Disclaimer: I do NOT own any of the character that you have heard of. Any
of the ones you have not heard of, BELONG to me.
Author's Note: Be nice, this is my first Alias fan-fiction. I love the show and I love reading the fan-fictions on Alias. I have never actually thought of making an alias fan-fiction, but I had an idea. So here it is.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Moving, always moving. The trees, the wind, and the lives. A new life, a new identity; both in a new world. Would I ever have a name that I could call my own?
My name this time was Sarah Breanne Stoker. This time my parents would be Christopher and Alicia Stoker. This time I had been at my grandparent's house for several years, and I finally got to come to live with my parents. This time I will be a single child, and now lives with my parents in Minnetonka, Minnesota.
My life was a screw-up; everyone told me otherwise. My life was a mistake; everyone hid the fact. My life wasn't meant to be created; everyone knew it.
Life; Define the word. The property or quality that distinguishes living organisms from dead organisms and inanimate matter, manifested in functions such as metabolism, growth, reproduction, and response to stimuli or adaptation to the environment originating from within the organism.
Living, from dead? Is there a difference? Am I living? I feel more like dead. Living and dying; it all seems the same to me.
Sarah. Sarah Stoker. I hate this name. I hate this life. I hate this world.
The air was tense and was filled with particles of dead cells. How do I know this? How do I know so much? I thought I was seven. I thought I was supposed to be stupid. I thought I was supposed to be a kid; full of happiness, and full of life.
I looked down the aisle of now landing plane. I was the only child aboard the small plane. There were twenty-three other men and women. Only four of those people were wearing casual clothes. All the others were wearing suits or dresses.
The flight attendant came to me and started to help me pack up. I knew I didn't need help. But since I was young everyone expected me to be helpless and weak. But I am NOT.
I let her help me though. I was told to play dumb. I was told to play a helpless. I was told to play someone else. I don't even remember ever being told those words. I just have always had them in my mind. Almost like it was implanted into my brain.
I was pulled up by the women and pushed to the plane entrance. I was lead out and guided down a hallway. And I was directed into some woman's arms.
The women hugged me and greeted me. She told me she missed me and that she loved me so very much. A man standing next to her did the same.
They took me to their home; I mean my home. It was nice; they were obviously wealthy. The woman, who hugged me at the airport, introduced herself as Alicia, but she told me to call her mom. The man was Christopher, but was to me dad.
They were not my parents. They were a young couple that still had a chance to live a normal life. They were kind and I shouldn't stay here. I would bring hate, disseat, and death.
It was like that every time. I would go to a family; they would love me and take care of me as if I was their own. They would give me a room, tons of gifts, and make me feel like I was going to live with them forever.
But then as soon as I learned to love them and call the mommy and daddy, something bad would happen. They would be hurt or sometimes even killed. It was all for me. They all wanted me to be happy, and in the end they died because I lived in their house.
Then the men in the black suits would come after me. They would chase me. They would run after me, till I could find a place to hide. I would then go to the orphanage and get sent to a new family.
It was always the same. Someone always was hurt. And someone always was killed. It was all because of me. It was my fault. Always, always I lead the bad men to the ones I loved.
It had happened nine times. The first time I was devastated. The second I was confused. The third I was scared. The forth I learned why. The fifth I attacked back. The sixth I learned not to cry. The seventh I learned to leave before they would come. The eight I was found, but I escaped. The ninth and last time, I learned not to love and care.
I have been to ten different foster families. This was the tenth. I have learned to love eight of them. The last and this one I did not love.
The first one I loved SOOOOOOOOOO much. My mama and papa and Sissy were so nice. Sissy was a year older then I. She was soooooo fun, her name was Sistine, but everyone called her Sissy. I lived with my first family till I was five. That's when everything changed. My mama died first. Then my papa left. Sissy was the last to go. I didn't understand and I was left alone, with questions unanswered.
My first family would be the only family I would ever call real. Even though I loved the other families. The first was the one I believed was actually my own. They were the ones I loved as if they were my real parents. Sissy was like my real sister and treated me like I was. I still don't understand why they had to die. It wasn't fair, but nothing was. Nothing was ever fair in my life.
One day I will belong to a family that will last forever. One day I will be happy and no be full of fear. One day I WILL find my true Identity.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Author's Note: How was it? Horrible? Stupid? Actually good? Please tell what you think about my story so far. Should I continue? Or should I delete it? Review. If I do not get a review that tells me to continue, I will NOT add any more to the story (unless I REALLY, REALLY want to).
