Once Upon Another Time

"My past does not define me,
My present doesn not anchor me,
but I make my own future." -Crystal Miller
==Overview==
=== "She's about to write a new ending..." ===
Crystal Miller is on her own. She has no past or present and is terrible with love. She has a few secrets that she wants to keep under wraps.
 Her secrets come back to the surface and get worse than ever before. In a moment of panic, she gets up and leaves the big city, hell-bent on who knows what and where. She ends up somewhere, a place where she might find answers. A place where the unknown is just the beginning. A place called...
    Storybrooke.
==Chapter 1: A Real Ending==
"I HATE YOU AND I NEVER WANT TO SEE YOU AGAIN!!!"
"FINE BY ME! GET OUT OF MY LIFE!"
"GOOD RIDDANCE!!"
Doors slam and my anger is higher than the sun. I kick the nearest stack of junk. Several old and scratched CD cases go clattering to the ground.
Don't get too angry or... too late.
The CD cases begin to float in the air. I remove the discs and let the cases clatter to the floor. I want the sharp, silver discs.
What is your anger toward? the voice in my head asks
He broke up with me! I hiss.
These words are like venom on my tongue. I squeeze my hands together and the CDs re-arrange themselves.
You deserve to be avenged
I don't take revenge, I thought we had an understanding about that. I say in frustration
Just think about it...these silver discs flying towards him. Catching him unaware and cutting...
"ENOUGH!" I scream, hurtling the discs forward with my mind.
I need to breathe I think to myself. Keep the demons in the dungeon.
I suck in a breath through my nose and hold it for ten seconds.
3...2...1...Release
I exhale slowly.
Your demons can't hide forever. The voice hisses angrily.
You're not hiding. You're being consumed by my flames.
We will be re-born from the ashes.
I can live with that... I sigh and open my eyes again.
        Time to pick up the pieces. It happens every time they come back, I usually end up breaking something. I find the CD's on the opposite wall, stuck through my bulletin board of pictures and no surprise, they were pictures of us. Our hiking journey in the Himalayas, our selfies at the beach along with the prom pictures and a photo of me and my mom when I was six. I didn't care about the couples pictures, I've tossed tonnes of them out already, but one of the surviving photos of my family. Well, half of it.
        The damage to the picture is pretty minimal, just a slice near my neck and a sliced corner. I begin ripping off the unwanted baggage that was my romantic relationship. It's my latest, but won't be my last. Why do I only manage to attract psychos and jerks? Once I'm done
        I can't be alone right now. I need someone to talk to and that doesn't mean the voices in my head.
"Hello?"
"Hi Lis..."
"Oh hey, how's it going?"
"Picture Rebecca Black meets that parrot from Aladdin and they team up with Macbeth and Freddy Kruger and they commit mass genocide on my soul."
"You're kidding? Who dumped who this time?" she sighs. I've called her so many times after break-ups, she knows not to ask who it was or why because I'll tell her.
"I guess we kind of dumped each other," I say, trying to process what actually happened in detail.
"What did he do to you? Did you break his arm like you did with Jackson?"
"No, and you know that was extenuating circumstances with that. He tried to grab my... you know. That was pure self-defence. That's what the courts said."
"You just cannot hold onto a man can you?" Alisa sighs at the other end of the line.
"Hey, you dated plenty and left a long trail of broken hearts than I did." I protest.
"At least I didn't get a restraining order."
"Lisa, the dude was a psycho."
"You're exaggerating."
"He collected sculptures."
"He sounds like a history buff."
"Of 70's underwear models."
"Okay, I'll give you that, but what about Jason?"
"Owned 8 ferrets."
"Anthony?"
"His obsession with the fact that there would be a Daredevil 2 doesn't scare you?"
"What about Billy?"
"Dude wouldn't grow up..."
"Let me guess..."
"Macaroni and bead necklaces. Cute craft for eight-year-old, but 21 years old!" I say sitting on my bed.
