|posted on 24-Jul-2002 12:21:56 AM by Meagzie|
|Author: Me. Meagzie. Who else?|
Category: Mainly M/L, AU
Disclaimer: Own nothing but some Lilo and Stitch toys from McDonald's. Stitch rocks my world.
Summary: As I quote Lisa, "Max is an alien. Liz is not. They meet. And this is how."
Author's Note: Telling you now, this is going to be a bit darker. It might be confusing at first, but you know me, there's always a method to my madness. I've been dying to write this for quite a while now, so just let me know what you think. Oh! And the title comes from Selena's song "Dreaming of You". My title pick will make sense much later in the story. I'm continuing all of my other fics, have no fear. And the INAY sequel should be posted soon. Enjoy.
Today wasn’t supposed to any different than any of the other days. I would walk down the long, echoing hallway and make my rounds, checking each cell to make sure none of the women were misbehaving. We have a strict policy concerning our prisoners. We do not allow disobedience. Ever. Need I explain what happens to the prisoners that disregard our warning of doing what is expected of them?
Usually my trek down each hallway would be the same, but on some odd occasions there would be a screaming woman or a woman who hung limply against the bars of her cell, mindlessly pleading for her release.
These rusty, malodorous halls are dark with misery, and cause a deeper emotional loss within these women that reside in this prison. Being surrounded by a desolate darkness affects a prisoner’s sense of thinking, possibly damaging their psych irreversibly for the rest of their lives. Some wonder what happens to these poor souls. Do they die of the infinite beatings and bruises that healing could not even repair? Surprisingly, the majority cause of deaths in our prison is exhaustion or starvation. Some women will simply not nourish themselves with the food we provide them and long for the moment they take their last breath.
My own personal reasoning for the extreme exhaustion is the darkness. The darkness holds a vital key to destruction. It can haunt you in your dreams, in your nightmares, and in your reality. It takes much to be overwhelmed with pleasure and contentment. It takes very little to be consumed by the despondency of darkness and it’s many shadows. The individual cells lack any sort of light, while the halls between the cells contain very few lights creating an overall dimly lit atmosphere. I would not be surprised if these women never sleep in fear of the darkness swallowing them alive.
Perhaps it’s not the darkness that persuades a woman to take horrific and painful means of death, but rather the finality that the darkness seems to provide, the finality of coming to the realization that shadows will consume you and there’s not a damned thing you can do about it.
I know you’re thinking how I can do this job, how can I sleep at night?
I sleep quite easily, actually. I just shut my eyes.
Har. I know. Surprised I have a sense of humour? I too am a person, and this is just my job. I discipline these women who have perhaps committed a crime, or their husbands have committed a crime, or perhaps our ruler just does not agree with the woman and has sent her to our prison. The reason matters not to me, but rather the punishment and obedience we handle our prisoners with.
All the women resemble each other, whether it’s the desolation their eyes reflect or the grimy bruises they all wear. They’re all the same in the end. They scream, we hit. They cry, we hit. They plead, we hit. They stay silent, we put them to work. They fall asleep, we wake them up with cruel reality and the odor of repulsive sex. It’s an endless cycle. It’s callous but reality for these women.
There is only one woman that is different from the rest. She has always intrigued me since the moment they brought her here. That must have been, ah, at least a few years now. I’ve never heard her utter a sound, but I’m positive that’s because they stole her voice when they took her into captivity. I don’t question where these women come from, or what their pasts are. That’s not my job, and none of my business.
But she always made me want to find out. She was so much unlike the others, almost as if she had this distinctive trait that drew me in from the beginning. She can’t heal herself like the other women. It is a unique Antarian characteristic, being able to heal their wounds. Many prisoners were, of course, punished for doing such a thing. Such actions would display an act of disobedience and ignorance to the obvious lesson that was trying to be taught. All the prisoners have tried to heal themselves at one point or another though, which I can’t personally blame them for. They receive ruthless punishment for whatever has left a guard unsettled and made him grant punishment to the offender. But has she never healed herself, and I highly doubt she can.
It’s not just that that interests me about her. Her appearance differs slightly from the other prisoners. Antarians have less distinct features, providing a more smooth appearance, usually with just one distinctive characteristic like amber eyes, or full lips, or perhaps even a strong jaw but never all three. This prisoner however had many distinct qualities in her appearance. Her eyes are prominent with their solid brown colour, and I’m sure they once gleamed in happiness, though I could never know for sure. Her face is round with a smooth quality, her skin was probably soft at one point before the swelling cuts bombarded her face from severe lashes. Even her nose is exclusive, with its medium slope and strong bone structure. Just one glance at her and anyone could pick her out of a crowd.
