Okay so I wrote a fanfic and i was wondering if anyone wanted to read it... here's the first chapter and here's the link
link
PLEASE COMMENT
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Chapter One
Fallon Sawyer stood in line at the Starbucks every morning before heading off on a random adventure; she never deviated from her routine as she was a very precise woman. She ordered her usual, and today for a treat bought a double chunk chocolate chip cookie, for later of course. She waited patiently in line to receive her morning pick-me-up. She gazed aimlessly around the establishment. The walls were a tanish-yellow color. The walls were lined with sleek mahogany tables; black and white pictures were hung up exactly three feet apart, they were of other Starbucks across the nation. She looked at her watch, today she had decided she would go to the local park and Sketch her surroundings, to connect with her inner-self. On a regular day she would have already gotten her order and been on her way; but it was Saturday and the workers were stressing out with the overflow of orders, Starbucks wasn’t a utopia for employees. She examined herself… Yellow sundress, a few inches past her knees, and white flip-flops; her hair was pulled up in a messy bun, her brown hair was a beautiful shade. She had little to no makeup on; she thought women were pretty in their natural state. She finally reached the front of the line, a college student (probably) handed her the order and gave her a sheepish and tired smile. Fallon smiled in return and told her server, “one day you will be doing something better than this.” With that she walked out of line and headed out the double doors at the front of the establishment and headed to the parking lot.
She found her 1990 Ford Bronco; this thing had been through everything; including three crashes, a tornado, and a flood. Fallon climbed in the driver’s side and placed her keys in the ignition, she pushed on the pedal and backed out of the parking lot and drove the few miles to the park. She had her car radio on a country music station, something she rarely ever listened to. Her favorite genre seemed to not have a radio station, this she understood, but scolded. She made a turn into the parking lot at the park and parked next to a beat up Volvo. She got out and inhaled the fresh air; she let the breeze sweep her in. It tingled every centimeter in her body; it was a soothing antidote to her troubles. Fallon soon found herself perched on a bench, her sketch pad in her hand, and her shading pencils in her handy dandy case (yes I used to watch Blues Clues.) Her nails were painted in a variation of colors, from last night. She had pale pink, a noisy lime green, a deep ocean blue, a sunshine yellow, etc. A different color for each nail, she smiled at the memory from last night. Then he passed, it was a brief evanescent moment, it was fortuitous. Her eyes darted across the park, her palms sweated, she felt as if she had felt the greatest moment of her life.
From that day forward going to the park was Fallon’s propensity, to find that mystery man. Each night she came home empty and upset, she longed to see him again. After a week she tried to efface him from her memory, she seemed hopeless. She began to think she never even saw him; maybe he was a fallacy; though she knew he wasn’t. Trying to seek him at the park was an arduous task. One morning she sat in a booth at Starbucks, her elbows perched on the table, her chin resting in her right hand. Then the server she had the week before came over to her. His name plate read ABRI in all capital letters.
“I’ve noticed you here everyday since I’ve started working here, and you seem to be in the worst mood.” He then proceeded to take something off a tray he had placed on a surrounding table. “It’s my treat, I hope whatever you are looking for you find.” He stated, and then he went back behind the counter. He had set her usual order on the table. Fallon looked at it, shocked, and happy. Someone cared about her, a complete stranger. Fallon took a cursory look at her surroundings, then she blinked rapidly… he was here. His eyes met hers, and then he immediately looked away. She had finally found him, or so she thought, because just like that he was gone.
Fallon slumped back into her chair.
“Hey,” said a voice that seemed to come from nowhere. Fallon instinctively snapped her head around. She snapped back when she saw it was him.
“It’s you.” She said surprised.
“Yeah, I saw you at the park last week, you were sketching right?” He asked he was adorable; he had ear length curly brown hair, high cheek bones, and captivating brown eyes. All Fallon could do was nod in amazement, he actually remembered her.
“Sketching is considered a pictorial kind of note-taking. A sketch is not usually intended as an autonomous work of art, although many have been considered masterpieces in their own right.” He explained.
“Really? I just thought it was drawing a picture, your thoughts and emotions.” Fallon replied with a smile.