"What's with you and men?"
"I know! What is it? Am I such a beacon to freaks? Do I give off some siren song that says come to date me creepy, obsessive, childish psychos?"
"You do it?"
"It's a gift." I shrug.
"Okay, standard break up protocol, all the Nicholas Sparks movies, cookie dough ice cream and two boxes of tissues. I wish I could be there, but I have a night shift."
"And...?" I say, raising an eyebrow.
"And what? What are you saying?"
"You are such a bad liar, Raymond's over there isn't he?"
"I don't... how do you do that?"
"It's a " I say."Good night."
"Goodnight?"
"Go have a nice night?"
"But what kind of friend would I be if I let you alone tonight?"
You're not alone..."I'm not alone..."
"What do you mean?"
"I have Nicholas Sparks, Josh Duhamel and Ryan Gosling."
"Good night. I love you my best friend in the whole world."
"Love you too," I say and hang up.
        Another night alone in my loft apartment in New York City, New York. A typical night for me, Crystal Miller. A girl with no past and apparently no future. Don't think this is going to be another story about a girl finding herself...This one has more of an interesting twist. You haven't seen what I can do. You don't know what will make me tick and most importantly, you don't know who I am. This story is going to surprise you because this time...I'm writing a new ending.
==Chapter 2: A Different Kind of Tale==
I'm not done with you.
"Well, I'm done with you" I mutter angrily, grinding my toothbrush between my teeth. "I don't want any crap from you or anyone else in there.
You know this is all in your own head right?
"I don't have control over it. It's not like I asked for voices in my head. You and whoever else lives in my head are some kind of genetic defect " I say as I spit into the sink. "It's not schizophrenia. I've been to enough doctors to know."
Trying to change who you are...
"Basically" I grimace, turning off the light in the bathroom.
        Another lonely night in the big city of New York. No surprise, there have been countless nights like these before. I guess "technically" I'm not alone, but I try not to count the unwelcome presence of evil voices in my head. I guess they've been there since I was born. I can't remember a time where I didn't have the maniacal voices beckoning to me, telling me to do evil things. I can remember the significant event when I was four. I was playing in the living room with a couple toys. At that time, my mom and I were living in Colorado in a six storey building. I was brushing a Barbie's hair when the voice beckoned to me. I didn't say anything at first, thinking I was imagining things. The second time it spoke I began to look around, thinking there was a bad man in the apartment. Still nothing, I tried moving to the kitchen, that was under construction at the time. The voice followed me and told me to paint the kitchen their way. I dumped the contents all over the hardware floors and made a nightmare of a mess. I left my handprints everywhere and basically destroyed the progress that had been made. My mom only showed up in time to see me chuck the paint buckets out the window from the sixth storey. She was angry at first, she was beating me something fierce and I was screaming loud enough to wake the dead until she just stopped. She looked down at my frightened face, she leaned down and whispered.
"I'm not mad, just disappointed. I know who you are, it's not your fault."
        She helped me up and assisted me in cleaning up. We kept the paint and were the only people to have a blue hardware floor; which was a staple at dinner parties.
        Every time after that whenever the voices got me in huge trouble, my mom never got mad. Even when I was got mixed up in the drinking, drugs, shoplifting, you name it I did it, except maybe murder. By the time I was sixteen, it was a wonder that I was still alive. I had so much poison in my veins and lungs and so many charges on my head, it was amazing I wasn't on the 10 most wanted list. I'd also been kicked out of six schools, so my life had no purpose other than to smoke and watch re-runs of NCIS on cable. And even though that crap that I put her through, Mom was never angry for more than five minutes. She paid for whatever I stole or broke, gave me money when I needed it.
        I sit on my bed. After what happened.
Something can always come back to haunt you
"Shut up!"
How can you tell you're own mind to shut up, dearie...
