TITLE: Death of a Fanfic-girl (or, Good Taste takes a Holiday)
AUTHOR: Kitsunagari
SPOILERS: Not a one.
RATING: G
DISCLAIMER: Mulder and Scully aren't mine...although, if they're ever looking for a home...*g*
FEEDBACK: Yes please! 'cept flames of course. :) kitsunagarix@yahoo.com
DISTRIBUTION: *snicker* Ok, sure, if you want it...:) Just let me know, so I can scratch my head in wonder. ;)
KEYWORDS: Weird? Oddly disturbing?
SUMMARY: I think the title says it all really...
NOTES: Allright! I apologise for this...it came from nowhere, leaving me helpless in its wake. ;)

***********************************************************************

The girl sat down optimistically in front of her computer and basked in the anticipation of the brilliance shortly to flow from her fingertips, transforming her humble word processor into the winged-messenger of the earthmoving story that she was sure would be forthcoming.

The cursor blinked.

Offonoffonoffonoffon.

As her inspiration seemed to be momentarily caught in traffic, she got up and got a Diet Coke. Sitting down, she rearranged a couple of things on her desk, then flexed her fingers encouragingly over the keyboard.

Offonoffonoffonoffon.

She regarded her mental whiteboard of ideas.

Don't like that one.

*That's* been done zillions of times.

*yawn* Nobody would want to read about *that*.

Desperately, she searched her memory for the list of shelved ideas that she was sure she'd filed away for future development.

Offonoffonoffonoffon.

In a somewhat surly fashion, she gave in and clicked on the "Open File..." button and looked with distaste at the plethora of half-finished stories that lurked on her hard drive, mocking her with their scant paragraphs; taking up valuable disk space, and daring her to delete them.

Which, of course, she would never do. As much as she loathed the sight of them in her "Unfinished" directory, she just couldn't bring herself to destroy them.

She might finish them one day.

The files smirked at her, smug in the knowledge of their indestructibility.

Scowling, she selected one at random and opened it. The next few minutes were spent re-reading and editing, in some show of affirmative action.

"Hey, this might not be so bad," the girl thought to herself misguidedly, her earlier jauntiness and idealism returning. "If I just change this...re-write that...oh, he would never have said that...*what* was I thinking."

Ten minutes later, all systems were go. The new and improved version of the partial story sat ready to be completed, hoping to itself that maybe, just maybe, the girl would *finally* finish it, and not leave it pathetically ending-less in the no-man's-land of her "Unfinished" folder *again*.

Hesitant typing followed and a few desolate sentences straggled their way across the screen.

Offonoffonoffonoffon.

"Oh, it's no use!!" wailed the girl, beating her head on the wooden desktop. Bang, bang, bang. "I can't write!" Bang, bang, bang. "The other stories were a fluke." Bang, bang, bang. "Oh, what's the use?"

Bang, bang, bang, wail.

Suddenly, the girl's eyes rolled back into her head, and her head fell forward onto the keyboard with a clatter.

The unfinished story sighed resignedly to itself. It would *never* get finished now.

********************************************************************************

Scully poked professionally around in the girl's brain with a gloved finger. Mulder looked on, slightly sickened.

"Oh my god, Mulder..."

Mulder's nauseated expression lessened somewhat. "What? Did you find what killed her?"

Scully grabbed a pair of tongs and thrust them into the girl's cranial cavity, fished around, and began to pull at something. Finally, with no small amount of effort, Scully pulled the object free from the girl's brain with a wet, sucking, popping sort of noise. Blood and bits of tissue splattered over Scully's glasses and scrubs.

Mulder tried to look nonchalant as he dry-retched in the corner.

A small line formed in Scully's brow as she regarded the object held in the tongs with a scientist's fascination. "I've read about these before, Mulder...but I've never before seen one. And this is the first time I've ever heard of a terminal one...although," she paused, rotating the object in front of her gaze. "From what I've read, this *is* an unusually large one..."

"What is it?" a pallid Mulder asked wretchedly from several feet away, trying not to look directly at the thing.

"I believe that what we're looking at is a fictitious interruptus." She looked over to Mulder. "Or what's more commonly known as writer's block." With that, she dropped the object into a metal bowl, where it landed with a squishy sound.

****************************************************************************

In heaven, the girl read blissfully through her perfect story. And it was perfect, because this was Heaven, and all things are possible in Heaven.

She basked in the otherworldly glow from her computer monitor, and put the finishing touches on her little piece of divinity. And she didn't even need to save it, because although even Heaven used Microsoft, there was no "blue screen of death", because this was Heaven, and all things are possible in Heaven.

She frowned slightly at what she read upon her monitor. "What do you mean I can't post to ATXC from here?" She screamed and clutched desperately at her hair. "Noooooooooooooooooooooooooo!"

THE END

No Mulders were harmed in the making of this story. Good taste on the other hand, suffered heavy casualties.

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