“Actually a picture is a visual representation of a person, object, or scene, as a painting, drawing, or photograph. Or it could be a visible or concrete embodiment of some quality or condition.” He explained. She stared at him, looking at him, scanning every inch.
“Would you like to sit?” She asked. He smiled then quickly sat down.
“I like your shirt.” He replied. Fallon had thrown on a pair of baggy gray sweatpants and an EINSTIEN t-shirt. It had the quote: A man should look for what is, and not for what he thinks should be. She looked back up at his gaze.
“Thanks, I love his quotes.” Fallon responded. “Wait, but what’s your name?” She asked.
“Spencer Reid.” He responded. She nodded.
“Fallon Sawyer.” She replied, as if they had just met on the job.
“Ah Fallon, is pronounced FAL-en. It is of Irish and Gaelic origin, and its meaning is “superiority”; descended from a “ruler”. From the word “follamhnus”. May also be a transformation of the English name Fuller, a surname for a textile worker.” He explained.
“What are you, a genius or something?” She asked.
“You could say that, I have an IQ of 187, can read 20,000 words per minute and have PhDs in Mathematics, Engineering, and Chemistry. I have BAs in Psychology and Sociology, I’m completing a third in Philosophy; I also have an eidetic memory.” He explained, hoping he didn’t creep out his new aquatint.
“Oh my gosh, that’s amazing! Life must be great to know everything.” She stated. Spencer then changed the subject, not wanting to continue the conversation.
“So what do you do for a living?” Spencer asked.
“How about I show you?” Fallon explained, getting up slowly, her Sperry’s clanked quietly on the tile floor of the establishment. Spencer hesitantly got up and followed her outside the building. He looked around at his surroundings when they were in the parking lot, he stopped when he realized she was looking at him.
“Here,” she threw him the keys to her Bronco and she walked to the passenger’s seat side of the car. “Are you going to get in or not?” She asked. Spencer sighed and opened the car door on the driver’s side and plopped in the seat and took in the aroma of that old-car-smell. He put the keys in the ignition, but stopped.
“Where are we going?” He asked.
“Anywhere,” Fallon replied.
link
PLEASE COMMENT
__________________________________________________
Chapter One
Fallon Sawyer stood in line at the Starbucks every morning before heading off on a random adventure; she never deviated from her routine as she was a very precise woman. She ordered her usual, and today for a treat bought a double chunk chocolate chip cookie, for later of course. She waited patiently in line to receive her morning pick-me-up. She gazed aimlessly around the establishment. The walls were a tanish-yellow color. The walls were lined with sleek mahogany tables; black and white pictures were hung up exactly three feet apart, they were of other Starbucks across the nation. She looked at her watch, today she had decided she would go to the local park and Sketch her surroundings, to connect with her inner-self. On a regular day she would have already gotten her order and been on her way; but it was Saturday and the workers were stressing out with the overflow of orders, Starbucks wasn’t a utopia for employees. She examined herself… Yellow sundress, a few inches past her knees, and white flip-flops; her hair was pulled up in a messy bun, her brown hair was a beautiful shade. She had little to no makeup on; she thought women were pretty in their natural state. She finally reached the front of the line, a college student (probably) handed her the order and gave her a sheepish and tired smile. Fallon smiled in return and told her server, “one day you will be doing something better than this.” With that she walked out of line and headed out the double doors at the front of the establishment and headed to the parking lot.
She found her 1990 Ford Bronco; this thing had been through everything; including three crashes, a tornado, and a flood. Fallon climbed in the driver’s side and placed her keys in the ignition, she pushed on the pedal and backed out of the parking lot and drove the few miles to the park. She had her car radio on a country music station, something she rarely ever listened to. Her favorite genre seemed to not have a radio station, this she understood, but scolded. She made a turn into the parking lot at the park and parked next to a beat up Volvo. She got out and inhaled the fresh air; she let the breeze sweep her in. It tingled every centimeter in her body; it was a soothing antidote to her troubles. Fallon soon found herself perched on a bench, her sketch pad in her hand, and her shading pencils in her handy dandy case (yes I used to watch Blues Clues.) Her nails were painted in a variation of colors, from last night. She had pale pink, a noisy lime green, a deep ocean blue, a sunshine yellow, etc. A different color for each nail, she smiled at the memory from last night. Then he passed, it was a brief evanescent moment, it was fortuitous. Her eyes darted across the park, her palms sweated, she felt as if she had felt the greatest moment of her life.