         Oh! That word. Dearie. Whenever I hear that word, I want to punch or strangle something. It's the word that the voices always used to make me do awful things. It was so persuasive, coax me into  my "magic powers" against others, cause mischief and evil whenever I'm angry or sad.
        My glass on the nightstand shatters. That's it I need to let it out. I go to my window and scale the fire escape. Once I reach the roof I stare out at the cityscape. Millions of twinkling lights reflect out into the darkness. I want to make it better. I close my eyes and concentrate hard. The lights go out in the city. 
"Bring some real light  back."
I look upwards, without the city lights, we can see the stars. 
"Make them dance," I whisper.
        Little balls of light begin to dance around in the sky. I make two stars dance in a swirling formation. 
"Do the tango." They do so.
"Shooting stars too"
        I feel like a kid again, the wonderment never ceases. I love to see what I can do. It's better than when I used it for other purposes. 
You think you can avoid the inevitable. You can bid your magic for happy purposes, but that is not what it is meant for...
"You really don't know me at all even though you've lived in my head all my life. You may be my demons, but you don't always control me!"
Just you wait for it dearie
== Chapter 3: ==
My alarm goes off at 8:00. I need to get up, even though I was up late dancing with the stars. I hope the people of New York appreciated my display. I did restore the power after I was done. I do feel a slight twinge of guilt, but the demons have taught me that remorse is a weakness. So is love, but that's not why I broke up with him.
I hop into the shower and grab some breakfast on my way out the door. I don't want to be late again. The kids would never let me live it down. I call Alisa up.
"Hey."
"Hey, how are you this morning"
"Picture the Green Lantern movie, minus Ryan Reynolds with his shirt on, met Michael Myers and Venom from Spider man and they decided to make a movie and have me watch it with my eyes wide shut.''
"That still sucks, by the way were you affected by the power outage. Everyone says it was city wide?"
"Yeah I was but did you see the meteorites?"
"No, where were they?"
"Above our heads, where else?" I roll my eyes. "I'm wondering if they were the reason the power went out." I only say this to keep suspicion that I was the one who caused it. No one knows about my...abilities, just the voices in my head, my mom (too late) and myself. I figure it's better than being labelled as a freak or as a science project for every scientist in the world. I have good control of my powers and I only use them for little things like last night or when I seriously need to blow off steam.
"Maybe, but could you text me a few pics?"
"Sure, gotta go." I turn off at one of the intersections and head towards the daycare.
Suddenly, I realize that I forgot to bring a snack for the kids. I'd made it the night before, but the break-up made me absent-minded. I pull up to the front of the building and make sure that no one's looking before I conjure up the container of blueberry muffins with blue icing on top. Satisfied, I grab my purse and bring the container inside. I run into a few parents on my way in and give them a warm smile. I go down the hall and am greeted with a roar of early morning noises, from cries for that toy to giggles over the latest episode of The Backyardigans. This stuff is like music to my ears, it's what wakes me up in the morning and has me feeling proud of my job.
"Hi Crisi!" a little girl named Amanda says to me. Crisi is my nickname for the kids, they're a little young to say, Crystal. "What did you bring? Can I see? Can I see?"
"Not until snack time," I say, putting the bin on the back counter by the sink.
"Please, please, please," she begs, she's following me around like a dog as I hang my coat and purse in the back room. She's a kid with a sweet tooth and always loves the snacks I bring. She and I are kind of best buddies from this, she looks up to me and I see her as my little sister. She always wants to play with me and me to read to her. Poor girl has divorced parents and turns to me for comfort. I can almost fully relate to her, only my version is sicker.
"Amanda Knowles, you know those puppy dog eyes and pleas don't work on me"
"PLEASE!!" She begs, about to bring the tears.
I lean down to her level.
"How about this, I'll give you two hints and after story time, you can come me with your guess and if you guess right, I'll give you the first one. Okay?"
"Okay." She's an eager little kid with tonnes of energy.
