TITLE: Road Less Traveled
AUTHOR: Maidenjedi
RATING: R. If you are easily offended by "doubting God"
stories or thoughts, please read something else.
CATEGORY: V, SPOV, SA
EMAIL: texgoddess@yahoo.com
ARCHIVE: Spooky's, Xemplary, Gossamer. Anyone else
please email me first. I will probably say ok.
SUMMARY: Sure I think about it now and then...
SPOILERS: small ones for FTF, and an preamble to
"all things". Could take place during FTF, before Scully
gives her final report at the end.
DISCLAIMER: Don't sue me, please. They aren't
mine, and I really do know that in my saner state
of mind. Thank you to Little Texas for
the song that always makes me think a little
too hard, the one that strikes me hard and deep in
my heart.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Dedicated to my Mulder, in hopes
that faith is indeed what we make of it, and that the
paths we choose indeed are the right ones. This
story was concieved upon rewatching FTF for about
the 100th time. Given the mind-blowing season
finale we have all recently witnessed, and my
personal penchant for the dramatic, and a morning
of my life that I wish I could relive, just for
the pleasure of the company. I am in a bit
of a state right now....please excuse any insanity
I let slip out. This is personal revelation of sorts
for both me and Scully.
The thing about this story is that it is something
of an early prelude to "all things." I think
Scully's ambiguity was something that had to build up
over time, and given the sincere lack of evidence in
seasons 6-most of 7, this vignette attempts to capture
the root of her wavering faith.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The beginning of the end. I feel it, with every step
I take, every turn in my sleep. My dreams end with
the cold of Antarctic snow, and when I awaken I am
clutching my pillow hard and tight. I am not
gripping the feathers or the cotton case...I am gripping
the last thread I have in life, because there may not
be a way to save me the next time.
I was stopped from the end by nothing more than fate.
So now I stand short of it, and by my own admission
I am choosing to stand here. What I need is in front
of me, day in and day out. But is it what I want? And do
I have the stamina to see myself through the consequences?
Another night and my pillow may have had it. I need to
talk to someone, get this out. But I can't stand that
someone may know how shaken I was by that simple twist of
fate, how badly the "might have beens" keep me tossing and
turning. So I turn to the only thing I have left.
I got this rosary when I was very small. White porcelein
beads, sterling silver crucifix. If he saw this, I would
probably never live it down. So I keep it hidden, inside
a hollow book. I bring it out now, though, in this early
morning limbo, just before daybreak.
"I believe in one God..."
But do I? After all I've seen, do I? Is it just fate
or is it...
"the Father, the Almighty..."
I do, I have to. Reality provides no solace, no safe haven.
"Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name..."
I know these prayers so well, as though they are old
friends, my only friends in this life of uncertainity.
"Hail Mary, full of Grace, the Lord is with thee..."
She is my comfort, at last, in this series of prayers I have
recited monotonously ever since I was in cable-knit
stockings and a white straw hat. For my entire memory,
when I could find no solace in routine, in hard facts,
when I could no longer count on what I knew or trust
him with my life, I would fall on this prayer, to
this mother of the saints, knowing she would set my heart
right and assure me I was where I should be.
"Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners...."
She is there, listening....
"Now and at the hour of our death, amen."
There is no consolation today. She doesn't hear the note
of desperation that colors these prayers.
Prayers after prayers....the cycle is complete, and I can hear
the morning birds chirping in the nearly broken day.
I stand up, ever so slowly, afraid to sense how truly
alone I am. I close my eyes, adding "Please God
let this day pass well, keep harm at bay from us both..."
But I stop, mid-sentence.
My eyes fly open. It seems even the birds have
ceased chirping.
God isn't listening. No, that's not it....
*God* intervened, didn't he, it wasn't just fate?
Was it a sign, a way to lead me down a path more suited
to me, a path I was meant to take?
The Antarctic snow and cold have returned, it seems. Suddenly
I want to crawl under the quilt and ignore it, curl up
against it. So I do.
Why is it so cold? Why do I suddenly feel alone?
Am I over that edge...is this the end? Do I have the stamina
to face this challenge?
Or am I still bound by fate, unable to want what I need?
What do I need?
The birds' chirping resumes, and with a start I realize morning
is here, and I need to be on my way. But even as I stand
to walk to the shower, the rosary is under my foot, silently
reminding me...the might have beens.
My hand touches my neck, uneasy and frightened.
I am afraid, I realize. The future is uncertain, and did I
take the right path? Will this path lead me to my future, or am
I bound by fate once more, unable to stop and take in what I
need, unable to touch the intangible dream?
Oh, what might have been....
And the sun touches my face. I hold up my chin, I straighten
my shoulders. The world is waiting. I am waiting. Perhaps
he too, is waiting. It is my move, it is my faith that hangs
in the balance. I can handle those things, I decide.
The road less traveled is merely the road more challenging.
****************
fin.
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