This is what would happen if a girl from the past was sent to the future and met up with Peter and goes through first season to whenever I end it. This idea came to me and I am very excited about it, mostly because it gives me an excuse to watch first season over again. The first part is a little slow, but it gets better.
Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes… Yet! (Lets out evil laugh and then runs away)
Chapter One: Little Runaway
We were eating dinner when my brother Jack interrupted something he was telling to stare at me with his sharp blue eyes.
"Mom, does she have to make so much noise when she eats?"
Now my sister Stacey looked at me, too, with that expression that began as a smile and ended as a grimace.
"It isn't that much noise," She said. "It's the way she chews with her mouth open." Stacey shuddered delicately and turned away.
My mother, serving herself last with the smallest pork chop, did not even look up.
"Try to be more ladylike, Beth," My mother said quietly.
I, the youngest child, should have been used to such remarks as these from Jack and Stacey and my mother-I heard them everyday-but I never get used to them.
Years ago, when Stacey was in third grade, before I had even started school, I used to think that, when you were in third grade, you were almost grown up, and now here I was, nearly ready for eight (if I was lucky-If God was good), and still they all treated me like a baby, a stupid baby.
The humiliated tears scalded my eyes, and I could not swallow past the lump in my throat. I reached jerkily for my glass of milk; it tipped over, and the milk ran across the table and dripped slowly on the floor.
"Beth, go get the mop," My mother said tiredly, as if bored.
"Pig!" Exclaimed Stacey.
The mop was too dry to do an effective job. I spent several minutes pushing the milk over the floor. The floor had the ugliest pattern in the world covering it-white and orange flowers like unwholesome cauliflowers with blue leaves, set in dingy brown squares. There was no use, my mother had told my Aunt Jessie just the other day, getting a decent rug for the dining room until I was older and less clumsy.
"I hate you, you damn old stinking floor," I muttered, no one paid attention now. Jack had gone on with his narrative: my mother and father and Stacey listening to him as if he was telling the meaning of life.
After I put back the mop, I did not return to my place as the table. Instead I slowly walked through the dining room, past the heaped bowl of intoxicatingly perfumed strawberries on the sideboard, and out the door.
"Beth Johnson," My father called, "Strawberries!" It was a passion we shared. Some people liked strawberries-my father and I were crazy about them.
"I don't want any any," I said.
"Oh, come now," He said. I can see him just as he looked there at the table in his putting a coaxing smile on over the worry wrinkles. My father was a rather small man, with skinny arms and legs and the beginning of a little paunch. He covered his bald spot by putting his thinning black hair over it. He was once, my mother told me several times, a very handsome man.
"Oh come now," He repeated. "Strawberries!"
As I stood in the doorway, staring at them all through my tears, I saw my mother's chin was trembling ever so slightly, as it did when she was distressed. But she said nothing: not one of them spoke another word to me. And I turned and went through the hall and the stairs-slowly, for it seemed impossible that they could all just sit there and inflict this cruelty on myself. But they did-even my father.
In my room-mine and Stacey's truly-I shut the door and stood with my back against it for a long time, staring at me sister's neatly made bed with the prissy pink ruffle, just so, and her childhood doll, Claire d'Lune, sitting against the ruffles, smiling arrogantly. There was something about Claire d'Lune that infuriated me, with her pink enameled cheeks, her stiff curls, untouched by anything but distant admiration. She was like a fake bon-bon.
I threw myself on my lumpy bed, felt around for the lump that was my ancient Teddy Bear, and held him close to me. I had almost lost him not long ago.
"Mother," Stacey had wailed. "Does she have to have that mangy horrible thing in my room all the time? I'm ashamed to have me friends up here."
I had scoffed and muttered, "What friends?" No one heard me.
My mother had promised me a lovely doll like Claire d'Lune if I would give the Teddy to some poor child (a euphemism for burning him up). I had cried, screamed, threatened to run away. And so I still had him, for at least a little while anyway.
I was going to take him with me when I went to the Bundleys', and I was going now, this evening.
I got up and, from under the bed, pulled out the old straw suitcase I had rescued from the trash heap when Mother did her spring-cleaning. She didn't know, yet, that I kept it under the bed, with some of my father's old Oz books in it, and some smooth round rocks, and a piece of faded velvet ribbon and a bunch of shabby flowers ripped from a hat, and an ancient pincushion leaking sawdust, and a glass doorknob. I am always in awe of how much junk I can fit underneath it.
I debated about taking the Oz books (some of the pages were missing). Finally, I put them way back under the bed. They had plenty of books at the Bundleys'.
Having no children of their own, the Bundleys' did not know I was too old to be read aloud to anymore, especially from a book of fairy tales, and when I stayed with them, Mr. Bundley read to me every night.
The packing went quickly now. My Teddy bear; my beloved, outgrown rabbit slippers; my pink pillow that Grandma had given me for Christmas-all found a place in my suitcase.
