TITLE: Alone
RATING: G, I guess.
DISCLAIMER: Roswell is not mine, I own nothing.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Please review. Don't flame. I know it sucks already.
It was a long, hot day in the sandy desert of New Mexico. The vultures were in flight, circling a new corpse on the almost deserted road. A speeding black jeep just squashed a roaming armadillo, leaving a trail of Sahara dust in the heated air.
Michael drove along in solitude, tapping on the steering wheel to a song that played only in his head. He tried to push the events of the past 24 hours to the back of his head with the rest of his repressed memories. Sweat poured down his temples matting his light brown hair to his forehead. His dark shades shielded his dark brown eyes from the flaming ball in the sky. As he neared his final destination, flashes of the previous day entered his mind. He and his best friends, Max and Isabel, on their way to Marathon, smiles on their faces and dreams…or rather delusions of going back home to their planet dancing around in their heads. After twenty years of combing America, they finally found more of their kind. They had hoped for a ride home to where they originated. They did not even notice the black Mercedes that followed them several yards behind.
Much to his chagrin, a single tear escaped him and slid down his dirty cheeks. He hated showing his feelings, even to the nothingness of the desert.
Another flash from the repressed memory bank seeped through as he saw them walking into the meeting place they set up with their supposed allies. The trap that was set by their enemies, the Zentarians. They were unprepared for the planned attack on them.
Michael fingered the half-healed cut on his blood stained chest. It hurt almost as much as the loss of his fiends. He remembered how everything happened. It all happened in a matter of seconds. The enemy held out his hand letting out a blast that threw them against a wall on the far end of the abandoned warehouse. Michael shot him with one of his own energy blasts but he didn't see the other two sneak up behind him. They put their hands on Max and Isabel's chests and used their powers to burn their internal organs, killing the unconscious siblings instantly. Michael turned around just in time to see the last breath leave his friends. That made him furious. He almost exploded. He killed two of them with a white blast. The third shot him in the chest and he, in turn, fried his head off.
When he left Marathon, he had nothing but bloody hands and clothes. He drove in silence to his home on Earth, Roswell. Home to face life alone.
RATING: G, I guess.
DISCLAIMER: Roswell is not mine, I own nothing.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Please review. Don't flame. I know it sucks already.
It was a long, hot day in the sandy desert of New Mexico. The vultures were in flight, circling a new corpse on the almost deserted road. A speeding black jeep just squashed a roaming armadillo, leaving a trail of Sahara dust in the heated air.
Michael drove along in solitude, tapping on the steering wheel to a song that played only in his head. He tried to push the events of the past 24 hours to the back of his head with the rest of his repressed memories. Sweat poured down his temples matting his light brown hair to his forehead. His dark shades shielded his dark brown eyes from the flaming ball in the sky. As he neared his final destination, flashes of the previous day entered his mind. He and his best friends, Max and Isabel, on their way to Marathon, smiles on their faces and dreams…or rather delusions of going back home to their planet dancing around in their heads. After twenty years of combing America, they finally found more of their kind. They had hoped for a ride home to where they originated. They did not even notice the black Mercedes that followed them several yards behind.
Much to his chagrin, a single tear escaped him and slid down his dirty cheeks. He hated showing his feelings, even to the nothingness of the desert.
Another flash from the repressed memory bank seeped through as he saw them walking into the meeting place they set up with their supposed allies. The trap that was set by their enemies, the Zentarians. They were unprepared for the planned attack on them.
Michael fingered the half-healed cut on his blood stained chest. It hurt almost as much as the loss of his fiends. He remembered how everything happened. It all happened in a matter of seconds. The enemy held out his hand letting out a blast that threw them against a wall on the far end of the abandoned warehouse. Michael shot him with one of his own energy blasts but he didn't see the other two sneak up behind him. They put their hands on Max and Isabel's chests and used their powers to burn their internal organs, killing the unconscious siblings instantly. Michael turned around just in time to see the last breath leave his friends. That made him furious. He almost exploded. He killed two of them with a white blast. The third shot him in the chest and he, in turn, fried his head off.
When he left Marathon, he had nothing but bloody hands and clothes. He drove in silence to his home on Earth, Roswell. Home to face life alone.