A Childhood Story That Changed His Future
ISCLAIMER:
I do not claim credit for any of the characters used in this story that were created by the producers and crew of Alias.
this is my first fan fiction story so bare with me.
“Marshall, please continue where Matthew left off.” Marshall sat in the last row, third desk from the front. He had the perfect view of the school playground. Marshall continued to stare through the cracked window pane, rocking slight back and forth on the hind legs of his chair. A deep silence broke out among the class. His classmates were patiently waiting for him to continue but knew not to speak because Marshall always disrupted class, but most importantly, he wasted time in class. The class welcomed his distractions in Mrs. Henderson’s class because everyone agreed it was their worst class of the day.
Lisa and Polly, the class’ gossip girls, began to snicker from across the room. Marshall continued to gaze at the boundless sky. He wanted to be just like his father when he grew up, a great pilot who flew all over the world. Over the last two months, Marshall’s father had been sending a new and unique gadget from every country he had visited. Marshall kept his favorite, and newest, in his pocket. It was a five in one pen. It had a compass, magnifier, clock, laser pointer, and his favorite, a voice recorder.
The class bookworm, Nelson, began to raise his hand but stopped short. He was not willing to risk another Saturday afternoon of detention for embarrassing another student with his witty remarks.
“Marshall Flinkman, please pick up on page 45 and continue reading.” Mrs. Henderson was staring directly at Marshall, as she balanced the history book on her left hand, glancing down from the top of her rectangular cut reading glasses. She was elegantly dressed in an long woven skirt, an embroidered sweater and had a tightly neat bun precisely placed on the center of her head. She was considered to be the “no-nonsense” teacher of Wildwood Elementary.
“Hey Marsh! Marsh!” whispered his best friend Kenny. “It’s your turn to read out loud.”
“Huh? What are you ---” Marshall came crashing to the floor. The legs of his chair had finally gave way after hours of rocking. The whole class erupted in laughter and Marshall cheeks turned a reddish tint.
“Mr.Flinkman! I have told you three times this week to stop your daydreaming during class. See me after class!”
“But Mr. Henderkins…I mean Mrs. Hendersanders...Henderson...”
“That’s enough Marshall. Now Kenneth, since you felt the need to speak out loud, perhaps you wouldn’t mind continuing where we left off on the bottom of page 45.”
“Uh yes Mrs. Henderson. The Great Wall of China is the only man made structure that can be seen from space. Over 4,000 miles long,…” The bell sounded. The doorbell chime was the sound of freedom for many of the students of Mrs. Henderson’s history class. The students quickly filed out of class however Marshall stayed behind, slowly putting his papers back into his backpack. Marshall hesitated. Remaining in his seat for a brief moment, he thought of what he would say to his mother when he would have to explain why he was held after class to speak to the teacher. His palms began to sweat as he left a clear handprint on the corner of his desktop. Marshall got up from his desk walking slowly towards the front of the room. Mrs. Henderson returned to her desk, paying no attention to Marshall. She placed a piece of chalk back on the blackboard and began to collect her papers in a neat pile on her desk.
“Now Marshall, I wanted to speak to you about your father.” Marshall’s heart began to race. His father had not sent him a package over the last two weeks but he had brushed it off thinking that his father was just too busy with work.
“Yes.” whispered Marshall. He could barely speak and he felt his throat tighten.
“Federal agents came to school this morning asking about your father, but more importantly, they were asking about you.” Marshall eyes rose from the ground and looked straight into the eyes of Mrs. Henderson. She stared intently at Marshall with a look of concern. From the look on her face, Marshall knew something was wrong. “They want to know about the packages your father has been sending you.” Marshall clenched the pen in his right pocket and squeezed it tightly. It was the one connection Marshall had to his father. “You see, these men just need to speak to your father, but your father,” Mrs. Henderson paused, her eyes searching across the room, as if the words she was searching for were written along the wall. “These men just need to speak to your father because he is a very important man and has lots of information.” Marshall’s eyes drifted to the ends of his sneakers. He never really knew what his father did for a living. He just knew his father was a pilot because his father had showed him how to fly an airplane when he was younger.
