From: fsuct@csv.warwick.ac.uk (Mr C King)
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: Dreamscapes
Date: 19 Nov 1995 19:12:14 -0000
alrighty, this is my first posting so i'd appreciate any feedback, positive or
negative . . . first a little disclaimer: dana scully, fox mulder and their
families belong solely to the mighty triumvirate that is chris carter, 10-13
and fox, a mighty 3some indeed . . . think of these stories and the ones that
will follow as separate parts of the same whole . . . finally, thanks to
caroline for suggestions and third season titbits . . . happy birthday, little
sister . . .
DREAMSCAPES
"I've often felt that dreams were answers to questions that we haven't yet
figured out how to ask."
- Fox Mulder in 'Aubrey'.
Dana
Dana stands in the doorway of the church, overwhelmed and alone. Eyes wide,
mouth slightly open with the fascination of a young girl, she stares upwards
at the vast ceiling and its painted surfaces, its kaleidoscopic colours. She
does not want to but she takes an excited, tentative step forward, then another
unable to stop herself, being willed on by . . . something. The thick oak
door thunders shut behind her and the sound rumbles through the emptiness of
the church, the fear inside her head and chest rising relentlessly. She feels
the terror spread to every limb, every nerve inside her small body, feels
it deep inside her heart as it pounds against her chest, shaking with
every beat, but she continues to walk on, she has no control. In front of her
lies nothing but horror, waiting within the darkness, waiting for her, but
she can't stop, oh God, she wishes she could but she can't, she can't . . .
Then she sees the window, with its myriad colours, light pouring through,
illuminating the red, blue, green, brown, white, so vivid they almost seem to
merge into the other, as if they are alive, as if the colours breathe. So
wonderful, thinks Dana, so very, very, beautiful. Through the colours she
sees faces that fill her with a sensation of overwhelming peace, security,
her father smiles down through the swirl, her mother's eyes, her brothers,
she sees herself playing with Missy in the wood, laughing at the tops of
their voices, not caring who heard, shouting each others names, and she sees
a man, smiling down, in a robe, filling her with wonder, nothing but wonder,
and in his eyes only strength . . .
Dana's small blue eyes dance with colour as the light radiates down, on her
face, on her flame red hair. This was the way her mother said it would be,
the way the priest with the bald head and the nice smile described it, the
feeling of peace. Dana smiles, the fear gone, the darkness that hides the
horror shrinking away into the corner and her small body untenses, relaxes,
until she closes her eyes and feels the church and window dissolve around her
into a warm darkness that is full of absolute safety and she floats, floats,
floats . . . motionless . . . until, with a smile, the warmth of the darkness
washes over her, into her, making her forget it all . . .
"Dana!"
Her eyes struggled open, fighting the urge to fall back into sleep.
"Wh . . . m'up," was all she could manage.
The door was quickly opened, revealing a woman's face, mildly annoyed. Dana
opened her eyes and looked at her mother.
"Dana Scully get out of bed this minute!"
"Morning mommy."
Her mother's eyes softened.
"Good morning, Dana," her face quickly hardening in mock severity, "now get
out of bed young lady or I'l tell your father . . . Bill, will you tell
your daughter please?"
The round face of Dana's father poked itself round the door, his face
surpressing a smile, showing only comical seriousness.
"Out of bed this minute, Starbuck."
Dana saluted her father with glee.
"Yes sir, Ahab."
William Scully smiled at his daughter and walked away, down the hall, while
her mother walked into the bedroom to get ready for work. Dana threw back
her covers and swung her feet down onto the carpeted floor to get ready for
school. She made a mental note to ask her father about that question in
her Biology homework she was stuck on, the one about the frogs. She didn't
quite get the bit about the hatching of the eggs. How did they know it was
time to come out, she thought to herself.
There's no rush, she thought with a small smile, staring at her reflection
in the mirror on her dressing table.
"He'll always be here," said Dana Scully to her reflection, with the absolute
confidence of a six year old child.
Fox
. . . and the wind blows hard into Fox's face and pours around him, his
body feeling like he's inside a cushioned coccoon of air as he soars, arms
by his side, over houses and fields, uncontrollably fast, carlights streaming
together as he tears over the freeway, white lines blurring into one
perpetual streak, the pin pricked starlight piercing the clouds above,
dazzling as they merge into beautifully soft slashes of energy . . .
. . . and Fox isn't afraid, oh no, but a smile splits his face, as he flies,
flies, flies over his hometown at an amazing speed, doesn't understand how,
doesn't care why, all he knows is that he is flying, the wind rushing, roaring,
through his head, he feels it on his face, his arms bare up to the shoulder
of his Nicks t-shirt he wears and with a delighted, rapturous cry he wills
himself higher, up through the dark clouds towards the starlight, away from
the ground, from Earth, into space, into infinity . . .
. . .and suddenly the wind stops its roaring as the thunder ceases inside his
head, leaving the clouds below, their moisture still on his skin, starlight
reflected in every drop, yet he feels nothing but warmth, sees nothing but the
vastness above him, around him, his joy rising to new levels, heights he has
never dreamed he could ever reach, oh if only Samantha was here he thinks,
if she was only here to see this, feel this, the silence of being above it
all, she would forget the argument they had last night, and she would feel the
same way that he feels now, oh if only Samantha was here, thinks Fox, if only
Samantha was here . . .
. . . and Fox's young, tall body slows down until he is poised in the air,
he turns himself around, around, looks up at the fierce balls of gas so very
far away, feels infinitessimaly small yet so full of meaning, understands the
future ahead, life without his parents, without his sister, ready for the
burden of whatever lay ahead, looking forward to it, relishing it, of no
longer being a child . . .
. . . and as the lights grow in strength they bathe his arms, his face, he
feels their warmth and suddenly he knows that there is something up here, not
a God, he thinks, not a God, but others, like him, like us, and he feels
their knowledge in his head and in his body, thinks to himself he may leave,
but his parents, his sister, will always be here, across a phone line,
but always here . . .
. . . and Fox Mulder smiles with joy.
"Fox! Time for school, your sister is up and so should you be. Up, young man."
He opened his eyes and felt a strange mood of contentment.
"Yeah, Dad," he shouted through the door, struggling out of bed.
Strange, thought Fox to himself, It's Monday, I hate Mondays and I have to be
at school in half an hour, so why am in such a good mood? Hearing the logic of
a schoolboy, his mind began to mull over the dreary day ahead.
Mondays, I hate 'em, thought Fox to himself, over and over in his head.
Suddenly he smiled to himself in glee, remembering something crucial. It
was a Monday, school may be hell during the day, but as for the night,
well, that was something completely different.
It's a Monday, thought Fox Mulder, smiling at his reflection in the mirror,
and school may be tedious but The Magician is on tonight.
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