posted on 17-Aug-2002 1:06:44 AM by IceRose
Requiem

Rating: PG-13
Category: M/L AU It’ll be mystery, but romance
Summary: Read it! It's changed later.
AN: I will do this one if people like it and read it! I'm going to have lots of twists and turns! Thanks, -Peace

Part 1:
Two seconds. Always two seconds. One deep breath, wheezing as if holding on for life. Breathing. That's all he was now, but it wasn't like she knew him any other way. The pale face boy had laid in the hospital room with her, unaware of the world, lost deep in his own mind. His cheek bones lifted up the thin skin of his face. Under unmoving eyelids lay deep dark bags that no sleep could ever cure. He looked around 18, far too young to have bags that showed so much wear. His hair hung dark and lifeless. Washed once a week by the nurse and combed to the side. It held a dim shine under the fluorescent lights. The boy looked like a corpse. Breathing, but not alive. His bed was a sterile white, like a coffin. The sheet looked as those they had just been laid over a murder victim. Surrounding him were machines. No flowers or keep sakes parents and friends would leave for loved ones. The chair next to his bed was covered in a light shine to show it had been washed, but never sat on. Curiosity got the better of her and she started to ask questions. The doctor told her he had been this way for 3 months, but with any other questions he would just shake his head, give a low grunt and look down at her chart. Liz could see a look of grimace under his black rim glasses and scratchy moustache.

Back in the present Liz tried to shake off the noise coming from the machines. Liz tried not to let her mind wonder. Tried not to think of all the terrible ways the pale faced boy had got to be the way he was, but the mind is hard to control. In the early mornings when books, letters and TV held no appeal Liz would come up with stories about the boy. Wondering what secrets the eyes held; the eyes she had never seen. The pale faced boy who had no visitors in the whole week he had been the room with Liz. The boy with no past. The boy who would probably have no future.

His breathing created an eerie silence. Just as she was about to start talking to him for the first time, the door started to creek open. A man dressed in a suit who could have been no older than 22 silently made his way over to the pale-faced boy. He just stood there and looked down at him, no expression marked on his stern face. He looked less alive than the pale-faced boy. His hair blacker than night and sun glasses only showing the world around you when looked into them. His lips set a strait line over a thick square jaw. If not placed in a hospital the scene could have easily looked like a funeral, but no tears shed and no cries heard. Without warning the man in the black suit turned and left; not a glance in my direction. His legs moved in perfect step. Strait like a soldier, but light as a cat’s...

Breathing. Two seconds. More stories. More ideas. More questions. The pale-faced boy could have been his brother. A co-worker. An enemy. Her mind was flowing with questions. Knawing at her to know. Liz always had to know what was going on around her. He could have been part of the mob. The FBI!-

"How's my sweety doing??!" I had been too into my wanderings I hadn't noticed my mother enter. Two words: My Mother. She was all in good intentions, but I'm a 17 year-old. I have to be annoyed.

"Oh you wouldn't believe what Mr. Troy did yesterday with his yard..." But something strange happened then. I noticed on the table of the pale-faced boy a ring. Sitting silver and plain waiting only to collect dust. My mom goes on as she dumps loads of ‘get well’ card and flowers onto my bedside table. Still rambling about how great Mr. Troy is.

"And well everyone is just so worried dear! They all care so much! Here I better be going! I can't be late for the parent meeting! Love you Liz! Bye!" I unconsciously say my goodbye and let my mind wonder. Wonder why people gave me get well cards when they truly don't care. Why they gave me flowers I know they bought for two bucks just to be done with it and why a lonely boy sleeps in a dying sleep with no one there to wish for him to wake....

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I never went anywhere with my other stories because... well... but I know where I’m going with this. It’s going to have lots of twists. I hope this wasn’t too bad. Pleae tell me

[ edited 4 time(s), last at 18-Sep-2002 9:42:15 PM ]
posted on 17-Aug-2002 10:23:55 PM by IceRose
Thanks peoples for the feedback! I'll have a part out probably sometime in the very, very early morning tomorow (the coffee is just starting to kick in). Thanks, -Peace*tongue*
posted on 18-Aug-2002 1:04:13 AM by IceRose
Requiem
Part 2

Days in a hospital blend one into another. There is no difference between today and yesterday. I should know. I’ve spent many days here studying the blank walls. Studying the white that turns sickly and deathly after enough time is spent here. As night comes and sleep can’t fully grip you, you only know reality by the sound from the outside world. Try to block out the sounds of his breathing.