That’s where I was heading today. To her cell to check up on her as she had a brutal flogging yesterday. Due to her loss of vocal protests and her slavish obedience, there was rarely a cause for her punishment, but I suspect that this only aids in infuriating some of the other guards. They can be horribly merciless when a young woman is given to them to do whatever they please. There have been women who hadn’t made it past their first night.
I took much pity on this specific prisoner. Why? I’m not sure, but I did. She was not of an Antarian sort, and her body ached much worse than any other. Of course, the guards were much more harsh with her, that situation not lightening any for her. I wanted to make sure she was healthy enough to make it through the night, but still feeling some of the repercussions of her beating. Who was I to heal her wounds given to her by another guard? I’d be angry if another guard interfered with one of my own prisoners.
When I unlocked her cell door, I only heard the noisy sound of deep breaths and wheezing. She was bad off, I could tell instantly. They had been overly tough with her this time. Usually she would lie on the makeshift bed of torn and tattered clothing that sat in the corner, but it appeared as if she hadn’t even made it that far this time. Her nude body was sprawled just a step away from the entrance of her cell. She seemed to be shivering, almost convulsing with frozen skin. I kneeled down beside the prisoner, and placed one hand upon her bare back, immediately drawing it back at the touch of her chilly skin.
She could have been possibly near death, and as one of the higher authority guards, I wouldn’t allow that to happen. Not in my cells, not my prisoners, not under my supervision. I made a mental note to raise some hell with whoever had left this prisoner last.
I turned her body over so she could lie flat on the cement on her back. She barely shifted at the reposition, and I knew it would be no help in waiting for a wail or moan of some sort. I placed my large, warm hand against her chest and awaited the connection that would come. I had never connected to this particular prisoner before, as I doubted anyone had, but I had healed a very select few beforehand. I knew that the connection might force images from her mind and memory into my own mind, but it didn’t bother me. I figured I would see the same things I had seen in the other’s minds. Despair, hopelessness, perhaps a glimmer of previous happiness before their life had been destructed. Yes, I had figured it would just be the same thing this time.
Boy, had I ever been wrong.
[ edited 4 time(s), last at 15-Sep-2002 1:08:47 PM ]
|posted on 29-Jul-2002 8:11:28 PM by Meagzie|
|Hola fellow Roswellians! No, I wasn't going to leave you for months before I returned with Part Uno. But I bring bad news with me as well. I'm leaving for Toronto (to stuff my face with Krispy Kremes, no doubt) for three weeks. So all of my fics will not be updated for three weeks. Sorry guys! But I do plan on writing during my vacation, so hopefully I'll have some of this story done when I get back.|
As well, for any of my "It's Not About You" fans, I'll be posting the sequel "Who I Am" hopefully tonight, and if not, I will for sure post it tomorrow.
Ok, I want to thank EACH and EVERY ONE of you for leaving me feedback (except for Lisa, because you're just taunting everyone). You can't imagine how encouraging and inspiring it is to read all of your feedback, and seeing how you see the story. I'm not lying when I say I've been dying to write this for months and weeks, and to hear that you're enjoying just the prologue is amazing! Now, I won't be answering any of the feedback right now because you all asked questions that I can't answer! But be patient, young ones, the answers will come.
So, on with the story! Enjoy, and let me know what you think!
For any AFU fans, I printed all 211 pages of "A Present Unseen" out so I could reread it and get me more focused on writing more for AFU. I know it seems like a long time, but expect something new from AFU near the beginning of September.
I don’t understand this concept of love that people describe to me. How can you feel an emotion for someone else, when most of the time you can’t feel that emotion for yourself? What makes one love another? Perhaps it’s just a sense of security, knowing someone is there that won’t ever leave. Love is supposed to be this amazing emotion that can wrap you in the warmth of its arms, and still drop you dangerously on your head without you even realizing it.
I guess someone cannot fully understand anything unless they witness and experience it for themselves. How could we ever understand the process of birth if we are not fetuses first? And it is truly only in our nature to have a ceaseless curiosity about everything and anything. Perhaps that is why I found myself so drawn to this particular prisoner and the intense connection we had made.
I have never witnessed a connection like that before, much less be personally overwhelmed with such a sensation. Antarians rarely make connections with each other unless they are life mates or, as my experience proves, aiding another for medical reasons. With this particular prisoner though, it had been entirely different than I have ever felt before, my whole body humming with an unrecognizable power. Words seem to fail me as I try to describe such an experience.
Imagine every single atom in your body suddenly springing into action without warning, like your body was heated instantaneously. This paralyzing shock envelopes your entire body, and your mind ceases to function. You no longer control what you feel, or what you do, you can’t even control your thoughts. Whatever power you may have had over your body is obliterated, and you are left utterly defenseless.
It’s the moment you realize all the emotions you are feelings, all the images you are seeing, and all the memories you are reliving are not your own that you truly become aware that you can never be the same again.
