kellslawells
Cadet
Hey people! Ok, im posting this, i wrote it, but its not quite an Alias fic, except it sorta is.
Let me explain.
I have to write a narrative (or short story, for all you people like me who didnt know what a narrative was
) for English. I came up with this. It is a variation of "The Telling." It doesnt exactly follow the plot of the eppie cos i had to make it explainable to my teacher. Its a short piece about how Sydney's feeling.
Somethings you should know:
1) I made it so Sydney can remember where shes been for the past 2 years, cos it just made it more believable to people reading who dont know about Alias (I know! How dare they!)
2) She has been on a long term undercover assignment, although i barely mention it so just yeah.. forget i said anything.
3) I kinda made Vaughn out to be the bad guy. Dont get me wrong, i LURVE me some Vaughn, but it just made sense for the story.
4) Its exactly what its called: Short. It doesnt have a lot of plot, its more a character piece.
5) Why dont i just shut the HELL UP and let you read already. Christ!
Im posting it for your comments, good or otherwise. Its year 12 English, so i want it to be as good as it can be. Also if you like it, i might start writing some fan fic. You never know
Here we go.
Ill add a disclaimer just in case: NOT MINE!! If they were, i sure as HELL wouldnt have had Syd go missing in the bloody first place!
I hear the drips louder now.
Before they were merely faint sounds registering in my brain, small nothings that required no attention. Now they are loud and intrusive, rattling through my eardrums, reminding me of the news I have just been given.
I touch my fingers to my forehead, willing the sudden headache to dissipate and for this nightmare to end. I glance around the room that is so foreign to me. There is graffiti on the paint-chipped doorframe. It spells out “hope” in a cursive tag. I chuckle. How ironic.
“Sydney?”
My mind snaps back to attention. I glance quickly into his eyes, and then look away. Salty pools begin to form behind the whites of my eyes; I blink quickly, and will them away. “Not here Sydney” I lecture myself. “Not now.”
I hear myself speak before my brain can register the words.
“And…you got married.” It wasn’t a question.
“I did.” he responds.
Well congratulations! The sarcastic comment springs to mind, and a wave of anger consumes my thoughts, though my face reveals no emotion. “Compartmentalise,” I tell myself. “Compartmentalise your emotions.”
Funny how my training with the Agency would come in so handy now. A method used to protect operatives from torture techniques now becomes the only weapon I have to protect myself from my emotions. I take a moment to appreciate the irony, and then move on.
Anger? Passion? Hysteria? No. None of these will do. So I choose humour.
“Hell of a way to wake up!”
His eyes look deep into mine, and I see a slight smile within them. A sad smile. Which is appropriate.
It wasn’t meant to be funny anyway. And he knows that. He knows a lot of things about me. I would say a little too much. He’d say just enough.
I leave the unknown bed I have been occupying, and begin to pace the room.
“This is going to take me a while to get used to.”
“I understand.”
I glance at the gun in his holster. Standard protocol. I remember back to my training days. “Have your weapon with you at all times.” A part of me wants to grab it, point it, and shoot a bullet right into his heart. Then he would know how I feel. But I could never do that to him. To another person, maybe. God knows I’ve done worse. But not to him.
So I walk out of the room. I figure it’s the most appropriate action I can take at this point. I can’t scream, can’t run, and can’t act out in violence. So I walk. I would like to think it is a dignified stroll, with my head held high.
In truth I feel I’m walking to my execution.
He calls me from the room I have just vacated. “We have to go Sydney. The CIA wants to ask you some questions.”
“When?” I ask, although I already know the answer.
“Now.”
I nod slightly, and continue walking.
On the plane back I say nothing to him, and he says nothing to me. A thousand conversations spring into my head, only to be disregarded.
“You’re quiet.”
My head jerks up at the unexpected noise penetrating the silence. He’s looking at me, anticipating an answer. Again, numerous responses come into my head and, again, they are ignored.
I wish to say something to convey how I feel, something that he will understand, but I can’t organise my thoughts and no recognisable sentences will form. So I dodge the question, and add my own:
“What would you like me to say Michael?”
He hears the acidic tones in my voice, and nods slightly, acknowledging my anger.
“You’re upset. I understand that. But you have to understand what happened…”
I angrily cut him off.
“Don’t tell me to understand! Don’t tell me how I should be feeling! I don’t know how I should feel, so how could you?”