“But my dad is away. He isn’t in the country.” Marshall explained.
“Yes, I understand that. But that’s why these men need your help.” Marshall looked at the doorway. Two men in dark suits were rigidly standing in the doorway. One of them, holding what looked like a bulletproof suitcase. The man holding the suitcase began to approach Marshall.
“You see son, we understand your father has been sending you packages from countries he has visited. Is that correct?” The man had lowered his sunglasses, looking downward at the nervous boy that stood in front of him.
“They’re just toys he sends me. You know, things to collect.” Muttered Marshall.
“We understand you received a certain pen, a pen with multiple functions. Is that correct?” Marshall hesitated.
“No” replied Marshall, shifting his eyes back and forth.
“Now son, you have nothing to be worried about. If you were given a pen, we just want to know if you have it. We just need to take a look at it.” The other man was no longer lingering in the doorway. He was now standing next to the other agent. Marshall began to feel his whole body tense up. He continued to clench onto his pen in his pocket. Suddenly, his pocket let out a short buzz. “You have nothing to be worried about. If you were given a pen, we just want to know if you have it. We just need to take a look at it.” He had accidentally squeezed the pen so hard that it had begun to record their conversation.
“What was that?! The pen!” The agent placed the briefcase at the feet of Mrs. Henderson who remained perfectly still, in shock of what was happening. The agent grabbed Marshall’s hand from his pocket revealing the pen, still tightly clenched in his sweaty hand. Marshall felt the tears begin to form and began to silently cry as he handed over the pen. The agent with the briefcase set the briefcase on the teacher’s desk punching in a series of numbers to unlock the briefcase. He placed the pen in a machine upright. Inside the briefcase revealed an answering machine-like device. On the device was a flashing red light that appeared to flash at random intervals. Click. Click. The other agent had begun to turn the pen in a counter clock direction. Now Marshall knew exactly what they were doing. They were returning the pen to the first recording that was made. It was a message Marshall’s father had left to him.
“Marshall. How’s it going my boy? All is well here. I hope you enjoy this pen seeing as it is the finest gadget I have yet to give you! Take care of your mom while I’m away and remember to behave yourself since you’re the man of the house while I’m gone. I’ll be home as soon as I can.” There was brief static towards the end and then the recording ended. One of the agents began to unscrew the ballpoint tip of the pen and inserted a yellow wire. The pen was then connected to another device, a smaller device the size of a cell phone. The machine began to flash and a message was played again, this time, the pen was slowly turning clockwise, as the message began to play backwards. “Help! I have been targeted on radar. My left tail has been hit. Don’t send back up. I have extracted the package. I repeat. I have extracted the package. Contents have been uploaded and relayed to package sent to homebase.” The agent pulled the wire back out of the pen and re-screwed the ballpoint tip. Mrs. Henderson stared as the men began to pack up their equipment.
“Wait, what just happened?” asked Mrs. Henderson with a puzzled look on her face.
“Mr. Flinkman had relayed a message back to headquarters but it was never received. Instead, it was sent through this package sent to his son. Mr. Flinkman knew that his son would receive the package. After losing contact for several days we turned to the packages.”
“Losing contact?” Marshall was now quietly sniffling as he looked at his own reflection in the shades of the agent’s sunglasses.
“I’m sorry son. Your father is M.I.A. We’re doing our best to find him and he’ll be back home as soon as we find him. Our search teams are out right now looking for him.” The two men nodded their head to Mrs. Henderson as they walked out of the classroom.
“I’m sorry Marshall. I don’t know what to say. This is just as a shock to you as it is it me. I had no— ” but before she could finish, Marshall had ran out the door. He ran as fast as he could the whole way home. He slung his backpack on the floor and retreated to his bedroom where he lay in his bed trying to understand what had just happened. Marshall made a vow to himself, that he would never set foot in an airplane ever again. Most importantly, it was then that he realized the importance and power technology could have over his life.