Liz placed the last box in her room. She was finally done moving her stuff into their new place. A four-bedroom apartment that her and her three best friends were going to share. College life at last! She had had enough of that stupid high school stuff. There were too many if’s, and’s, or but’s, and she hated the overwhelming politics that plagued high school life. Popular or not, she was not going to let some fake Barbie-like homecoming queen boss her around. She was so through with that.
It wasn’t like she had been unpopular throughout high school, but she had completely detested the small mindedness there was in her small hometown of Roswell. Liz was ready for something bigger to happen for her, possibly monumental. The city of Boston had called to her, the Harvard scout practically begging her to come. She was a genius. What could she say?
Liz had contemplated giving Harvard up so she could travel across the world, but Maria and Alex had practically tied her down and lectured her. They told her that giving up an opportunity like Harvard would be like “selling rat poison pancakes to a blind dog”. It was just something she shouldn’t do. To convince her of it, they even joined her for the ride, dragging their last best friend, Kyle Valenti, along.
So here they were. It was four small town inseparable friends facing the big city of Boston together. Liz knew she wanted a big change but she was beyond elated that her friends would give up any other plans to follow her to Boston. Maria and Alex both passed it off as if they had nothing better to do, and Kyle just shrugged and nodded.
Some changes were too much change, and Liz realized that losing her best friends would have been categorized as too much change. Well, perhaps leaving Kyle behind wouldn’t have been so much of a loss, what with their past and all. No, she shouldn’t say that, despite what had transpired between them. Although, she doubted that he would have even spoken to her during high school if they hadn’t been friends since diapers. Damn those high school politics.
Kyle was your typical, All-American, high school jock. He was the town’s football hero, drove a speedy car, and had a new, beautiful, busty girlfriend on his arm every week. Your mom thought he was “adorable”, your dad called him “a good kid”, and your grandma said he had “hot buns”. He was the object was of all teenage girl’s affection, and was a common pinup among the female lockers of West Roswell High.
Liz didn’t think of him that way though. He was her sand buddy, her play date mate, and her next-door neighbour. They were best friends and their mom’s were best friends. Kyle and Liz’s friendship only grew when they met another pair of best friends (and cousins), Alex Whitman and Maria Deluca. The four of them became the unbreakable family they were now, not one single disturbance able to break their bond. Well, that was until this past year.
Surprisingly, it hadn’t been Kyle’s popularity that had made a tear in their close-knit family, as Maria had predicted. No, it had been Liz and her unpredictable, unfathomable feelings she had developed for him. She had fallen helplessly in love with her best friend only to discover that love wasn’t a bottomless pit, and hitting the bottom hurt like hell. She should have known he would have never reciprocated her feelings for him. He was Mr. West Roswell High. What would he want with a simple, mousy girl like her when every buxom Bay Watch lookalike threw themselves at him?
Senior year had been awful for Liz. She and Kyle had slowly drawn farther and farther apart, and she was convinced it had been entirely her fault. She had fallen for him but far to terrified to let him know. Of course, she had only hurt him and their friendship in the long run despite Maria and Alex’s attempt to keep them all close. Kyle had retreated to his popular ring of friends, and Liz had retreated into herself. Four became two again, and Maria was less than pleased.
Maria tried everything known in the book to bring them all back together, including leaving pictures of the four of them in Kyle and Liz’s lockers. Graduation had been the only thing that brought the four together again, but by then the full school year had taken its toll on Liz and Kyle’s friendship.
Liz, Kyle, Maria and Alex had all sat in their limo, as they all vowed not to break the promise they had made to each other during fourth grade that they would attend graduation together. Liz had sat awkwardly beside Kyle’s busty, blonde date, while her own date was busy hitting on Maria. She had been prepared to end her graduation partying right there and then if it hadn’t been for Maria and Alex’s desperate pleas not to. She didn’t wanted to be there in the first place and Kyle’s obvious avoidance was nothing to be desired.
By the time midnight had rolled along, Liz was ready to go home and crash – that was until she heard his voice.
“Why do you hate me?” Kyle asked her as Liz was making her trek to her front door. She had paused at his words, her heart frozen in place. She turned towards him, her dress making a swishing sound.
“I don’t hate you,” she had replied softly to him, giving him a small yet sad smile. “Far from it.”
“Then why has my best friend in the whole world been ignoring me for months?” It seemed as if Kyle was about ready to cry, and she felt her heart crack just a little more. He took a shaky step towards her, and without hesitation, wrapped a strand of Liz’s silky hair around his finger. Giving her his irresistible grin, he said in a low, lighter tone, “Huh, my Little Lizzie? Why?”
Tears were already gathered in Liz’s eyes by then, causing her to reply in a quiet tone, “Because I’ve fallen in love with you.”
Liz knew her heart had broken into small pieces when he had taken a quick step backwards and dropped his hand. She knew from that moment on things would definitely never be the same again.
