Alias: Eme
Cadet
People my first fan fic, so be kind. Basically I don't own any of the Alias charaters or anything in relation to Alias. So don't sue me. Anything in this STORY which is real e.g characters etc I did not mean 4 it 2 happen so sorry. Also I'm in the UK so haven't seen the Telling but read the transcript, so if anything is wrong please tell me.
Love is a Fickle Thing
She seemed to be ordinary. She seemed to be just like any of the other women in this place but she wasn’t. She had a secret. She had lied. She had lost nearly everything important in her life, nearly everything which made her, her. Yet you wouldn’t know it by looking at her. She seemed to be like the other women in this place.
She was sitting on a tattered old bar stool, in a crummy dive somewhere in the South of America. Really she did not care where she was expect for him. She was here for him. She put with the sea of cheap cigarette smoke surrounding her, the sticky bar, the drunk men drooling over any women that could walk including her and her feeling of disgust within herself for coming here, all for him. So, she sat here and waited in her disguise. It appeared all she had done recently was waited. She was fed up with waiting, she wanted to act. Her eyes searched the place, looking out for them. Although to any one in the bar it looked like she was looking for someone to be her next one night stand. Yet she would rather drop down dead than let any one of these men touch her.
Just as she was finishing her bottle of beer, she heard the door open with a long squeak. Trying not to draw attention to herself she casually let her eyes look at the now open doorway.
Love is a Fickle Thing
She seemed to be ordinary. She seemed to be just like any of the other women in this place but she wasn’t. She had a secret. She had lied. She had lost nearly everything important in her life, nearly everything which made her, her. Yet you wouldn’t know it by looking at her. She seemed to be like the other women in this place.
She was sitting on a tattered old bar stool, in a crummy dive somewhere in the South of America. Really she did not care where she was expect for him. She was here for him. She put with the sea of cheap cigarette smoke surrounding her, the sticky bar, the drunk men drooling over any women that could walk including her and her feeling of disgust within herself for coming here, all for him. So, she sat here and waited in her disguise. It appeared all she had done recently was waited. She was fed up with waiting, she wanted to act. Her eyes searched the place, looking out for them. Although to any one in the bar it looked like she was looking for someone to be her next one night stand. Yet she would rather drop down dead than let any one of these men touch her.
Just as she was finishing her bottle of beer, she heard the door open with a long squeak. Trying not to draw attention to herself she casually let her eyes look at the now open doorway.