Author: Bennie
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I own nothing Roswell.
Character Focus: ?/? (Unless you know me. Then you can probably guess.)
Spoilers: Well, maybe ... nah, not that. Or perhaps ... nope. Not that either. Huh.
Author's Note: Okay, I have a new philosophy. Maybe absurdity isn't the way to go; maybe it's abstract negativity. Meaning, what isn't there is just as important as what is. Yup; that's the ticket.

A stranger walked into the Crashdown today.

I was at the counter, taking a moment to sit, to have something to drink. Business was slow, and I would've found a reason to leave early but it seemed like too much trouble.

Besides, there was something seductive about just sitting there, a small oasis of quiet amidst the chaos and turbulence of a small but enthusiastic crowd. I could just lose myself in the noise, stop thinking and just … feel.

And then something made me look up.

The sense that I wasn't alone, that some presence was intruding upon my solitude.

A quick glance about the restaurant suggested otherwise, but I concentrated on the sensation, as a rabbit will stand in the wind. Still, but ready to bolt at the slightest indication of danger.

Suddenly I looked up.

There, outside the door.

A shadow. Tall, murky through sunlit glass.

Standing there, looking in. Looking at me. I could feel the weight of his stare.

It compelled me.

I was overcome by a premonition of change.

As if in slow motion, he opened the door and stepped in. Immediately I became aware of how the very air around us changed. Around him, as around me, swirled … something. I was caught up in fanciful notions of clouds and bubbles for a moment, before I dismissed them. Bubbles were too light, too easily pierced, too easily broken. Clouds were too fleeting, too insubstantial, too prone to weeping.

He was none of those things. I knew this with the same certainty that gravity would prevent me from rising into the sky, despite the feelings rushing through me, that lifted me, that uplifted me.

I knew this, knew him, and yet I looked upon his face and saw a stranger.

A stranger with eyes that told me everything and nothing.

He walked towards me and I concentrated on breathing, evenly and deeply.

We did not speak, and yet something was said, something conveyed.

He was both possibility and impossibility all at once.

He was Michael.

The End

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