, darling, if you ever doubt me, look inside your locket."

Look inside your locket.

Advice my Mum always gave me.

Look inside your locket.

Ok, this was just an introduction to Amy who, of course, is Joey's youngest daughter. To see what she looks like, just go here:

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