ISCLAIMER:I do not claim credit for any of the characters used in this story that were created by the producers and crew of Alias.
this is my first fan fiction story so bare with me.
“Marshall, please continue where Matthew left off.” Marshall sat in the last row, third desk from the front. He had the perfect view of the school playground. Marshall continued to stare through the cracked window pane, rocking slight back and forth on the hind legs of his chair. A deep silence broke out among the class. His classmates were patiently waiting for him to continue but knew not to speak because Marshall always disrupted class, but most importantly, he wasted time in class. The class welcomed his distractions in Mrs. Henderson’s class because everyone agreed it was their worst class of the day.
Lisa and Polly, the class’ gossip girls, began to snicker from across the room. Marshall continued to gaze at the boundless sky. He wanted to be just like his father when he grew up, a great pilot who flew all over the world. Over the last two months, Marshall’s father had been sending a new and unique gadget from every country he had visited. Marshall kept his favorite, and newest, in his pocket. It was a five in one pen. It had a compass, magnifier, clock, laser pointer, and his favorite, a voice recorder.
The class bookworm, Nelson, began to raise his hand but stopped short. He was not willing to risk another Saturday afternoon of detention for embarrassing another student with his witty remarks.
“Marshall Flinkman, please pick up on page 45 and continue reading.” Mrs. Henderson was staring directly at Marshall, as she balanced the history book on her left hand, glancing down from the top of her rectangular cut reading glasses. She was elegantly dressed in an long woven skirt, an embroidered sweater and had a tightly neat bun precisely placed on the center of her head. She was considered to be the “no-nonsense” teacher of Wildwood Elementary.
“Hey Marsh! Marsh!” whispered his best friend Kenny. “It’s your turn to read out loud.”
“Huh? What are you ---” Marshall came crashing to the floor. The legs of his chair had finally gave way after hours of rocking. The whole class erupted in laughter and Marshall cheeks turned a reddish tint.
“Mr.Flinkman! I have told you three times this week to stop your daydreaming during class. See me after class!”
“But Mr. Henderkins…I mean Mrs. Hendersanders...Henderson...”
“That’s enough Marshall. Now Kenneth, since you felt the need to speak out loud, perhaps you wouldn’t mind continuing where we left off on the bottom of page 45.”
“Uh yes Mrs. Henderson. The Great Wall of China is the only man made structure that can be seen from space. Over 4,000 miles long,…” The bell sounded. The doorbell chime was the sound of freedom for many of the students of Mrs. Henderson’s history class. The students quickly filed out of class however Marshall stayed behind, slowly putting his papers back into his backpack. Marshall hesitated. Remaining in his seat for a brief moment, he thought of what he would say to his mother when he would have to explain why he was held after class to speak to the teacher. His palms began to sweat as he left a clear handprint on the corner of his desktop. Marshall got up from his desk walking slowly towards the front of the room. Mrs. Henderson returned to her desk, paying no attention to Marshall. She placed a piece of chalk back on the blackboard and began to collect her papers in a neat pile on her desk.
“Now Marshall, I wanted to speak to you about your father.” Marshall’s heart began to race. His father had not sent him a package over the last two weeks but he had brushed it off thinking that his father was just too busy with work.
“Yes.” whispered Marshall. He could barely speak and he felt his throat tighten.
“Federal agents came to school this morning asking about your father, but more importantly, they were asking about you.” Marshall eyes rose from the ground and looked straight into the eyes of Mrs. Henderson. She stared intently at Marshall with a look of concern. From the look on her face, Marshall knew something was wrong. “They want to know about the packages your father has been sending you.” Marshall clenched the pen in his right pocket and squeezed it tightly. It was the one connection Marshall had to his father. “You see, these men just need to speak to your father, but your father,” Mrs. Henderson paused, her eyes searching across the room, as if the words she was searching for were written along the wall. “These men just need to speak to your father because he is a very important man and has lots of information.” Marshall’s eyes drifted to the ends of his sneakers. He never really knew what his father did for a living. He just knew his father was a pilot because his father had showed him how to fly an airplane when he was younger.
