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Flee

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Posted to the rwguiltypleasures mailing list May 24, 2001

[Archivist's note: Kate didn't write this as a Tess/Isabel fic, but the whole moving-to-San Francisco plot line seems so obviously to me to be Isabel's response to getting dumped by Tess, that I couldn't read it as anything else. ;-)]

Title: Flee
Author: Kate
Email: clarinetkate@livejournal.com
Rating: PG-13
Summary: "I'm leaving Roswell" --Isabel Evans, CYN
Feedback: Yes please! Both positive and negative, praise and criticism! I take and love it all! :)
Disclaimer: I write about Isabel so much, she should be mine by now, but, nope.. last time I checked- she still belongs to Jason Katims and Melinda Metz et all.
Author's Notes: Well, Mere, this is all your fault, Ms. "Hey I've never read a fic that was done entirely in FUTURE tense!" Now you have! :) Thanks to Mare, Mere, and Kare for the help, and to chatters who listened to me whine about this fic. And, I swear, I'll stop writing angsty Isabel pieces when they stop trying to push her over the edge and leave her catatonic after her breakdown...sigh...



She will not look back.
When she walks, it will be for good.
She will leave more than a dusty town behind, more than friends, more than a family.
She will leave herself.

        She will return full circle; the starting and ending points of her life will converge, and the desert road that witnessed the first steps of an alien girl will also see the last steps of that life, for once she travels down that highway, all that came before it will cease to exist.

        Once she has cleared those city limits, never again will her hand rise to change the color of her lipstick. Her mind will not flit into others' dreams. Locked doors will no longer spring open under her palm. Constellations and symbols scrawled on cavern walls will hold no meaning for her. And never again will she feel the hum of a distant land, of a mission, a life.

        The name Isabel will hold no special place in her heart. Her first born son will not be named Alex nor Max, or even Michael. Little girls with bouncy, blonde curly hair will not cause her heart to flutter. Mention of aliens will not freeze her in her tracks. No guilt for a past life will attack her every waking thought.

        And although the memories may try to nip at her, daring her to allow them to rise to the surface of her brain, she will never speak them, never reflect on them and give credence to the dreams that prey on her semi-conscious mind. She will have buried them deep inside, hidden them so far away that they will have ceased to be memories of a life lived, and become impossible fancies from a forgotten childhood nightmare. She will not allow herself to dwell on them, never let them become more than fleeting thoughts.

Because she will not look back.
When she walks, it will be for good.
There will be no Isabel, no Vilandra.

        She will leave more than a dusty town behind, more than friends, more than a family.

        She will leave herself.

        --END--

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