"Okay here's the first hint...healthy and the second hint is sweet, you figure it out." I pat her on the head before going to the front desk.
Mrs. Bridges is the head teacher, I'm her assistant educator. She's okay with me, professionally, she does know about my past and treats me as an equal, most of the time. I proved them I was an avid worker with a trial run and I've got a good reputation, keeping my past under wraps. Personally, she hates my guts. She obviously hates that I'm even allowed near children with my background. She sees me as a cleaned up drug addict has been given too generous a chance. She thinks all drug addicts stay that way, so she's constantly rooting through my purse, looking for some kind of crime to have me shipped off the prison. She probably hates me because the kids like me better. I can tell she tries, but she's too strict and traditional about how to teach the kids. I try different things, mixing healthy with sweet things, I make up a play kitchen for the kids to learn about numbers and adding and when they're done, I bring out the snack they would've made in real life. There's more than one way to teach kids.
"Ah, Crystal..." Mrs. Bridges says softly. "We're bringing in a new student today and I want you to get him caught up and do whatever you do to help him make friends."
"What's his name?"
"Brendan Anderson."
"Nice name, which one is he?"
"The little one in the back clinging to the stuffed frog."
I catch sight of him and give him a smile. The kid hides his face in the frog and pulls his legs up, trying to make himself invisible. I immediately can relate to the poor thing, but I know I can help him. He has dark brown hair and light brown eyes that scan the room frantically. His dark brown complexion is soft, almost chocolate-like and makes him look adorable. When he catches me looking at him, he buries his face in the green frog he carries.
"Got it," I say.
"Alright, boys and girls please stand up for the Pledge of Allegiance."
All the children do as she says and I make my way to little Brendan. He hasn't stood up and just rocks back and forth in the corner. I wait until Bridges starts the lesson that I try to make contact with Brendan.
"Hi Brendan, I'm Crystal..."
The poor kid curls himself even tighter in a ball and holds his frog toy.
"How old are you buddy?" I ask in a gentle voice.
Nothing
"That's a nice frog, what's his name?"
He mumbles into his stuffed animal and keeps his eyes down.
I couldn't hear him so I take a guess.
"Ribbit?"
He shakes his head.
"Legs?"
"Hoppy"
The kid shakes his head once more. The little guy raises his head just enough to whisper the answer.
"Prince."
"Prince, like the story?"
He nods gently. He briefly looks at me before he curls back into his shell. He's got really cute eyes, big and brown and very curious, but he's special, I can tell.
"So if kiss him will he turn into a Prince?"
Brendan shakes his head and squeezes the toy harder, so hard I think he's going to squeeze the head off. Once the kids go to do crafts, I do the standard testing with Brendan, making sure he's capable of doing things like making sure he's able to zip his coat, counting and ABC's etc. I can tell he's a bright kid, just shy. He can actually add and read small books pretty well, impressive for a four-year-old.
"Where do you live?" I ask.
"By the lake, on the far side," he says in a small voice.
"That must be really pretty, do you go swimming?"
"All the time."
"Do you have any siblings?"
"No, just me, mommy and daddy."
"So you get lots of love?"
He doesn't respond
"Is that your favourite toy?"
"It's from my mommy, my real mommy"
"What do you..." I catch myself, not wanting to upset him.
"Can I see him?" I ask.
"Don't touch him! HE'S MINE!!" he wails.
Brendan reacts instinctively and buries himself on top of the frog as if he's going to protect it from something. He immediately begins to sniffle. The entire room becomes quiet for a moment, staring at us, Ms. Bridges included, who shoots me a stern glare. Eventually, the kids lose interest and go back to their crafts.
"Hey, I'm sorry buddy, I won't touch Prince."
It's at that moment that Amanda comes up with her guess.
"Are they chocolate chip muffins?" she asks in a bright and cheery voice. I guess the new person was so overwhelming for Brendan that he gets up and runs back into the coat room.
