Snapshot
By Samantha
Prologue
~*~
Author's Note: Hey guys. I know that I haven't finished the two fics that are already up, but I had a weird, yet freakishly vivid dream that I had to adapt to a story. So, I hope you enjoy. I'm also working on my other stories, seeing as how my projects are finished!! (hallelujah, praise the Lord!!) So, on with the show!
~*~
Jarod looked over the sheet of paper again before rubbing his weary eyes. His latest pretend as a high school British Lit teacher was wearing on him. He reclined in his chair and stretched. This pretend was supposed to be a fairly easy one. The teacher he'd replaced had recently "committed suicide." But Jarod wasn't buying it. So far, his evidence showed that the teacher had been sexually harassed by the vice principal multiple times, yet she never went to the authorities with it.
Jarod stood up and headed to bed. He was going to have a long day ahead of him.
~*~
Marisa Walker poured some creamer into her coffee as she eyed the new substitute. Jarod Keats, he called himself. She opened a folder, pretending to peruse some homework that needed to be graded. What she was really doing was looking at a picture of the man across the lounge. She turned the page and looked at another picture. Clippings from various papers across the U.S. were stuffed inside the folder, like her own little red notebook. Jarod was a man of many names.
Marisa had first taken notice of Jarod when he had stayed in her hometown six years back. He helped out her mother when she was being oppressed by her scummy landlord. Marisa had been 16 then, and hopelessly in love with the tall, dark, and handsome stranger. Now, she was 22 and had a stronger head on her shoulders.
She'd picked back up on his trail when he arrived at her college campus a year before to investigate a series of rapes. She had, in fact been a victim of one of the rapes. By the time she realized who he was, it was too late. But, with the Internet, she followed the newspaper articles of that mysterious man named Jarod. When she graduated, she started her own investigating. She swiftly caught up with him.
Before she was raped, she was Alison Douglas. But the rape was like a rebirth for her. So, a new person, a new identity, was her thinking. She became Marisa Walker. When she had traced Jarod to Lincoln High School, she quickly forged all the necessary paper work and became a teacher at that school as well. She would talk to him before his job was done, and he vanished into thin air. She had to at least tell him of her gratitude. Then her task would be finished.
She watched as Jarod "Keats" walked out of the teacher's lounge. With a swift glance to her watch, she realized that she needed to get to class herself.
~*~
"Who can tell me about Ozymandius?" Jarod asked while leaning against his desk. He looked around the classroom as he received blank stares. He bit back a chuckle and turned to the dry erase board behind him. He picked up a marker and wrote Ozymandius. Underneath it, he wrote Percy Bysshe Shelley.
"Ozymandius," he began, "was written by this man," he said while tapping Shelley's name with his red marker. "The true meaning of this poem is the futility of man. We all die, at one point or another, and soon after that our works will be forgotten. Think about the inscription on the statue that says, 'I am Ozymandius, King of Kings, look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!' What are the next words after that statement? 'Nothing beside remains. Round the decay of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare, the lone and level sands stretch far and away.' The statue that declared the might of the King of Kings is now ruin. If someone that powerful can be forgotten, what about poor old us. So, don't boast about your abilities, because you will be gone someday, and then forgotten." He paused for a moment, scanning the room. His students looked slightly more captivated than normal. Then he put the marker down and said, "Have a great weekend. Class dismissed."
As he busied himself packing away his books and his computer, his students quietly left the room. One girl approached him, hugging a black binder to her chest. She waited until he looked at her before tucking her hair behind her ear and saying, "Mr. Keats, that was amazing. I had no idea poetry written that long ago could still mean so much today. It really opened my eyes. Those stuffy old poets really had a handle on mankind, didn't they?" Jarod chuckled as he put a book in his satchel.
"Very true, Lydia. Well, I'm glad that I could make the poem live for you all today," he rumbled. Lydia started to say something else, but Jarod's attention was captured by the woman walking by his door. She was a teacher, that was obvious. As she passed the portal, she turned her head and caught his eye. A sudden wave of déjà vu passed over him, and time seemed to move in slow motion. He followed her until she was out of sight, and the moment was broken.
"Mr. Keats?" Lydia asked, bouncing up and down slightly. Jarod rubbed the bridge of his nose.
"I'm sorry, Lydia. I had an attention drift, is all."
The two finished their conversation, and Lydia left the room. Jarod picked up his bag and his black leather jacket and went to his car. But the woman was still in his mind. Where had he seen her from? Did he know her? Did she know him?
He sat in his car for a few minutes, just gripping the steering wheel while trying to get his thought processes in order. He then shook his head and started the car. He would look in the directory when he got to his apartment. He drove off with the mystery woman dominating his thoughts.
~*~
Marisa sat in her classroom, trembling. She had taken a brave move by walking past his classroom, and then looking him directly in the eyes. She could have sworn that she saw a faint flicker of recognition in those dark brown eyes.
Calming herself down, she stood and gathered her things. She needed to go home. Her cat was waiting on her.