You can hear the truck rumbling by. Every now and then you can here the tires skimming over the soggy streets rushing to get to nowhere. The rain coming down lightly as it always does in Washington. You can see the outline of the blinds skim across the room. Then you think about that driver. The one with greasy hair who probably is cranking up his county music as loud as possible just so he can feel not so alone. So he doesn’t have to let the darkness swallow him. People sneer at him, but under his thick beard and ragged hat you know he’s just like you. Suffering on the inside. So he drives and keeps on driving trying to doing something, anything, so he feels alive. But he knows, and you know, that he’s dying on the inside. Just like me.

In the early morning hours my mind can get like this. Morbid creativity I call it. Darkness evokes something strange within me. Perfected with all those sleepless nights. Tonight just another, but this time it’s more real- the loneliness; so many secrets and so many troubles weighing me down. I use to have fantasies- no not those kind- a different kind most teens don’t think about. The fantasy of true friendship. To think about what it would be like to spend a night talking about boys. To spend a summer day laying on the grass sipping coke with your best friend. A day egging cars and running away as fast as possible. I would like to say those are my memories, but they’re not. They’re memories of movies and times that are filled with innocence and fun. Something I can never have again; something I question if I ever had in the first place. I have friends- no I wouldn’t call them that. Acquaintances or people who always tell me how sorry they are for me. I often think about my own death. Own funeral. I’m guessing people would make speeches. Not for me, but to get recognition as knowing Liz Parker- the girl who was never quite right since moving to this small little town. The people would act sad for attention., but no one would really care. It’s true, I’ve seen it done before.. switch gears. Now my thoughts are back on the pale-faced boy. The one topic I don’t want to think about for some unknown reason. Looking at him makes me think about the outside world. How everything has gone to hell. It’s a war out there, but not called a war. It’s what they call protesting, but that’s just a word the media uses to control the masses. It’s hatred hidden in full view. I should know. I was there when it started, well when it really began, but hatred is as old as time. I wonder if the pale-faced boy knows what’s going on in the world. I wonder if he was a victim of people’s new found violence? I can’t think those thoughts- it’s too painful because I know it’s all useless.

I wish I knew. I know everything. I see everything that goes on around me with unfiltered eyes, but this.. this is unnerving. I think about the riots, police car, protesters, signs that only allowed certain people in and I thought about death. The fake news casters gathered around every event making everything out how they wanted it to be shown. Power and holding it over someone else’s head- that’s what the world was today. Everything had gone to hell seven years ago. Switch. Will anyone be at the pale-faced boy’s funeral or will he lay in an endless sleep for years? Or-

Swoosh. Another truck goes by. Another light across the wall and as it leaves it cuts across the pale-faced boy’s face. A deep gash is over his eyebrow. Weird- I never saw that before... car accident? Riots? Police? Mob? And I go wandering through my mind again.

With sleep depravation your mind wanders places it shouldn’t go. You’re in-between the dream world and the real so everything mixes into one. You start thinking things you shouldn’t think and before I know it I open my mouth. The pain in silence has driven me to the edge. I need to get it out just once. Get it over with. So I just start talking to the pale-faced boy who can’t hear me, but will always be there to listen. I told him how everything started. Told him every deep dark secret. Every pain. Every sorrow. Every center of hope I had that had been shattered. Not only did I speak of my pain, I spoke of the world and the violence. I spoke for hours. Retelling my life to him.. The words I spoke to him I know I’ll never say again, but some things can never be spoken. I’m cleaning the slate now. Getting rid of who I was. Getting rid of the past. Making it a shadow to follow me instead of the storm cloud raining down on m.e

Then I waited. Waited for him to answer, but I knew he wouldn’t. The breathing answered. Two seconds. As the darkness faded the room came alive. Only in the first sunlight did the room ever look like it held the life it had held. Only for a moment it showed the sorrow and joy that this room has seen. Then, like the wind takes the candle, it was gone. That one moment gave me hope. Hope I should have never been able to have, but did. Then for the first time I cried. Cried for the reason I was lying here in this bed unable to move my legs. I cried for my mother. I cried for the pain. I cried forthe scar on my wrist. I cried to be alive. Pain was a way to feel- to know you’re still alive.

