CSI - Series Fan Fiction ❯ Hidden Memories ❯ Remembering ( Chapter 1 )
[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]
By: jadeprincess 
A bit dark, mild mention of abuse
Non Anime: CSI - Series Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Drama | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 10.20.2006 | Pages: 1 | Words: 1.1K | Visits: 379 | Status: Work In Progress
A bit dark, mild mention of abuse
Non Anime: CSI - Series Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Drama | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 10.20.2006 | Pages: 1 | Words: 1.1K | Visits: 379 | Status: Work In Progress
Disclaimer: I do not own CSI, any of its characters, or any other movie reference I may decide to put in.
Spoilers: There are some references to Nesting Dolls
A/N: There are some mild references to abuse and alcohol. I could really use a beta reader, please tell me if interested.
Hidden Memories
Chapter 1
Memory... is the diary that we all carry about with us.
Oscar Wilde
My name is Sara Sidle. I don't go to parties, or have a ton of friends. I'm probably best known as Sara Sidle, CSI level 3 at the Las Vegas Crime lab. If you've been there before, you've probably heard of me by my other name.
I’m best known as THE workaholic, beside the infamous Gil Grissom of course. If you asked any of my co-workers about me, they wouldn't know much. Sara Sidle was an enigma to them, a mystery novel waiting to be read. They would never ask, and I'm not planning to tell them.
I'm not really the person who likes to write things down, or "share my feelings" as I quote our department's shrink. And yet, there’s one small book in the back of my closet that would spill all. If a normal person would glance at it, you would only see a regular photo album, nothing too extravagant, just enough to hold pictures.
But for this girl, it holds my memories, my survival story, if you will, telling the mysterious twists and turns of my life which made who I am today.
If you open the first page, you would notice a happy family of three, including a beaming father, a beautiful mother, and a cheerful, gap toothed girl, staring back. It was taken by my brother, who was at the time obsessed with his camera.
My father was lovingly holding his wife and brown haired daughter, just having a fun day at the beach. To tell you the truth, it was my only real memory of us all being together as one of those picture perfect families. At the age of 4, my peaceful loving family started to crumble.
The next few chapters in my life were the darkest yet. My father started coming home later from work, and either drinking to the point he passed out on the couch, or started yelling at my mother. He would never yell at me, unless drunk.
I think my mother was even sometimes jealous of his "little angel." My brother would just shut himself the peaceful bliss of his room.
The next picture shows a small house with a little mailbox in the front yard, if you could call it a front yard. It was just a small yard with patches of grass in the front. We lived in a small but quaint neighborhood; everyone knew one another. And yet, our neighbors could hear the yelling and arguments that were apart of our everyday life.
They felt sorry for me and my brother, giving us cookies and the occasional treat. Even though the whole neighborhood knew, no one would offer to help my mother.
About a year later, my father lost his job and spent the rest of his money on beer. My mother had to work 2 jobs now, while trying to hold together this so called family. After the first black eye, the day my brother turned 18, he left without a word to anyone. I never heard from him again.
It wasn’t until I was 8 years old, that I experienced my first act of kindness.
No one, except for Mrs. Doe, little old lady, who was taking care of her two grandchildren, spending all her money on them, never thinking of herself. She was making it her personal mission to cheer me up, comforting me as a grandmother would.
She sometimes spent afternoons letting me read her collection of books, while telling me some stories about when her father was the owner of a famous Jazz club in Las Vegas. After many afternoons sharing tea and listening to jazz music, we became good friends.
Before moving away to help her daughter in New Jersey, she gave me her favorite book, Romeo and Juliet. I asked her why she liked this book the most, with the sad ending. She said that it’s her favorite book because even though they both died in the end, the two lovers were happy together, and would die for the other.
Remember Sara, there is no point in living your life with regret, or life is yours to miss, there’s no day but today to life your life to the fullest.
You can’t control what happens in life, but you can take control of how you live. If you live your life to the fullest, you will never regret, and be happy.
I never forgot those words, and still live by them today. As I watched her drive away, I saw her mouth the words, “No day but today.”
The next two years flew by, with yelling, tears, and trips to the hospital. But on the fifth of November, my life made a huge turn.
I can still remember the fights, the smell of the paint on the walls, the sight of the blood. I even remember the sight of the social worker that came and got me, holding my hand trying to comfort me. The flashes of the police lights are still vivid in my mind, as is the sympathetic glances thrown my way.
But somehow, I survived. I survived the first 10 years of my life, believing what I had called home was considered normal. You know how they say that everybody should have a perfect childhood? Well I did, my childhood just ended earlier than most.