He looks out the window, and for a moment doesn’t respond.
“I missed you.”
Tears form in my eyes again, and this time I do nothing to hide them away.
“Don’t you dare talk to me like that” I spit out. “Don’t think that kind words to me about your pain will do anything to soften mine.”
Rightfully ashamed, he looks away. Then, in barely a whisper, continues on.
“We thought you were dead. What was I supposed to do?”
I look deep into his eyes.
“I was in deep cover Michael. Things go wrong! People loose contact. You know that.”
I pause, and take a deep breath. The thoughts I hadn’t been able to arrange into a coherent sentence form, and tumble out of my mouth.
“You want to know how I’m feeling right now? I am horrible Michael. I am ripped apart. And not because I lost you, but because if it had been me? I would have waited for you. I would have.”
I look away, the truth of what I am about to say hitting me hard.
“And now I realise what a waste that would have been.”
He nods, and looks away. I do the same, and the trip home remains in uncomfortable silence.
I am alone with my thoughts.
Michael’s words echo in my ears. Now I have room and time to think, our conversation keeps repeating itself, over and over. I find myself looking for a flaw in the narrative, some sign that the past couple of hours have just been a dream. My mind recreates the scene.
I can see myself racing into his arms as he opened the door. His embrace seemed slightly tense, and at the time I thought it was just the relief at seeing me.
Now I know better.
“You…sit down.”
“Michael? What is it? You’re beginning to scare me you know.”
I remember seeing his left hand come up and touch his hair. And the gold band that dwelled there.
“Michael…why are you wearing that ring?”
“Syd, I don’t know how to say this…”
“What!”
“You’ve been gone for almost two years…”
I remember my stunned silence, and how his eyes searched mine for some sort of response. I had none. Nothing I had done or seen could prepare me for this.
“Sydney?”
“And…you got married”
A sudden realization brings me back from my thoughts.
My life would never be the same. This has changed everything.
And he was gone.
Well, what do you think?? If you comment i will love you forever. And ever.
Any questions about anything i did? Why i changed some of the quotes? Ask away!
Although the answer will proably be "Cos my teacher didnt get it when i handed in a draft so i had to change it."
Let me explain.
I have to write a narrative (or short story, for all you people like me who didnt know what a narrative was
) for English. I came up with this. It is a variation of "The Telling." It doesnt exactly follow the plot of the eppie cos i had to make it explainable to my teacher. Its a short piece about how Sydney's feeling.Somethings you should know:
1) I made it so Sydney can remember where shes been for the past 2 years, cos it just made it more believable to people reading who dont know about Alias (I know! How dare they!)
2) She has been on a long term undercover assignment, although i barely mention it so just yeah.. forget i said anything.
3) I kinda made Vaughn out to be the bad guy. Dont get me wrong, i LURVE me some Vaughn, but it just made sense for the story.
4) Its exactly what its called: Short. It doesnt have a lot of plot, its more a character piece.
5) Why dont i just shut the HELL UP and let you read already. Christ!
Im posting it for your comments, good or otherwise. Its year 12 English, so i want it to be as good as it can be. Also if you like it, i might start writing some fan fic. You never know
Here we go.
Ill add a disclaimer just in case: NOT MINE!! If they were, i sure as HELL wouldnt have had Syd go missing in the bloody first place!
I hear the drips louder now.
Before they were merely faint sounds registering in my brain, small nothings that required no attention. Now they are loud and intrusive, rattling through my eardrums, reminding me of the news I have just been given.
I touch my fingers to my forehead, willing the sudden headache to dissipate and for this nightmare to end. I glance around the room that is so foreign to me. There is graffiti on the paint-chipped doorframe. It spells out “hope” in a cursive tag. I chuckle. How ironic.
“Sydney?”
My mind snaps back to attention. I glance quickly into his eyes, and then look away. Salty pools begin to form behind the whites of my eyes; I blink quickly, and will them away. “Not here Sydney” I lecture myself. “Not now.”
I hear myself speak before my brain can register the words.
“And…you got married.” It wasn’t a question.
“I did.” he responds.
Well congratulations! The sarcastic comment springs to mind, and a wave of anger consumes my thoughts, though my face reveals no emotion. “Compartmentalise,” I tell myself. “Compartmentalise your emotions.”