SO REVIEW NOW.
Author's Note: Be nice, this is my first Alias fan-fiction. I love the show and I love reading the fan-fictions on Alias. I have never actually thought of making an alias fan-fiction, but I had an idea. So here it is.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Moving, always moving. The trees, the wind, and the lives. A new life, a new identity; both in a new world. Would I ever have a name that I could call my own?
My name this time was Sarah Breanne Stoker. This time my parents would be Christopher and Alicia Stoker. This time I had been at my grandparent's house for several years, and I finally got to come to live with my parents. This time I will be a single child, and now lives with my parents in Minnetonka, Minnesota.
My life was a screw-up; everyone told me otherwise. My life was a mistake; everyone hid the fact. My life wasn't meant to be created; everyone knew it.
Life; Define the word. The property or quality that distinguishes living organisms from dead organisms and inanimate matter, manifested in functions such as metabolism, growth, reproduction, and response to stimuli or adaptation to the environment originating from within the organism.
Living, from dead? Is there a difference? Am I living? I feel more like dead. Living and dying; it all seems the same to me.
Sarah. Sarah Stoker. I hate this name. I hate this life. I hate this world.
The air was tense and was filled with particles of dead cells. How do I know this? How do I know so much? I thought I was seven. I thought I was supposed to be stupid. I thought I was supposed to be a kid; full of happiness, and full of life.
I looked down the aisle of now landing plane. I was the only child aboard the small plane. There were twenty-three other men and women. Only four of those people were wearing casual clothes. All the others were wearing suits or dresses.
The flight attendant came to me and started to help me pack up. I knew I didn't need help. But since I was young everyone expected me to be helpless and weak. But I am NOT.
I let her help me though. I was told to play dumb. I was told to play a helpless. I was told to play someone else. I don't even remember ever being told those words. I just have always had them in my mind. Almost like it was implanted into my brain.
I was pulled up by the women and pushed to the plane entrance. I was lead out and guided down a hallway. And I was directed into some woman's arms.
The women hugged me and greeted me. She told me she missed me and that she loved me so very much. A man standing next to her did the same.
They took me to their home; I mean my home. It was nice; they were obviously wealthy. The woman, who hugged me at the airport, introduced herself as Alicia, but she told me to call her mom. The man was Christopher, but was to me dad.
They were not my parents. They were a young couple that still had a chance to live a normal life. They were kind and I shouldn't stay here. I would bring hate, disseat, and death.
It was like that every time. I would go to a family; they would love me and take care of me as if I was their own. They would give me a room, tons of gifts, and make me feel like I was going to live with them forever.
But then as soon as I learned to love them and call the mommy and daddy, something bad would happen. They would be hurt or sometimes even killed. It was all for me. They all wanted me to be happy, and in the end they died because I lived in their house.
Then the men in the black suits would come after me. They would chase me. They would run after me, till I could find a place to hide. I would then go to the orphanage and get sent to a new family.
It was always the same. Someone always was hurt. And someone always was killed. It was all because of me. It was my fault. Always, always I lead the bad men to the ones I loved.
It had happened nine times. The first time I was devastated. The second I was confused. The third I was scared. The forth I learned why. The fifth I attacked back. The sixth I learned not to cry. The seventh I learned to leave before they would come. The eight I was found, but I escaped. The ninth and last time, I learned not to love and care.
I have been to ten different foster families. This was the tenth. I have learned to love eight of them. The last and this one I did not love.
The first one I loved SOOOOOOOOOO much. My mama and papa and Sissy were so nice. Sissy was a year older then I. She was soooooo fun, her name was Sistine, but everyone called her Sissy. I lived with my first family till I was five. That's when everything changed. My mama died first. Then my papa left. Sissy was the last to go. I didn't understand and I was left alone, with questions unanswered.
My first family would be the only family I would ever call real. Even though I loved the other families. The first was the one I believed was actually my own. They were the ones I loved as if they were my real parents. Sissy was like my real sister and treated me like I was. I still don't understand why they had to die. It wasn't fair, but nothing was. Nothing was ever fair in my life.
One day I will belong to a family that will last forever. One day I will be happy and no be full of fear. One day I WILL find my true Identity.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Author's Note: How was it? Horrible? Stupid? Actually good? Please tell what you think about my story so far. Should I continue? Or should I delete it? Review. If I do not get a review that tells me to continue, I will NOT add any more to the story (unless I REALLY, REALLY want to).
SO REVIEW NOW.