As I slowly let my sobs subside the doctor came in and told me I could leave. My mother came in next. Pushing the wheelchair next to my bed and giving me one of her plastic smiles. So, she had pulled it off again I thought. Her pain was seeping throw her broken irises. She wasn’t what everyone saw either. How many times could she get me here and out without anyone truly being the wiser? The doctor just gave me a tight smile.

“Be more careful next time Ms. Parker. You sure got lucky. Those stairs must hate you. I’ll miss seeing you everyday. Goodbye.” Anyone could tell he was lying though. I wondered how much money my mom gave him? As I was leaving I looked over at the pale-faced boy who now held the burden of all my sorrow and secrets. He was a friend. Everything I’d need to face them again; face the fakeness and the lies. I knew I would never see him again. I would leave my secrets behind with him to keep. Before I knew it the door closed off my sight to him. I didn’t doubt that I wouldn't see him again, but my heart ached with a sorrow that wasn’t self-induced. A sorrow I hadn’t felt in a long time. I couldn’t think about him. He was in the past.

As my mom wheeled me though the hospital I let it fade. I thought about dairy queen and coke as I was helped into the passengers set of the car. No words exchanged. As she got in the car she spoke to me with her tone flat and dull.

“The last time Liz. The last time...We‘re moving for your senior year. A place called Roswell.” As we pulled out of the parking lot I let he music surround me. We were both taken over by the music. Letting ourselves forget the pain. Taking me into my own mind where I could be free of history. With a quite whisper I said goodbye to the pale-faced boy. I said goodbye...

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Thanks again for the feedback! Tell me what you think! Trust me when I say this isn’t going to be one of those stories where Liz moves and everything becomes right... Well please leave feedback- good or bad. Thanks, -Peace*tongue*

posted on 18-Aug-2002 10:12:16 PM by IceRose
Thanks for the feedback! It means a lot. Well, I should have a longer part out by early morning tomorrow! Thanks, -Peace*tongue*
posted on 24-Aug-2002 12:58:24 AM by IceRose
Thanks for all the feedback! I'm sorry this took awhile. The day after I made my last post I got my keyboard taken away... again. It was for me being shy, but I won't get into that. Anyway! I'll have a post out tomorrow I promise! School just started, so yeah... anyway! Thanks again for all the feedback! Too much coffee is good, but kinda bad at the same time. Thanks, -Peace*tongue*
posted on 1-Sep-2002 9:01:27 PM by IceRose
Requiem
Part 3
The young girl absolutely glowed. A grin set over her bright face as she dared to look back at the boy. His face was dusted in light red with dark brown hair curling over his bright red ears. Both shared a grin when they caught each other staring then quickly shoved there eyes back to there plates. They looked around 16 and absolutely in love. The air around them seemed to shift and rush with warmth. She’d like to say that was her sitting there, but it’s not. She’s not the one sitting with the blonde sharing gossip stories either. Not the teen trying to look pissed at her parents for taking her out to a public place together. Not the waitress trying secretly to spit into the trucker’s milkshake... but if you look closely maybe you’ll see her...

She’s hidden behind the cashier burying herself bills and other busy work to have something to do with her hands. Her hair is in a loose pony tail with a soft glow, falling over a leather jacket pulled tightly around her, a thing people don’t see often in Roswell. The jacket never came off in public though. It was her mask and her shield against the world. The entire pencil was rough from nervous teeth and endless tapping. Her brown iris held an unknowable depth and sadness, but that was never noticed. Her face was never touched with makeup, always knowing no one would be looking. Only sometimes would her lips be brushed with gloss. She holds a natural beauty with her soft stance and calming voice, but she goes unwatched by the world; unlike how people don’t go unnoticed by her. Her gaze takes in every event in her restaurant. Every happening. People fascinated her, probably because she could never really understand them, but that story was for another day. So many stories, secrets and lies that lay in dust in her mind.