"Brendan!" I say.
I have Amanda tugging on my sleeve, waiting for an answer and a freaked out kid with extreme shyness hiding and most likely crying his eyes out.
"No Amanda, but you're close...I...Do I need to go find Brendan to see if he's okay? Uh, keep guessing, I'll be right back" I pat her on the shoulder.
I stand up from the table and go into the coat room. There is a neat row of little, colourful rubber boots and raincoats.
"Brendan? Brendan, I'm sorry buddy I didn't mean to try and take..."
There is a sudden eruption of noise in the main room. There is screeching and yelling, mixed with giggles.
"CRYSTAL!!" Bridges' voice screeches out.
I feel torn, but one of the kids could be hurt, Brendon can wait for now. He'll be safe, he's hiding. I re-assure myself as I rush to Bridges' aid. Turns out a couple of kids thought it would be funny to glue construction paper to Jesse Tyler's hair and in a rage, Jesse dumps a bottle of glitter on the instigators and it just escalated from there. I spent the next half hour, trying to get the glue out of Jesse's hair and cleaning out several mouths that had ingested either paste or glitter in the fight. I then spent another half hour cleaning up the mess while Bridges took the kids outside. After that, it was storytime and I ended up reading up two books to the kids. Then I had to share my snack and much to Amanda's delight, still got the first one, even though her guesses were wrong. I saved one for Brendon, but Bridges had me doing paperwork for the rest of the afternoon, and by then the parents came get the kids. By the time I was done, Brendon was gone. I know, I checked, twice.
At the end of the day, Bridges and I cleaned up and got ready to head home.
"Can you lock up?" Bridges asks in a sullen tone.
"Sure," I say, putting the stuffed animals in the bin. I know she likes to go home to her cats and her soap operas. "Have a nice night"
No response, but I shrug it off. I decide it's okay to finish the clean with you know what. It means I can actually get home at a decent hour. Once the cleaning is done, I decide to organize Bridges' desk. I'm sorting each kid's folder when I find Brendon's.
Do it...
"Guess who's back" I hiss angrily.
"I'm going to do it anyways, I have a right to know who I'm supervising..."
I open it up.
Brendon Naveen Anderson.
Born: June 11th, 2010
Weight: 43 lbs
Height: 4ft 12 inches
Pretty standard stuff. He has a nut allergy, but has an EpiPen for it, was chronically shy and an early suggestion of an anxiety disorder. I guess that can explain his off behaviour, but every kid is upset on their first day. I continue scanning and what's been bugging since he screamed and ran away from me.
Adoption papers. That's what he meant by his "real mommy." I guess he...
"Wait..." I notice a bunch of ink blots on the page.
"He was adopted at birth? Where are his birth parents? And how does a four-year-old know who his "real mommy" is?"
How the hell should I know?
"Wasn't talking to you" I hiss angrily.
No you're talking to yourself like the nut case you are...
"Shut up" I mutter. "The kid's birth certificate is totally messed up, the only thing that's not crossed out is where he was born"
Maybe the adoption was closed.
"I don't think so, even then why would they provide the certificate if it's supposed to sealed. Why is it here then? Unless... unless..."
Unless what?!
"Something just isn't right, I'm going to take a picture of it." I whip my phone out.
You know that's against the rules, the law
"Since when do you care about me following the rules, this should be fricken Christmas for you?"
But I'm supposed to tell you what to do and when.
"Maybe you're losing your edge. Do yourself a favour, take the night off"
Not likely
"Of course not, because I can't tell you what to do... Just shut up I can drive home in peace"
I don't hear anything else. Satisfied, I snap fingers and the desk organizes itself, including Brendon's folder.
I turn off the lights and lock up. On my way to the car, I zoom in to enhance the only two legible things written on Brendon's birth certificate, his name and where he was born.
Storybrooke General Hospital.