Aliens, Aliens, Aliens! (AU, CC, Teen) Updated: 12/29/2005
Posted: Sun Dec 25, 2005 11:38 pm
Title: Aliens, Aliens, Aliens!
Author: Kalyku
Rating: Teen
Disclaimer : I don’t own the rights to Roswell.
Couples: CC, mostly a ‘friends’ fic
Summary: What if Liz was injured differently than on the television series, was saved by Max........and then she told EVERYONE about the aliens? Who would believe her? What would happen? Told from the POV of Liz, this is a series of her journal entries, taking us through what happens in crazy ol' Roswell.
Author's note: This is a fic made up of a series of Liz's journal entries. Each time I update I'll post 1-5 of her journal entries (depending on their length or how well they seem to fit together as a 'part' of the story).
Journal Entry #001
Aliens are taking over my life. No, not in the way you’d assume an alien takeover to occur. No one’s pointing a laser gun at me or demanding I take them to my leader. Nothing so Hollywoodesque for me, thank you very much.
It all started the day an alien killed me, and then that alien’s friend, who just so happens to also be an alien, brought me back to life.
Don’t believe me?
Fine.
For the biggest alien tourist-trap in the world, this city sure is full of skeptics.
Even my therapist doesn’t believe me.
That’s why I’m writing this. Because my therapist thinks I’m a psycho, delusional compulsive liar.
Ok, so she didn’t say that in so many words. But I can tell it’s what she thinks. If nothing else, I’m not stupid.
She asked me to write a journal so that I ‘have a place to be totally and completely honest’ and ‘come to terms’ with what she refers to as my ‘issues’.
And I have a hell of a lot of ‘issues’. I’ve already come to terms with them though. The only problem is that no one else can.
Absolutely no one believes me about the aliens. (Well, except for the aliens, of course.)
My therapist, Ms. Topolsky, said that even she won’t ask to see my journal, so I don’t have to be afraid to be ‘100% honest’. I suppose she thinks this will help me to eventually tell her the truth.
The problem is, I don’t need help being honest.
I just need someone to listen to me for once and to not laugh at me. What’s so hard to believe about an alien accidentally killing me, and then another alien reviving me?
Exactly.
It sounds perfectly reasonable and believable to me.
Journal Entry #002
It all started one day after school. I was working in The Crashdown, this cheesy tourist-aimed alien-themed burger joint my parents own. I was mopping up a spilled Cherry Coke and daydreaming about my favorite actor, Jason Behr.
He’s so dreamy.
Needless to say, my mind was a million miles away.
Thus, I did not hear the heated argument going on in booth #2. Two guys from school were sitting there, but I hadn’t been paying attention to them because they weren’t ordering food. Believe me, I have better things to do than wait on people who don’t want to be waited on. Like daydream about hot guys.
In any case, these two guys were apparently arguing.
All I really remember is suddenly feeling like I was...less of a person. I dropped my mop and my knees gave out. As I fell to the floor I looked down and saw that I really was less of a person.
I had a gaping hole in my stomach and blood was gushing out. As this sight sunk in, I heard one of the guys snap, “Look what you did, you jackass!” at the other guy.
By the time I was completely on the floor, the guy who had spoken was at my side. It was then that I realized he was Max Evans, someone in my AP Bio class. The other guy then could only be Michael Guerin, who seemed to go everywhere Max did.
Except AP Bio.
Well, except for school in general, to be honest. Michael’s not the studious type.
Anyway...there I am lying on the floor, bleeding to death.
And then I don’t remember a whole lot for a while. Because I was too busy being dead.
And no, I didn’t see a light or speak to St. Peter at the pearly gates of Heaven.
In fact, I didn’t do a whole lot other than lie there in a pool of my blood.
All I know is that when I woke up from my uh...death...I was no longer lying in blood, but instead I was lying in ketchup. My best friend Maria was bent over me, demanding to know if I was ok.
I managed only to mumble, “I...uh...” before I was hit with this weird vision thingy.
I know. I know. I have a way with words.
In this vision, which was actually more of a memory than anything else, I am lying on the floor of The Crashdown bleeding profusely from a giant hole in my stomach. Max is bent over me, his hands placed over the hole. He’s concentrating on me, while telling Michael he’s a big oaf who needs to learn to control his ‘powers’. At the time, I don’t know what this means. Max goes on telling Michael things I don’t understand. There was some mention of a ‘time-change’, I know that.
Sorry I can’t be more specific, but I want to write this down as it happened, and at the time everything was fuzzy and didn’t make sense.