So here Liz Parker was, doing bills and watching the world go by her on her 26th Birthday. No candles, no cake so smiling faces, but she had gotten use to that long ago. Days like these when the Crash Down crowd was boring she’d think back to her days in college, her mother’s funeral or even buying the Crash Down, but all those memories held no appeal. They weren’t times greatness or joy.... they just were. Something that happened that held no meaning; just lifeless. She dared not to venture into the early years of her life, no she couldn’t do that.... Liz could picture her mother sitting there right now spewing all around about not letting your life pass you by. Grabbing a good man, job and having a good life. Making something of herself. Well, she had done well, been successful. Nothing held meaning or life. Sometimes in the dead of the night she wished for the arms she had around her so long ago to warp around he once again. So she held herself in the night and let the tears fall into darkness where even she herself could deny them. Those nights every sound haunted you and every light change was the monster coming out drag you into the closet again. She often wondered what it was like to trust someone, to sit down and talk with them about everything and anything. Someone to be there, someone to care. Liz didn’t doubt that they did exist, she had had it once with her brother, but it was too long ago. Now she knew it wouldn’t be there for her ever again. She wished for something, anything to make her life meaningful. Anything to make her feel alive, to know she was breathing. To know if her actions still held meaning. Liz laughed inwardly. Long ago she had wished for change so much that even pain and death she welcomed, if it made her feel alive. So times you get what you wished for.

Now Liz let the light atmosphere drift over her with nothing out of place and nothing painful. But then a sound caught her ears. It was a light tap of a cane among the chatter of the restaurant. With it came the dragging of a dress shoe. Slowly Liz’s eyes drifted upward hitting two sharply shined shoes, but one was bent at awkward angle. Glancing over tight back lines in a black suit. In the middle of the Crash Down stood a man with a body that looked like a man that had been though hell, but eyes that were of a boy’s. His hair was dark brown, almost black. His skin was burnt, yet soft in a light tan. Among the family’s and first dates his stood like a clown at a funeral. With a glance he looked like a priest, or even death himself, but his eyes where all too human with their innocence. His face was set and firm, but it was lost and scared. No other eyes glanced though. People continued with their lives, but none paid heed to the man in the black suit. He looked around him glancing at each person with amazment and wonder, everyone but Liz. Slowly he took a seat in the far booth and lifted his eyes to meet Liz’s. His were brown with gold spearing out from a dark pupil. With his innocence he showed knowledge and understanding. He spoke a foreign language to her with his eyes. One that she was so close to understanding, yet so far.

“-and I couldn’t get them in anyway, so is it okay if I do it that way Ms. Parker?” The mousy brunette stared down at Liz through thick glasses then quickly looked down as though she was being judged for the worst crime possible.

“Ummm... yes Rachel. That could be fine.” The girl quickly hurried off to her task not wanting to be noticed, but at the same time craving for someone to give her the time of day. She was so much Liz was once, but the girl was blind to true pain.

Liz glanced up trying to find the man again, but he was gone. An empty seat. As Liz made her way over she noticed a silver ring sitting on the table. It shined with mystery and knowledge. Liz quickly picked it up and hurried out the door.

The sun had set and cozy couples slowly drifted down the sidewalks lost in their own world. The street was covered with shadows of summer trees and light post spotlights. The man in the black suit was nowhere, as if he appeared just to say something, but had to voice to do so. Slowly Liz opened her hand and stared at the shimmering ring. Above her palm was the thick scar years old. She knew now the ring wasn’t a clue or a gift. It was an invitation to the mystery of the pale-faced boy so many years ago.


Is it bad???? Please tell me?! Sorry about the wait. I was going to take this story in a totally different direction, so I started on that way. Then I thought about and different way and started on that. So finally I picked this one out of the blue. School is in too and lots of other stuff. Thank you soooo much for your FB. It means a lot! I’ll try to put out another part soon to let you know what’s going on! Thanks, -Peace*tongue*



posted on 18-Sep-2002 9:41:13 PM by IceRose
I can't do fanfic anymore. I'm sorry.

This story was going to be Liz getting to know this strange man who came to Roswell. He will become a friend who adds spice to her life, but is veru quite and innocent. I was going to go through her past as a person with Bipolar disorder and her 'Max' was the boy she saw in the hospital all those years ago, but now he was a illusion because she needed something different; she need a friend so she created one from different memories. Think like 'Beautiful Mind'. The twist was that her 'Max' tells her the truth of her needing someone to talk to and the reason he was there to help her. He guides her on a path to a hospital were Max is in acoma. Then her Max is gone. The end. There was going to be a lot of development between her and 'Max'. I was going to make it all fit and I know this rough description isn't that good. Thank you all for the wonderful feedback, but it's time for me to go. If anyone wants to use this idea they can. I'll always remember 'Roswell'. I'm sorry. Have a good life all of you. Thanks, -Peace, Sarah