Prologue
~*~
Author's Note: Hey guys. I know that I haven't finished the two fics that are already up, but I had a weird, yet freakishly vivid dream that I had to adapt to a story. So, I hope you enjoy. I'm also working on my other stories, seeing as how my projects are finished!! (hallelujah, praise the Lord!!) So, on with the show!
~*~
Jarod looked over the sheet of paper again before rubbing his weary eyes. His latest pretend as a high school British Lit teacher was wearing on him. He reclined in his chair and stretched. This pretend was supposed to be a fairly easy one. The teacher he'd replaced had recently "committed suicide." But Jarod wasn't buying it. So far, his evidence showed that the teacher had been sexually harassed by the vice principal multiple times, yet she never went to the authorities with it.
Jarod stood up and headed to bed. He was going to have a long day ahead of him.
~*~
Marisa Walker poured some creamer into her coffee as she eyed the new substitute. Jarod Keats, he called himself. She opened a folder, pretending to peruse some homework that needed to be graded. What she was really doing was looking at a picture of the man across the lounge. She turned the page and looked at another picture. Clippings from various papers across the U.S. were stuffed inside the folder, like her own little red notebook. Jarod was a man of many names.
Marisa had first taken notice of Jarod when he had stayed in her hometown six years back. He helped out her mother when she was being oppressed by her scummy landlord. Marisa had been 16 then, and hopelessly in love with the tall, dark, and handsome stranger. Now, she was 22 and had a stronger head on her shoulders.
She'd picked back up on his trail when he arrived at her college campus a year before to investigate a series of rapes. She had, in fact been a victim of one of the rapes. By the time she realized who he was, it was too late. But, with the Internet, she followed the newspaper articles of that mysterious man named Jarod. When she graduated, she started her own investigating. She swiftly caught up with him.
Before she was raped, she was Alison Douglas. But the rape was like a rebirth for her. So, a new person, a new identity, was her thinking. She became Marisa Walker. When she had traced Jarod to Lincoln High School, she quickly forged all the necessary paper work and became a teacher at that school as well. She would talk to him before his job was done, and he vanished into thin air. She had to at least tell him of her gratitude. Then her task would be finished.
She watched as Jarod "Keats" walked out of the teacher's lounge. With a swift glance to her watch, she realized that she needed to get to class herself.
~*~
"Who can tell me about Ozymandius?" Jarod asked while leaning against his desk. He looked around the classroom as he received blank stares. He bit back a chuckle and turned to the dry erase board behind him. He picked up a marker and wrote Ozymandius. Underneath it, he wrote Percy Bysshe Shelley.
"Ozymandius," he began, "was written by this man," he said while tapping Shelley's name with his red marker. "The true meaning of this poem is the futility of man. We all die, at one point or another, and soon after that our works will be forgotten. Think about the inscription on the statue that says, 'I am Ozymandius, King of Kings, look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!' What are the next words after that statement? 'Nothing beside remains. Round the decay of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare, the lone and level sands stretch far and away.' The statue that declared the might of the King of Kings is now ruin. If someone that powerful can be forgotten, what about poor old us. So, don't boast about your abilities, because you will be gone someday, and then forgotten." He paused for a moment, scanning the room. His students looked slightly more captivated than normal. Then he put the marker down and said, "Have a great weekend. Class dismissed."
As he busied himself packing away his books and his computer, his students quietly left the room. One girl approached him, hugging a black binder to her chest. She waited until he looked at her before tucking her hair behind her ear and saying, "Mr. Keats, that was amazing. I had no idea poetry written that long ago could still mean so much today. It really opened my eyes. Those stuffy old poets really had a handle on mankind, didn't they?" Jarod chuckled as he put a book in his satchel.
"Very true, Lydia. Well, I'm glad that I could make the poem live for you all today," he rumbled. Lydia started to say something else, but Jarod's attention was captured by the woman walking by his door. She was a teacher, that was obvious. As she passed the portal, she turned her head and caught his eye. A sudden wave of déjà vu passed over him, and time seemed to move in slow motion. He followed her until she was out of sight, and the moment was broken.
"Mr. Keats?" Lydia asked, bouncing up and down slightly. Jarod rubbed the bridge of his nose.
"I'm sorry, Lydia. I had an attention drift, is all."
The two finished their conversation, and Lydia left the room. Jarod picked up his bag and his black leather jacket and went to his car. But the woman was still in his mind. Where had he seen her from? Did he know her? Did she know him?
He sat in his car for a few minutes, just gripping the steering wheel while trying to get his thought processes in order. He then shook his head and started the car. He would look in the directory when he got to his apartment. He drove off with the mystery woman dominating his thoughts.
~*~
Marisa sat in her classroom, trembling. She had taken a brave move by walking past his classroom, and then looking him directly in the eyes. She could have sworn that she saw a faint flicker of recognition in those dark brown eyes.
Calming herself down, she stood and gathered her things. She needed to go home. Her cat was waiting on her.
