Something Like Fate: A BajanCanadian FanFiction

Chapter 1: Double Shot of Espresso

Lillian's POV

Meetings. Work. More meetings. More work. More screens. Computer screens. Work. That's all my life

is. I glance at the clock in the corner of my enormous iMac. 2:43. A.M. I rub my eyes, and I reach for the

coffee cup I had just brewed. Empty. I attempted standing up, and eventually rose to my feet. I

stretched, and walked to the coffee maker in my kitchen. I reached for the on button, sticking my mug

under the spout. Empty. I sighed, and stuck a new "K-cup" into the slot. I poured in some water, and

returned to my prison of a work area. I continued the poem, thinking about all of the romance movies

I've seen in my life. I start every tear-jerking poem and story I write with an attention grabber. The same

old relatable-yet-poor-me-I'm-forever-alone theme graces the screen.

Piercing

I try not to look.

I fail, trying every trick in the book.

They look at me, as if with retina display,

and they tell me to come and stay.

I look away, ashamed of myself.

But it's just too impossible for one's self.

They bear an electric blue,

and I know you've got a clue.

They're piercing, just the same.

My dull eyes feel lame.

I try not to look.

But I'm already shook.

-Lillian Wench-

I finish typing, and read over my latest work. A/N Actually wrote this one myself) I rub my eyes. An

ugly shade of grey coats the bags under my eyes.

~Flashback~

It's all over the news. The fifteen-year-old whose a genius poet. I hear the crowd roar after I recite my

poem.

~Flashback Ends~

Now, here I am, four years later, slaving away at my computer, successful but unhappy. I decide to

take a break. I walk to my living room, and select one of the millions of romance movies that fill my

shelves. The Notebook. I hear the coffee machine signal it's completion. I walk to the kitchen,

retrieving the cup and walking back into the living room. I need to sleep. I remember I have an early

business meeting tomorrow. Great. I walk to the bathroom, and start to get ready for bed. I look at

myself. Same brown hair. Same blue eyes. Same wells of bags under my eyes. Same Lillian

Wench. I brush my teeth, and head to bed. I immediately fall asleep, nightmares scarring my mind

just like the night before.

~Morning~

My eyes pop open. I feel like a zombie. I unlock my phone. 5:18. Business Meeting @ 5:30, reads a