“But my dad is away. He isn’t in the country.” Marshall explained.
“Yes, I understand that. But that’s why these men need your help.” Marshall looked at the doorway. Two men in dark suits were rigidly standing in the doorway. One of them, holding what looked like a bulletproof suitcase. The man holding the suitcase began to approach Marshall.
“You see son, we understand your father has been sending you packages from countries he has visited. Is that correct?” The man had lowered his sunglasses, looking downward at the nervous boy that stood in front of him.
“They’re just toys he sends me. You know, things to collect.” Muttered Marshall.
“We understand you received a certain pen, a pen with multiple functions. Is that correct?” Marshall hesitated.
“No” replied Marshall, shifting his eyes back and forth.
“Now son, you have nothing to be worried about. If you were given a pen, we just want to know if you have it. We just need to take a look at it.” The other man was no longer lingering in the doorway. He was now standing next to the other agent. Marshall began to feel his whole body tense up. He continued to clench onto his pen in his pocket. Suddenly, his pocket let out a short buzz. “You have nothing to be worried about. If you were given a pen, we just want to know if you have it. We just need to take a look at it.” He had accidentally squeezed the pen so hard that it had begun to record their conversation.
“What was that?! The pen!” The agent placed the briefcase at the feet of Mrs. Henderson who remained perfectly still, in shock of what was happening. The agent grabbed Marshall’s hand from his pocket revealing the pen, still tightly clenched in his sweaty hand. Marshall felt the tears begin to form and began to silently cry as he handed over the pen. The agent with the briefcase set the briefcase on the teacher’s desk punching in a series of numbers to unlock the briefcase. He placed the pen in a machine upright. Inside the briefcase revealed an answering machine-like device. On the device was a flashing red light that appeared to flash at random intervals. Click. Click. The other agent had begun to turn the pen in a counter clock direction. Now Marshall knew exactly what they were doing. They were returning the pen to the first recording that was made. It was a message Marshall’s father had left to him.
“Marshall. How’s it going my boy? All is well here. I hope you enjoy this pen seeing as it is the finest gadget I have yet to give you! Take care of your mom while I’m away and remember to behave yourself since you’re the man of the house while I’m gone. I’ll be home as soon as I can.” There was brief static towards the end and then the recording ended. One of the agents began to unscrew the ballpoint tip of the pen and inserted a yellow wire. The pen was then connected to another device, a smaller device the size of a cell phone. The machine began to flash and a message was played again, this time, the pen was slowly turning clockwise, as the message began to play backwards. “Help! I have been targeted on radar. My left tail has been hit. Don’t send back up. I have extracted the package. I repeat. I have extracted the package. Contents have been uploaded and relayed to package sent to homebase.” The agent pulled the wire back out of the pen and re-screwed the ballpoint tip. Mrs. Henderson stared as the men began to pack up their equipment.
“Wait, what just happened?” asked Mrs. Henderson with a puzzled look on her face.
“Mr. Flinkman had relayed a message back to headquarters but it was never received. Instead, it was sent through this package sent to his son. Mr. Flinkman knew that his son would receive the package. After losing contact for several days we turned to the packages.”
“Losing contact?” Marshall was now quietly sniffling as he looked at his own reflection in the shades of the agent’s sunglasses.
“I’m sorry son. Your father is M.I.A. We’re doing our best to find him and he’ll be back home as soon as we find him. Our search teams are out right now looking for him.” The two men nodded their head to Mrs. Henderson as they walked out of the classroom.
“I’m sorry Marshall. I don’t know what to say. This is just as a shock to you as it is it me. I had no— ” but before she could finish, Marshall had ran out the door. He ran as fast as he could the whole way home. He slung his backpack on the floor and retreated to his bedroom where he lay in his bed trying to understand what had just happened. Marshall made a vow to himself, that he would never set foot in an airplane ever again. Most importantly, it was then that he realized the importance and power technology could have over his life.