|posted on 2-Feb-2003 9:19:31 PM|
|Ok - this is my first attempt at Fan Fic, and as I do not have a Beta Reader, PLEASE be gentle. I'm only going to post the beginning, and if I don't get any feedback, I won't post anymore of it. I just want to make sure someone is reading it. Any and all comments are appreciated.|
Disclaimer: I don't own squat. If I did, I would be writing this from a sandy beach in Aruba while Hanz, the non-english speaking hottie serves me drinks from a coconut. All the characters are borrowed from someone else's toy box. I promise to put them away when I am done with them. Also, I fully acknowledge my right to literary license. Meaning, I am sticking to the BASIC show plot and that's about it. I reserve the right to totally screw with the episode timeline.
Sysosset, NY September 6 8:30am
Gillian Thomasino paused briefly to wipe the steam from the bathroom mirror. She sighed as she looked at her reflection. Typical, she thought as she looked into her huge green eyes, still swollen from last night. Here it is the first day of my Junior year and I miss half of it due to my stupid stage mother and her crack baby dreams of stardom.
Last night had been a bad one. Oh sure, everyone thought she had it made. Due to her slight stature, she was still able to sing in the Childrens' Chorus of the NYC Opera. But, such a position required long nights and even longer train rides home with her mother who babbled away about what an ass the director was, or how such a talented daughter could be overlooked for a small child who sang like, well, a small child. Last night was the night her mom had bitched out the director. Thankfully, he didn't have her mother shot on the spot. Well, maybe that wouldn't have been a bad thing.
Gill sighed and started to comb out her long red locks. Good old fashioned Irish red curls. She wondered, not for the first time, when her parents would give up and finally admit she was adopted.
Her mother was your typical Italian Mama. She was loud, over bearing, loved to cook big meals for everyone who would eat, and probably the best hug giver in the world.
Her dad was your typical silent type. He worked alot, made money for his family, and came home late every evening so he could avoid his wife. Both were tall, kind of on the chubby side and were as dark as any Italian could be.
Gill on the other hand was tiny, barely making 5'2, scrawny in all the places it was supposed to count, and had the brightest flame red hair known to man.
As she picked up the hair dryer, she thought, God, I wish I could trade places with someone else in the world, anyone else.
As she hit the on switch to her dryer, there was a loud CRACK followed by pretty orange sparks, then nothing.
Roswell, New Mexico Spetember 6 6:30am
The alarm was ringing. Loudly, too loudly for Liz's taste. She picked her head wearily off the pillow. It seemed like only a few minutes ago that she finally made it to her bed.
She hit the off button, picked herself off the bed and stumbled into the shower. Hopefully, a nice cold splash would waken her up enough to make it through the first day of school.
Oh, God, last night. She shuddered at the memory. Last night involved three aliens, a car chase involving the FBI and who knew else, and a close encounter of the deadly kind.
Liz got out of the shower, looked at herself in the mirror. She could barely recognize herself. Where was the girl with the big dreams? The innocent teenager who looked at life through a microscope, seeing the big picture in tiny little pictures? What she saw scared her.
She was a girl on the brink of womanhood, madly in love with an alien who was also responsible for saving her life then almost getting her killed every other day. He was the reason she had been in Colorado last night, and almost been shot . . . again.
Liz picked up her hair dryer and thought to herself, God, I wish I could tarde places with someone else in the world, anyone else.
Gill opened her eyes. She couldn't remember exactly where she was. The last thing she remembered was . . .shower, mirror, it was all a little hazy. What was definite was that she was on the floor. Not of her bathroom tho. Her bathroom had pristine white tiles, cold and unforgiving. This room had a soft, faded tan carpet. Where was she? She picked herself up off the floor and looked into the mirror of a strange bathroom. What she saw made her let out an ear piercing scream, and little black dots swim in her eyes.
Gone was her face! Gone was her hair! Where there once were red curls, were long, and very straight brown tresses! Big brown eyes, rerplaced her green ones. And worst of all, THIS WAS NOT HER BATHROOM!
"Lizzie! LIZZIE??" A man's voice screamed as footsteps thundered up the nearby stairs.
Stairs? There weren't any stairs in her picturesque ranch house in Syosset!
"Lizzie, baby, what's wrong? Are you alright?" A man, tall, dark, ruggedly handsome looked at her with deep concern. Obviously, this man was "Lizzie's" father. This had to be a sick joke. Or maybe she had been kidnapped by a stalker. Everyone in the theater had a stalker. What should she do? God, shit, what should she do???
"Um, ya, I, uh, saw a really big pimple. That's all. I'm, uh, fine. Fine" She said lamely, hoping that the scary man would go away.