Funny how my training with the Agency would come in so handy now. A method used to protect operatives from torture techniques now becomes the only weapon I have to protect myself from my emotions. I take a moment to appreciate the irony, and then move on.
Anger? Passion? Hysteria? No. None of these will do. So I choose humour.
“Hell of a way to wake up!”
His eyes look deep into mine, and I see a slight smile within them. A sad smile. Which is appropriate.
It wasn’t meant to be funny anyway. And he knows that. He knows a lot of things about me. I would say a little too much. He’d say just enough.
I leave the unknown bed I have been occupying, and begin to pace the room.
“This is going to take me a while to get used to.”
“I understand.”
I glance at the gun in his holster. Standard protocol. I remember back to my training days. “Have your weapon with you at all times.” A part of me wants to grab it, point it, and shoot a bullet right into his heart. Then he would know how I feel. But I could never do that to him. To another person, maybe. God knows I’ve done worse. But not to him.
So I walk out of the room. I figure it’s the most appropriate action I can take at this point. I can’t scream, can’t run, and can’t act out in violence. So I walk. I would like to think it is a dignified stroll, with my head held high.
In truth I feel I’m walking to my execution.
He calls me from the room I have just vacated. “We have to go Sydney. The CIA wants to ask you some questions.”
“When?” I ask, although I already know the answer.
“Now.”
I nod slightly, and continue walking.
On the plane back I say nothing to him, and he says nothing to me. A thousand conversations spring into my head, only to be disregarded.
“You’re quiet.”
My head jerks up at the unexpected noise penetrating the silence. He’s looking at me, anticipating an answer. Again, numerous responses come into my head and, again, they are ignored.
I wish to say something to convey how I feel, something that he will understand, but I can’t organise my thoughts and no recognisable sentences will form. So I dodge the question, and add my own:
“What would you like me to say Michael?”
He hears the acidic tones in my voice, and nods slightly, acknowledging my anger.
“You’re upset. I understand that. But you have to understand what happened…”
I angrily cut him off.
“Don’t tell me to understand! Don’t tell me how I should be feeling! I don’t know how I should feel, so how could you?”
He looks out the window, and for a moment doesn’t respond.
“I missed you.”
Tears form in my eyes again, and this time I do nothing to hide them away.
“Don’t you dare talk to me like that” I spit out. “Don’t think that kind words to me about your pain will do anything to soften mine.”
Rightfully ashamed, he looks away. Then, in barely a whisper, continues on.
“We thought you were dead. What was I supposed to do?”
I look deep into his eyes.
“I was in deep cover Michael. Things go wrong! People loose contact. You know that.”
I pause, and take a deep breath. The thoughts I hadn’t been able to arrange into a coherent sentence form, and tumble out of my mouth.
“You want to know how I’m feeling right now? I am horrible Michael. I am ripped apart. And not because I lost you, but because if it had been me? I would have waited for you. I would have.”
I look away, the truth of what I am about to say hitting me hard.
“And now I realise what a waste that would have been.”
He nods, and looks away. I do the same, and the trip home remains in uncomfortable silence.
I am alone with my thoughts.
Michael’s words echo in my ears. Now I have room and time to think, our conversation keeps repeating itself, over and over. I find myself looking for a flaw in the narrative, some sign that the past couple of hours have just been a dream. My mind recreates the scene.
I can see myself racing into his arms as he opened the door. His embrace seemed slightly tense, and at the time I thought it was just the relief at seeing me.
Now I know better.
“You…sit down.”
“Michael? What is it? You’re beginning to scare me you know.”
I remember seeing his left hand come up and touch his hair. And the gold band that dwelled there.
“Michael…why are you wearing that ring?”
“Syd, I don’t know how to say this…”
“What!”
“You’ve been gone for almost two years…”
I remember my stunned silence, and how his eyes searched mine for some sort of response. I had none. Nothing I had done or seen could prepare me for this.
“Sydney?”
“And…you got married”
A sudden realization brings me back from my thoughts.
My life would never be the same. This has changed everything.
And he was gone.
Well, what do you think?? If you comment i will love you forever. And ever.
Any questions about anything i did? Why i changed some of the quotes? Ask away!
Although the answer will proably be "Cos my teacher didnt get it when i handed in a draft so i had to change it."
) to understand what u talking about!