From that day forward going to the park was Fallon’s propensity, to find that mystery man. Each night she came home empty and upset, she longed to see him again. After a week she tried to efface him from her memory, she seemed hopeless. She began to think she never even saw him; maybe he was a fallacy; though she knew he wasn’t. Trying to seek him at the park was an arduous task. One morning she sat in a booth at Starbucks, her elbows perched on the table, her chin resting in her right hand. Then the server she had the week before came over to her. His name plate read ABRI in all capital letters.
“I’ve noticed you here everyday since I’ve started working here, and you seem to be in the worst mood.” He then proceeded to take something off a tray he had placed on a surrounding table. “It’s my treat, I hope whatever you are looking for you find.” He stated, and then he went back behind the counter. He had set her usual order on the table. Fallon looked at it, shocked, and happy. Someone cared about her, a complete stranger. Fallon took a cursory look at her surroundings, then she blinked rapidly… he was here. His eyes met hers, and then he immediately looked away. She had finally found him, or so she thought, because just like that he was gone.
Fallon slumped back into her chair.
“Hey,” said a voice that seemed to come from nowhere. Fallon instinctively snapped her head around. She snapped back when she saw it was him.
“It’s you.” She said surprised.
“Yeah, I saw you at the park last week, you were sketching right?” He asked he was adorable; he had ear length curly brown hair, high cheek bones, and captivating brown eyes. All Fallon could do was nod in amazement, he actually remembered her.
“Sketching is considered a pictorial kind of note-taking. A sketch is not usually intended as an autonomous work of art, although many have been considered masterpieces in their own right.” He explained.
“Really? I just thought it was drawing a picture, your thoughts and emotions.” Fallon replied with a smile.
“Actually a picture is a visual representation of a person, object, or scene, as a painting, drawing, or photograph. Or it could be a visible or concrete embodiment of some quality or condition.” He explained. She stared at him, looking at him, scanning every inch.
“Would you like to sit?” She asked. He smiled then quickly sat down.
“I like your shirt.” He replied. Fallon had thrown on a pair of baggy gray sweatpants and an EINSTIEN t-shirt. It had the quote: A man should look for what is, and not for what he thinks should be. She looked back up at his gaze.
“Thanks, I love his quotes.” Fallon responded. “Wait, but what’s your name?” She asked.
“Spencer Reid.” He responded. She nodded.
“Fallon Sawyer.” She replied, as if they had just met on the job.
“Ah Fallon, is pronounced FAL-en. It is of Irish and Gaelic origin, and its meaning is “superiority”; descended from a “ruler”. From the word “follamhnus”. May also be a transformation of the English name Fuller, a surname for a textile worker.” He explained.
“What are you, a genius or something?” She asked.
“You could say that, I have an IQ of 187, can read 20,000 words per minute and have PhDs in Mathematics, Engineering, and Chemistry. I have BAs in Psychology and Sociology, I’m completing a third in Philosophy; I also have an eidetic memory.” He explained, hoping he didn’t creep out his new aquatint.
“Oh my gosh, that’s amazing! Life must be great to know everything.” She stated. Spencer then changed the subject, not wanting to continue the conversation.
“So what do you do for a living?” Spencer asked.
“How about I show you?” Fallon explained, getting up slowly, her Sperry’s clanked quietly on the tile floor of the establishment. Spencer hesitantly got up and followed her outside the building. He looked around at his surroundings when they were in the parking lot, he stopped when he realized she was looking at him.
“Here,” she threw him the keys to her Bronco and she walked to the passenger’s seat side of the car. “Are you going to get in or not?” She asked. Spencer sighed and opened the car door on the driver’s side and plopped in the seat and took in the aroma of that old-car-smell. He put the keys in the ignition, but stopped.
“Where are we going?” He asked.
“Anywhere,” Fallon replied.
