Waking A Miracle
Author Notes:
Wow, where to start. This story started out of my desire to
contribute something meaningful to this community. I've
already submitted one story before but it was about eight
years ago and I think my writing, both in style and form,
has matured past my ability to describe the difference other
than, "Ummm, well, it's better." <=== Notice my perfect
command of metaphor there.
Since there is no established canon where this story breaks
off from, I guess you could call it elseworld. However, I
borrow dialogue heavily from the show from the Pilot,
Strange Visitor, and a bit from Neverending Battle.
Speaking of which, many thanks to Caroline, whose wonderful
website of L&C scripts helped me beyond words in the writing
of this story. And of course many thanks as well to the L&C
script writers, from whom came so much sparkling dialogue.
Many thousand thanks to my beta readers Sara, Gary, and
Nick. Sara you started as and continue to be a true bastion
of inspiration for me, and a pleasure to work with. Gary, I
hate you and love you for being so nitpicky, and Nick, you
were a huge help when I was hashing out the plot for this
monster. Additional thanks goes to MDL for encouraging me
and giving more general comments on my ideas.
I don't have this whole story written yet, but with
substantial prodding, I've decided to start posting. I have
a decent buffer built up but not huge, so I will keep it to
two posts a week for now, we'll say Mondays and Thursdays --
I am hoping the added pressure will keep me churning out the
content as I have been the past few weeks.
Posting the obligatory WHAM warnings, but don't worry,
laughs and good feelings abound as well! This is a drama.
Oh yeah, and this should be a fairly long ride -- I expect
upwards of thirty 'scenes' although not necessarily 30
parts. I must apologize for this first part being so short.
They will be getting meatier shortly
I absolutely thrive on feedback, whatever you have to send
me from praise to constructive critcism. My goal is to
improve my writing (my *dream* is to write professionally),
and if you have some suggestion to help me do that then by
all means, criticize. My e-mail for the time being is
aria5@vt.edu and I check it regularly if you don't feel
comfortable posting feedback to the boards, but I have no
problem with publicly posted stuff so feel free to zing or
gush at me with whatever method you feel like using ;P
And so, with the introduction out of the way, let us
begin
--Diane Harris
Waking a Miracle -- (00/??)
Overwhelming was the first word that came to her mind.
Janice Forrester stood, heavy shopping bags clutched in her
hands, an island of inactivity in a sea of frantic bustle.
She imagined that she could hear every rushed breath, every
frantic heartbeat, every curse and shout, every car horn,
everything from here to the end of three blocks down despite
the harsh, chest-melting thrumming of bass from a nearby
boom box. Casting a disapproving glare towards the young
man carrying the monstrous stereo on his shoulder, she
shifted her bags and glanced to her left.
A handsome young man stood next to her, a brown ragged
suitcase resting at his feet beside him. He was relaxed,
and almost as still as she imagined herself to be. The
movement of air generated by passing cars kicked his trench
coat into more the guise of a cape, and in the breeze, his
suitcase bumped into his leg in an odd rhythm. Bright
golden letters, CK, glinted unevenly in the light.
She wondered briefly what CK might stand for. He looked
like a Charlie, she decided.
He was a striking man. Dark, black hair fell unruly almost
down to his shoulders, but the muted sunlight that escaped
the canopy of buildings overhead glanced off it brightly
enough to make it appear dark brown. Glasses framed his
oval face, but unlike some folks she knew, they did nothing
to detract from his olive complexion and wide, soulful brown
eyes.
She met his gaze by accident and quickly averted her eyes,
as was the appropriate thing to do, but couldn't help but
gasp at the spark she had received in just that short set of
moments. The pain and desolation that hovered in his stare
was enough to make her shudder, even though the air passing
capriciously about her was balmy. She had seen that look
before once in a puppy she had found abandoned and stranded
in the alley by her apartment.
A handsome man, yes, but not an unmarred one, she decided.
That man had known pain.
The acrid scent of exhaust bled into her nostrils as the
sudden roar of traffic to her left made her realize that the
walk light had come on in her corner. She was struck and
jostled about as the crowd standing behind her refused to
wait for her to move. Wobbling like a bumped bowling pin,
she nearly lost her footing, but a firm, reassuring grip
around her arm righted the tilting horizon.
"Are you all right, miss?" Maybe-Charlie said. His voice
was soft and he wore genuine concern on his face.
Janice stared back into those chocolate eyes, trying and
mostly failing not to drown in them. "Y-yes. Fine, sorry,
and thank you," she stammered as he released her. She
brushed off her light coat and righted her shopping bags
back into balance.
He gave her the smallest of smiles before she stepped
gingerly out into the crosswalk. Her heel caught a nick in
the pavement, but she saved her balance under her own power.
In several minutes, she knew, he would be a fading memory.
The main group of pedestrians was already out in the middle
of the street, and Janice was lagging slightly behind when
she froze mid-step. She noticed sounds of distress and
glanced up the hill. A metro bus was careening down the
road, swaying drunkenly back and forth in its designated
lane. The driver was gesturing, and the horn blared
obnoxiously, over and over, like a steady stream of insults.
"Look out for the bus!" Maybe-Charlie's rich voice pierced
her panic.
People were scattering. The man carrying the boom box
rushed back towards her and suddenly she was yanked out of
harm's way.
The bus careened past her as cars down below on the street
flew up onto the sidewalk to avoid the oncoming battering
ram. She could hear the screams of the bus patrons through
its open windows as it flew past her, only several feet
away. The gust of air that accosted her as it swerved by
set her hair on ends.
A banshee's wail of torn and twisted metal echoed off the
towering buildings up and down the street as the bus met up
with a line of parked cars. Glass shattered, and the tires
of the bus left ugly black scars in the road.
The behemoth came to a slow halt, and folks began
evacuating, spilling out the back and sides like disturbed
ants. Several people were staggering about clutching wounds
of varying severity.
The driver had not yet emerged.
Not knowing what possessed her to do so, Janice glanced back
at the dark-haired man. He was standing there, his face
pale as fresh white-wash, eyes squeezed shut. His fists
were jammed into his pockets and his lips were clenched into
a tight, straight line.
Janice stumbled to her feet, thanking the young man with the
stereo for pulling her out of the way.
"Sir, are *you* ok?" she asked pointedly towards Maybe-
Charlie, who had not moved an inch yet.
The man's eyes opened and he glanced around haphazardly, as
if he had forgotten he was standing in the middle of a
crowded sidewalk, until his gaze came to rest up her. "No,
not really," he whispered.
And then he was gone, rushing down the street in the
opposite direction, suitcase in hand, as the dull whine of
sirens began in the distance.
*****
TBC...
(End Part 00/??)