At the ripe young age of 10, my innocence was stripped; I had my first experience of death. Even though I was only ten, my mind was one of an adult.
It was the only way I knew how to live, the only way I knew to survive.
A/N: Please Review, I would like to know how I did on my first fic. I'll try updating soon ( And yes I was inspired by Rent)
Spoilers: There are some references to Nesting Dolls
A/N: There are some mild references to abuse and alcohol. I could really use a beta reader, please tell me if interested.
Hidden Memories
Chapter 1
Memory... is the diary that we all carry about with us.
Oscar Wilde
My name is Sara Sidle. I don't go to parties, or have a ton of friends. I'm probably best known as Sara Sidle, CSI level 3 at the Las Vegas Crime lab. If you've been there before, you've probably heard of me by my other name.
I’m best known as THE workaholic, beside the infamous Gil Grissom of course. If you asked any of my co-workers about me, they wouldn't know much. Sara Sidle was an enigma to them, a mystery novel waiting to be read. They would never ask, and I'm not planning to tell them.
I'm not really the person who likes to write things down, or "share my feelings" as I quote our department's shrink. And yet, there’s one small book in the back of my closet that would spill all. If a normal person would glance at it, you would only see a regular photo album, nothing too extravagant, just enough to hold pictures.
But for this girl, it holds my memories, my survival story, if you will, telling the mysterious twists and turns of my life which made who I am today.
If you open the first page, you would notice a happy family of three, including a beaming father, a beautiful mother, and a cheerful, gap toothed girl, staring back. It was taken by my brother, who was at the time obsessed with his camera.
My father was lovingly holding his wife and brown haired daughter, just having a fun day at the beach. To tell you the truth, it was my only real memory of us all being together as one of those picture perfect families. At the age of 4, my peaceful loving family started to crumble.
The next few chapters in my life were the darkest yet. My father started coming home later from work, and either drinking to the point he passed out on the couch, or started yelling at my mother. He would never yell at me, unless drunk.
I think my mother was even sometimes jealous of his "little angel." My brother would just shut himself the peaceful bliss of his room.
The next picture shows a small house with a little mailbox in the front yard, if you could call it a front yard. It was just a small yard with patches of grass in the front. We lived in a small but quaint neighborhood; everyone knew one another. And yet, our neighbors could hear the yelling and arguments that were apart of our everyday life.
They felt sorry for me and my brother, giving us cookies and the occasional treat. Even though the whole neighborhood knew, no one would offer to help my mother.
About a year later, my father lost his job and spent the rest of his money on beer. My mother had to work 2 jobs now, while trying to hold together this so called family. After the first black eye, the day my brother turned 18, he left without a word to anyone. I never heard from him again.
It wasn’t until I was 8 years old, that I experienced my first act of kindness.
No one, except for Mrs. Doe, little old lady, who was taking care of her two grandchildren, spending all her money on them, never thinking of herself. She was making it her personal mission to cheer me up, comforting me as a grandmother would.
She sometimes spent afternoons letting me read her collection of books, while telling me some stories about when her father was the owner of a famous Jazz club in Las Vegas. After many afternoons sharing tea and listening to jazz music, we became good friends.
Before moving away to help her daughter in New Jersey, she gave me her favorite book, Romeo and Juliet. I asked her why she liked this book the most, with the sad ending. She said that it’s her favorite book because even though they both died in the end, the two lovers were happy together, and would die for the other.
Remember Sara, there is no point in living your life with regret, or life is yours to miss, there’s no day but today to life your life to the fullest.
You can’t control what happens in life, but you can take control of how you live. If you live your life to the fullest, you will never regret, and be happy.
I never forgot those words, and still live by them today. As I watched her drive away, I saw her mouth the words, “No day but today.”
The next two years flew by, with yelling, tears, and trips to the hospital. But on the fifth of November, my life made a huge turn.
I can still remember the fights, the smell of the paint on the walls, the sight of the blood. I even remember the sight of the social worker that came and got me, holding my hand trying to comfort me. The flashes of the police lights are still vivid in my mind, as is the sympathetic glances thrown my way.
But somehow, I survived. I survived the first 10 years of my life, believing what I had called home was considered normal. You know how they say that everybody should have a perfect childhood? Well I did, my childhood just ended earlier than most.
At the ripe young age of 10, my innocence was stripped; I had my first experience of death. Even though I was only ten, my mind was one of an adult.
It was the only way I knew how to live, the only way I knew to survive.
A/N: Please Review, I would like to know how I did on my first fic. I'll try updating soon ( And yes I was inspired by Rent)