Fallen
Category: Liz POV.
Disclaimer: I don't own Roswell, or it's characters, obviously.
Rating: PG
Summary: Takes place after 'Behind The Music'. Just my take on what was going through Liz's head when she mused to Maria over the loss of her dreams. Sort of angsty.
~
I'm Liz Parker and right now I'm on my hands and knees. The floor is crisp and stark, with white tiles outlined by miniature green aliens that my parents had insisted on when we first bought the Crashdown. Much to my protests, of course, as I hated the design upon sight. But then again, I was only six years old, what did I know about such things?
My hand clings to a soapy dish cloth that I am now wiping back and forth, back and forth, almost listlessly across the floor. I must have done this thousands of times throughout my life, so I'm basically on automatic. Just switch your mind off, and let your body take control as you go through the paces.
Empty thoughts fill my mind as I clean, and I am suddenly aware of how dark it is. Being as it is after closing hours, the place is obviously deserted, but more so than usual. Most nights Michael stays after work to help clean up, and we exchange our sarcastic barbs and whatnot and things are just...different. Different than they are now, I mean. Right now he's in the middle of some drama with Maria; something in which they'll work through in no time, I bet. They always do.
I know I probably sound insensitive to my friend's situation, but I'm not.
I'm just empty. I feel as if the vile containing Liz Parker's personality has been slowly drained away to nothing, and all I'm left with are the cheap refills. If I were to look myself straight in the mirror right now, I would realize that I'm just a shadow of my former self. No, that isn't correct; I'm not even a shadow. I'm a different person entirely. The Liz Parker of yesterday was still somebody.
For so long my identity was melded into my dreams. If you had asked me where I was going to be in ten years, I could tell you exactly. I was going to be a biologist, and that was all there was to it. My name might as well have been 'Science' because until a certain alien brought me back to life, I was consumed by it.
It was the light at the end of the tunnel for me, in a way. Finally a way to escape from Roswell and the mundane life I was destined to lead.
I was supposed to be somebody, damn it. And by somebody I mean the kind of person you walk up to on the street, and you make small talk with them, and you just *know* that they're happy and successful with their lives. It's just a vibe I get; I haven't been able to pinpoint it exactly, I just know.
Now look at me. My grades are slipping and the chances of getting into a decent school are faltering. My life is now consumed with thoughts of alien babies that aren't mine, leaders from distant planets that are waging wars with my friends, and how to keep my life from falling to pieces.
Maybe it's too late. Maybe I've already fallen. Because here I am, alone in a dark room, my fingers practically blistering from scrubbing the floor. And the only thing I can hear is the drip, drip, drip from the leaky faucet and I just want to smash something.
Because I'm the one place I told myself I'd never be. In this bleak waitress uniform, in the Crashdown Cafe, alone. Hopelessly alone.
I glance at the clock to my right. It reads 12:55. A small smirk forms on my lips; nobody has come looking for me, I should have figured as much.
Yes, I really have fallen.
Drip, drip, drip.
Category: Liz POV.
Disclaimer: I don't own Roswell, or it's characters, obviously.
Rating: PG
Summary: Takes place after 'Behind The Music'. Just my take on what was going through Liz's head when she mused to Maria over the loss of her dreams. Sort of angsty.
~
I'm Liz Parker and right now I'm on my hands and knees. The floor is crisp and stark, with white tiles outlined by miniature green aliens that my parents had insisted on when we first bought the Crashdown. Much to my protests, of course, as I hated the design upon sight. But then again, I was only six years old, what did I know about such things?
My hand clings to a soapy dish cloth that I am now wiping back and forth, back and forth, almost listlessly across the floor. I must have done this thousands of times throughout my life, so I'm basically on automatic. Just switch your mind off, and let your body take control as you go through the paces.
Empty thoughts fill my mind as I clean, and I am suddenly aware of how dark it is. Being as it is after closing hours, the place is obviously deserted, but more so than usual. Most nights Michael stays after work to help clean up, and we exchange our sarcastic barbs and whatnot and things are just...different. Different than they are now, I mean. Right now he's in the middle of some drama with Maria; something in which they'll work through in no time, I bet. They always do.
I know I probably sound insensitive to my friend's situation, but I'm not.
I'm just empty. I feel as if the vile containing Liz Parker's personality has been slowly drained away to nothing, and all I'm left with are the cheap refills. If I were to look myself straight in the mirror right now, I would realize that I'm just a shadow of my former self. No, that isn't correct; I'm not even a shadow. I'm a different person entirely. The Liz Parker of yesterday was still somebody.
For so long my identity was melded into my dreams. If you had asked me where I was going to be in ten years, I could tell you exactly. I was going to be a biologist, and that was all there was to it. My name might as well have been 'Science' because until a certain alien brought me back to life, I was consumed by it.
It was the light at the end of the tunnel for me, in a way. Finally a way to escape from Roswell and the mundane life I was destined to lead.
I was supposed to be somebody, damn it. And by somebody I mean the kind of person you walk up to on the street, and you make small talk with them, and you just *know* that they're happy and successful with their lives. It's just a vibe I get; I haven't been able to pinpoint it exactly, I just know.
Now look at me. My grades are slipping and the chances of getting into a decent school are faltering. My life is now consumed with thoughts of alien babies that aren't mine, leaders from distant planets that are waging wars with my friends, and how to keep my life from falling to pieces.
Maybe it's too late. Maybe I've already fallen. Because here I am, alone in a dark room, my fingers practically blistering from scrubbing the floor. And the only thing I can hear is the drip, drip, drip from the leaky faucet and I just want to smash something.
Because I'm the one place I told myself I'd never be. In this bleak waitress uniform, in the Crashdown Cafe, alone. Hopelessly alone.
I glance at the clock to my right. It reads 12:55. A small smirk forms on my lips; nobody has come looking for me, I should have figured as much.
Yes, I really have fallen.
Drip, drip, drip.