A/N:

This is my very first work in this fandom, and also my first on this website, so please be gentle! Each chapter is prefaced with a relevant lyric from a Smiths/Morrissey song. The title to this work/series is a reference to the book of the same name by Albert Camus. L'Étranger is called The Stranger by English-speaking readers (but you know, "you've got to admit, that's sexier").

The story has 14 chapters in total, and none of it is beta'd (I take great pride in my technical linguistic skills). After posting the first few chapters, I plan to update once or twice a week. Thank you so much for taking the time to read my work, and pretty pretty please leave reviews to let me know how I'm doing! Your input - both the critiques and the encouragement - is greatly appreciated.

"I've seen this happen in other people's lives, and now, it's happened in mine."

Prior to recent developments, I'd believed that there was no room for children's stories in the real world; no, there were greater things to focus on than the highly improbable. If you'd asked about how I saw my life, I might have said something along the lines of "nothing of significance ever happens in my life, because I am insignificant."

I am...

Honestly, I don't know who or what I am. Or, at least, I can't express such complexities in mere sentences: my thought processes, my beliefs, my perspective. To be as descriptive and illustrative as I can is as few words as possible (which is a rather difficult feat for me), I'll say this: I feel as if, in essence, I've been armed with the mind of a well-versed philosopher, the heart of a reckless idealist, the emotional fragility of an adolescent, the social skills of a recluse, and of course, the vocabulary of a pompous dick.

So please, bear with me.

As of late, I've found myself challenging concepts and ideas that I've held true for so long, all because of a man. In my twenty-eight years of existence, I've never fallen victim to false hope – to reliance on some higher power to make my life worth living. I've never been a hopeless romantic; I've never imagined myself in a love story or a happily-ever-after. Things like that don't happen outside of film and television and literature. In life, there is scarcely a purely happy ending. Because in the end, all one has is themselves – their memories, their scars, and their achievements – to keep them warm at night.

I realize that I am insignificant. I've never tried to convince myself otherwise; optimism and expectations are brilliant obstacles in the way of achievement. That is, of course, how I see it: what chance is there that one might choose drive their own future if they're stuck believing that the universe will handle it all for them?

Life is not what we see in B-rate romantic dramas, or what we read in melodramatic young adult novels. It seems that we all hold such high expectations in our never-ending search for meaning in our lives. This is most likely because of the stories we are constantly exposed to, concerning great people who do great things; and everyone wants to be great.

Never in my life would I have believed that one day, a man would be the catalyst that would be able to turn my entire world upside-down. Never would I have believed myself to be foolish enough to let another person hurt me, and never would I have believed that I would eventually fall in love – completely destructive, calamitous love.

A/N: The preliminary quote is from the song "That Joke Isn't Funny Anymore" by The Smiths.