Sometimes I feel like I don't have a problem. Other times I know that I live in fear of the day when I will be happy. Through the dark, endless nights I avoid the daylight, the constant reminder of the life I once knew and the life that I lost. I live barely on the outer edges of my soul and my mind, living only for the sake of living and being left behind. I see that people pity me, are intrigued by me and want to know more. Things that I cannot speak of, that exist forgotten hidden at the back of memories of a day which never fades.
Behind the bar, serving drinks, acknowledging each person with a single nod because I can't bring myself to do any more or to smile and engage in conversation, I allow contact with the outside world. They don’t know where I’m from, or who I am. They just believe in my tragic life and sit and think about it quietly. I have no friends to talk to and nor do I want any because eventually they will end up being sacrificed for the greater good of Fox Mulder. This is the way it has always been and this is how I should have known what would happen. Two bullets, that should have been mine managed to kill someone who was never going to die. It wasn’t supposed to end that way, but it did. That’s life.
In another time and another place I see myself hidden inside a room, contemplating my day to day actions and the worthlessness of my cause. I wanted to tell her that it was over. My quest had finished, that I no longer believed and wanted it all to end. I wanted to tell her what she meant to me, the value of her love and friendship. It was too late. By the time I reached the outside of my apartment, I saw her blood stained body lying lifeless slumped against a dumpster. She had tried to come to me but has died for that.
In memory of her, I retracted my position and saved the others from the same fate. Each would have died for my beliefs, but I didn’t think that the deaths of more friends would help the cause. None of them ever tried to find me. They knew what I did and understood my feelings. I am grateful for that. Even though I am alone, I know that eternity can be understood with a simple phrase, ‘A life without truth is a life without those that you love.’ Sometimes it is better that way.
For the rest of my years I see myself performing the same task which I do today. The ritual of my soul. As I walk through the long grass on a cold February morning, I learn to appreciate the life of others and to understand that their path is the key to my own. For someone so precious to be lost and that impact to be felt by so many to make isolation a necessary evil in the awakening of consciousness it is possible to see the effect of death on life. Twelve red roses mark the way through another year of darkness. As I lay them by the tombstone I say a prayer to my God asking for her forgiveness and the strength to live through another day and I whisper ‘Happy Birthday, Scully’.
947 First our pleasures die - and then
Our hopes, and then our fears - and when
These are dead, the debt is due,
Dust claims dust - and we die too.
Shelley (1792-1822)
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