This is the first installment of my very first fan fiction story--so
please--be kind.
Elizabeth Rogers woke with a pain in her chest. This was followed by
the awareness that a million tiny jackhammers were drilling away at
her brain. "Oh, God," she thought, "I'm having a heart attack, or a
stroke, or both." She slowly opened her eyes to see...a large white
Persian cat laying on her chest. The cat blinked, golden eyes the
soul of self posession, then rose, stretched, and jumped off the bed.
Rogers breathed a little easier. Now if only the hammering would
stop. She slowly turned her head to the right. On an ocassional
table near the bed was an empty bottle of scotch and two
glasses. "Well, that explains the headache. But where the hell am
I?"
She looked around the pristine bedroom: white walls, white shag
carpet thick enough to sink in ankle deep, white lamps, white
dresser. Even the comforter was virgin snow. Virgin snow...virgin
snow...oh, shit. Oh, shit, oh, shit!
With the greatest feeling of trepidation she could recall in her
entire life she turned to look at the other side of the bed.Blonde
hair spilled across an eggshell pillowcase. Steady, even breathing
marked the rise and fall of the sheet. One graceful hand hung limply
from the matress edge.
OH, SHIT!
Rogers sat up abruptly, pulling a muscle in her back. Ignoring the
pain, she leaped from the bed to land squarely on the tail of the
Persian, who began to wail piteously. The form under the covers moved.
"Fluffles...what..."?
The ADA looked at the M.E. The M.E. looked at the ADA. Fluffles
looked at his tail and yowled.
"Elizabeth."
"Serena."
"Ah...good morning." Pause. "Sleep well?"
"I must have. I don't remember a damn thing."
Relief spread over the face of the ADA. "Let me put on some coffee."
please--be kind.
Elizabeth Rogers woke with a pain in her chest. This was followed by
the awareness that a million tiny jackhammers were drilling away at
her brain. "Oh, God," she thought, "I'm having a heart attack, or a
stroke, or both." She slowly opened her eyes to see...a large white
Persian cat laying on her chest. The cat blinked, golden eyes the
soul of self posession, then rose, stretched, and jumped off the bed.
Rogers breathed a little easier. Now if only the hammering would
stop. She slowly turned her head to the right. On an ocassional
table near the bed was an empty bottle of scotch and two
glasses. "Well, that explains the headache. But where the hell am
I?"
She looked around the pristine bedroom: white walls, white shag
carpet thick enough to sink in ankle deep, white lamps, white
dresser. Even the comforter was virgin snow. Virgin snow...virgin
snow...oh, shit. Oh, shit, oh, shit!
With the greatest feeling of trepidation she could recall in her
entire life she turned to look at the other side of the bed.Blonde
hair spilled across an eggshell pillowcase. Steady, even breathing
marked the rise and fall of the sheet. One graceful hand hung limply
from the matress edge.
OH, SHIT!
Rogers sat up abruptly, pulling a muscle in her back. Ignoring the
pain, she leaped from the bed to land squarely on the tail of the
Persian, who began to wail piteously. The form under the covers moved.
"Fluffles...what..."?
The ADA looked at the M.E. The M.E. looked at the ADA. Fluffles
looked at his tail and yowled.
"Elizabeth."
"Serena."
"Ah...good morning." Pause. "Sleep well?"
"I must have. I don't remember a damn thing."
Relief spread over the face of the ADA. "Let me put on some coffee."