I picked up the small hand mirror and looked in it, troubled, as I was sometimes troubled these days. I saw myself in it-thin face, black hair cut in a straight bang, teeth that were overly large. I envied Stacey for her looks.
Replacing the mirror, I went to the closet and hesitated before the row of neatly ironed dresses. They were hand-me-downs from Stacey. They mostly had thick-turned up hems and awkward tucks here and there, and I hated the lot of them. Anyway, I wouldn't need them at the Bundleys'. My overalls were enough until I reached my destination.
For a moment, I dreamed of the dresses Mrs. Bundley's had made for me, picturing them hanging in my small closet in the room they had set aside just for me.
There was the crisp watermelon-colored dress; you could actually smell and taste the freshly spit watermelon when you looked at it.
"Look Tom," Mrs. Bundley had said. "Doesn't she look like a little fairy?" And they had both admired me, thin little Mr. Bundley and stout Mrs. Bundley. Later, hanging the dress away in tissue paper, Mrs. Bundley had said in her rich enchanting voice, which is sometimes the gift of stout woman, "It's alright to wear hand-me-downs sometimes, but every little girl should have her own new little dresses too."
I could see the other dresses hanging beside the watermelon dress. One was brown and white with a big collar; with red and black polka dots like a ladybug's wings; and an embroidered "Beth" at the bottom.
Something about the brown and white dress troubled me. There had been a little girl named Irene in first grade who wore a dress like than wit her name embroidered in it. And there had been a square, tow-headed little boy named Jimmy who was the Farmer-in-the-Dell, and when he came to choose a wife, I had prayed, the prayer bursting in my chest, "Choose me." But he had not even looked at me. He had chosen the child named Irene.
Quickly I close the suitcase, snapped the locks shut, and began to pull it after me, out the door, down the back hall, down the stairs, across the back lawn.
The hole in the hedge of the garden where I usually went through was too small for the suitcase; I could hardly get it under. I was still tugging and pushing-twilight was coming now, and it was quite dark under the hedge-when my father called.
"Beth Johnson, where are you going?" I looked up and saw him hurrying across the lawn.
I have a violent push, got the suitcase under and began to wriggle myself under.
"You don't care!" I cried. "Nobody does!" I had stretched myself under the hedge and wriggled until I was on the other side.
I picked up my suitcase and ran down the street. I heard my father cursing and I saw him running after me. He was faster than me and I knew that I was not going to win.
Suddenly, I heard nothing. The birds stopped singing their songs, the wind ceased blowing on the trees, there was no sound heard. I turned around and saw my father frozen. His mouth was open wide and one of his eyes was shut. The sight would have been comical if I wasn't afraid out of my wits.
Cautiously, I approached him. I poked him, he felt warm, but he was not breathing.
"Daddy?" I squeaked.
"He can't hear you." I heard from behind me and quickly turned around. There was a man there dressed in strange clothes. I recognized that he was oriental, though I had only seen one before this.
"What-what do you mean?"
The man smiled and bowed slightly. "I stopped time."
I laughed. It sounded like something Jack would tell me when I was young enough to believe it. His face turned stern when he saw me though.
"You are lying to me!" I exclaimed and I felt my heart beating against my chest.
The man shook his head. "My name is Hiro Nakamura I am from the future. My ability is to stop time."
"Stop time? You're from the future?" I snorted. Being able to stop time was only something you read in comics, nothing more.
"I need you to help save the world, Elizabeth Ann Johnson," Hiro told me.
"Save the world?" My voice was as high pitched as they come. "I can't, I can't save the world! How in God's name am I supposed to save the world?" Panicked tears were now falling down my cheeks.
Hiro approached me and took my shoulders and looked straight in my eyes. "You need to, Beth, or everyone you know will die," He sighed and looked at his watch. "I am going to give you to this man, his name is Peter in the future. He doesn't know about you, or me for that matter, yet. You must convince him to let you stay with him."
I continued to cry. "I don't want to leave. Please, just leave me alone!"
He seemed unfazed by my sobbing. "If you don't come with me, your parents will die."
"No," I whispered.
"Your brother and sister."
"No."
"Everybody on Earth will die if you do not come with me."
"No!" I yelled, and took a deep breath. "I will come with me. But how will I go in the future?"
"I am going to take you there," He shut his eyes and scrunched up his face.
Suddenly, I found myself in the middle of a busy street. There were large signs displaying advertisements of restaurants and stores.
Hiro bent down to me, noticing my amazed expression.
"Welcome to New York City, Beth. The year is 2006."
So how was it? This idea came to me and it just took me over. I don't like this chapter too much, but it will be getting better. Everyone who reviews get a virtual cupcake!
Life is your oyster; too bad you are allergic to shellfish,
crockergirl