This past summer they had slowly tried to recover the broken pieces of their friendship, Kyle deciding to join Maria at the University of Boston at her persistence. Kyle had locked away Liz’s declaration of love, almost as if he had never heard it in the first place. He put all of his effort into psyching up the four of them for their move to the big city. During that time, Liz had made sure she swallowed any feelings she had for Kyle and she too decided to focus on the future. To this day, she regretted telling Kyle the truth with every fiber of her being. She wished she had lied to him, or something. She didn’t care what, as long as she could have resurrected the deep bond that would always be missing from her and Kyle’s friendship.
“Forget regret or life is yours to miss.”
Liz turned around, finding Alex leaning against her bedroom doorframe, grinning at her like a crazy cat. She rolled her eyes, before telling him jokingly, “Didn’t I tell you to return my Rent CD?”
“What can I say? There’s nothing like a musical about AIDS, and homosexuals.” Alex shrugged haphazardly, before advancing towards Liz. He looked about the room, and huffed at all of the piles of boxes that crowded her room.
“Who knew you had this much shit?” He asked her in a light, mocking tone. She pushed him playfully.
“I am not nearly as bad as Miss Deluca. Did you see the movers huffing and puffing as they dragged her stuff into our apartment? I felt bad for those guys. I hope someone tipped them well.”
“Hah!” Alex exclaimed. “Maria sure as hell didn’t, because she’s still complaining that they intentionally broke her precious Barbie figurine.”
Liz rolled her eyes, and put a hand on her hip. “First of all, that thing is worth about as much as the gum on the bottom of my shoe. She got it from a dollar store. Secondly, she’s just mad because that one guy blew her off when she tried to hit on him.”
“I was not hitting on him!” Maria exclaimed as she breezed into Liz’s bedroom. “And that Barbie figurine has sentimental value, thank you very much!”
It was Alex’s turn to roll his eyes at Maria. He took Maria by the shoulders and directed her back out of the room. “C’mon, Maria, lets leave Liz to her bedroom. She probably wants to set everything up tonight.” Alex pushed his cousin out of the door before hollering back to Liz, “We’re ordering pizza for dinner!”
Liz just nodded quietly to herself. She put both hands on her hips and stared at the mountains of taped up boxes that surrounded her. Sighing, she sought out the top box in one of the piles. If she was going to start, she might as well start with this box. Taking out her exacto knife, she set about the job that was surely to take up the rest of her evening.
It was tough pulling out of our first connection. I knew without doubt that whatever I had just witnessed was not a memory of my own. This prisoner was not even Antarian, and yet she had been able to wrap me in such a woven connection that for the rest of my life I will never fail to remember the way my body burned with that memory.
Even with just that one connection, I felt as if I was no longer the same person I had been before. It was as if my hands were no longer my own, and the body I have was now just a shell I resided within. I was frightened and curious all at the same time, plagued by endless amounts of questions. What was this person doing to me? Was it really her who was making me feel things I barely even knew of? Who was she really? What could all of this lead to?
And most importantly, why did I want to find out more?
|posted on 11-Sep-2002 6:50:30 PM by Meagzie|
|My reflection and thoughts when I think of 9/11:|
I’m not sure as to how many people know this, but I am Canadian. I was born in Canada, raised in Canada, and I will probably continue to live in Canada for a very long time. Yet as a Canadian, I know that I will never forget the day that the world was shaken forever. On September 11th, 2001, terrorists maliciously attacked and killed thousands of undeserving people.
My personal feelings on the event may not necessarily reflect what others may feel, yet my heart aches just as theirs, and my unworthy sympathy is stretched for everyone who has lost someone and has personally felt the pain of this attack. For a year now, we’ve been hearing on the news, or on television and radio in general, that the United States of America has been assaulted needlessly, and it was time as a country to band together and help one another get through this hard time.
I, on the other hand, disagree.
This attack wasn’t on just America, but on the world. When I think of myself, I don’t only say I am a citizen of Canada, but I am also a citizen and participant of the entire global community. The September 11th attacks did not just affect those in the USA, but the people around the entire world. It’s horrifying events radiated from hate, anger, and ignorance, and the aftershocks were felt across the globe. I feel that it is a worldwide concern and objective to regain the security and confidence that were brutally and unrightfully taken away.
During a time of deep sorrow, feelings of loneliness and isolation can become dominant. I hope that all of you, and all others that were aching like my soul had been after the attacks, know and realize that this is not a lone battle. We all are feeling the pain through our humanly connection, and through our connection we will survive this and face the world for more difficult days, weeks, months, years that are sure to come. We should not look at this as a black mark in our past, but rather something to learn from, and prove we are still strong. That which doesn’t destroy us only makes us stronger.
So, no, it is not time as a country to band together and help one another, but it is time as a entire global community to come together and work as one.
I guess my main message is this:
United we stand, divided we fall.