All I knew for sure as Maria questioned me and I came out of my vision, was that I had died.
And then Max Evans had brought me back to life.
Author: Kalyku
Rating: Teen
Disclaimer : I don’t own the rights to Roswell.
Couples: CC, mostly a ‘friends’ fic
Summary: What if Liz was injured differently than on the television series, was saved by Max........and then she told EVERYONE about the aliens? Who would believe her? What would happen? Told from the POV of Liz, this is a series of her journal entries, taking us through what happens in crazy ol' Roswell.
Author's note: This is a fic made up of a series of Liz's journal entries. Each time I update I'll post 1-5 of her journal entries (depending on their length or how well they seem to fit together as a 'part' of the story).
Journal Entry #001
Aliens are taking over my life. No, not in the way you’d assume an alien takeover to occur. No one’s pointing a laser gun at me or demanding I take them to my leader. Nothing so Hollywoodesque for me, thank you very much.
It all started the day an alien killed me, and then that alien’s friend, who just so happens to also be an alien, brought me back to life.
Don’t believe me?
Fine.
For the biggest alien tourist-trap in the world, this city sure is full of skeptics.
Even my therapist doesn’t believe me.
That’s why I’m writing this. Because my therapist thinks I’m a psycho, delusional compulsive liar.
Ok, so she didn’t say that in so many words. But I can tell it’s what she thinks. If nothing else, I’m not stupid.
She asked me to write a journal so that I ‘have a place to be totally and completely honest’ and ‘come to terms’ with what she refers to as my ‘issues’.
And I have a hell of a lot of ‘issues’. I’ve already come to terms with them though. The only problem is that no one else can.
Absolutely no one believes me about the aliens. (Well, except for the aliens, of course.)
My therapist, Ms. Topolsky, said that even she won’t ask to see my journal, so I don’t have to be afraid to be ‘100% honest’. I suppose she thinks this will help me to eventually tell her the truth.
The problem is, I don’t need help being honest.
I just need someone to listen to me for once and to not laugh at me. What’s so hard to believe about an alien accidentally killing me, and then another alien reviving me?
Exactly.
It sounds perfectly reasonable and believable to me.
Journal Entry #002
It all started one day after school. I was working in The Crashdown, this cheesy tourist-aimed alien-themed burger joint my parents own. I was mopping up a spilled Cherry Coke and daydreaming about my favorite actor, Jason Behr.
He’s so dreamy.
Needless to say, my mind was a million miles away.
Thus, I did not hear the heated argument going on in booth #2. Two guys from school were sitting there, but I hadn’t been paying attention to them because they weren’t ordering food. Believe me, I have better things to do than wait on people who don’t want to be waited on. Like daydream about hot guys.
In any case, these two guys were apparently arguing.
All I really remember is suddenly feeling like I was...less of a person. I dropped my mop and my knees gave out. As I fell to the floor I looked down and saw that I really was less of a person.
I had a gaping hole in my stomach and blood was gushing out. As this sight sunk in, I heard one of the guys snap, “Look what you did, you jackass!” at the other guy.
By the time I was completely on the floor, the guy who had spoken was at my side. It was then that I realized he was Max Evans, someone in my AP Bio class. The other guy then could only be Michael Guerin, who seemed to go everywhere Max did.
Except AP Bio.
Well, except for school in general, to be honest. Michael’s not the studious type.
Anyway...there I am lying on the floor, bleeding to death.
And then I don’t remember a whole lot for a while. Because I was too busy being dead.
And no, I didn’t see a light or speak to St. Peter at the pearly gates of Heaven.
In fact, I didn’t do a whole lot other than lie there in a pool of my blood.
All I know is that when I woke up from my uh...death...I was no longer lying in blood, but instead I was lying in ketchup. My best friend Maria was bent over me, demanding to know if I was ok.
I managed only to mumble, “I...uh...” before I was hit with this weird vision thingy.
I know. I know. I have a way with words.
In this vision, which was actually more of a memory than anything else, I am lying on the floor of The Crashdown bleeding profusely from a giant hole in my stomach. Max is bent over me, his hands placed over the hole. He’s concentrating on me, while telling Michael he’s a big oaf who needs to learn to control his ‘powers’. At the time, I don’t know what this means. Max goes on telling Michael things I don’t understand. There was some mention of a ‘time-change’, I know that.
Sorry I can’t be more specific, but I want to write this down as it happened, and at the time everything was fuzzy and didn’t make sense.
All I knew for sure as Maria questioned me and I came out of my vision, was that I had died.
And then Max Evans had brought me back to life.
