From: vtth0a@nando.net (Lori Rice)
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: Short: Walking on a Thin Line
Date: 14 Jan 1996 21:31:17 GMT
Well, this is my first post, and yes, I'm a little nervous. I'm
not
planning on quitting my day job, but a little feedback to let me know
if I
should keep working on the stories on my hard drive would be appreciated.
(Jessica - Thanks for the encouragement.)
Lori
Standard Disclaimer:
The X-Files, Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, and Walter Skinner belong to
Chris
Carter, 10-13 productions, and Fox Television. They're used without
permission, and no infringement is intended.
Additional Disclaimers:
Lyrics to "Walking on a Thin Line" by A. Pessis and K. Wells are copyright
1983 Endless Frogs Music (ASCAP)/Slimey Limey Music (BMI)/McNoodle
Music,
My version of choice was by Huey Lewis and the News, on the "Sports"
album.
Lyrics used without permission.
November 11, 1995
Mulder awoke suddenly, thrashing around on the sofa. He sat up
slowly, and
looked at the clock on the VCR - it read 5:29. <Well,> Mulder
thought to
himself, <At least it was almost time to get up anyways.>
He made his way
into the shower, and as the hot water coursed over his body, he pieced
bits
of his nightmare together.
It was the same one as usual. Almost every night for the past
22 years,
Mulder was haunted by the image of Samantha, suspended in the air,
crying
out for his help. And almost every night for the past 22 years,
he had
been paralyzed by fear, unable to help.
And the more recent addition to his nightly routine. The sound
of Scully's
voice on his answering machine, first describing the incident at the
grocery store with the implant, then her screams for help as Duane
Barry
took her away. This was followed by the vision of Scully, locked
in the
trunk of her car, and finally by the bright flash of light on the mountain
top, when he thought he had lost her forever.
He stepped out of the shower, and walked back into the living room,
clad
only in a towel. He pushed the power button on the radio, letting
the
noise flow in the background. He sat down on the sofa, rested
his elbows on
his knees, and his head in his hands. These nightmares, though
part of his
daily routine, were beginning to wear thin. He rarely slept through
the
night, and always felt like he needed a nap. Lately, it seemed,
his
patience had been affected by it. The smallest thing could snap
his
nerves, bringing his temper down on whoever was closest, usually Scully.
<Maybe I should see a shrink> he thought to himself. The thought
brought a
wry smile to his face. <You *ARE* a shrink, you idiot.
If you can't work
through this on your own, what makes you think someone else can help
you.>
He lay down on the sofa, heads behind his head. His mood was getting
more foul by the minute, and it was only 5:45. As he began to
sink into a
self-pitying pit of despair, the AM disc jockey's voice floated over
the
airwaves. "Happy Veteran's day, folks. This one's going
out to all of my
friends who made it back from 'Nam, and to the ones who didn't.
We all
miss you guys."
Mulder snapped out of his thoughts for a minute, and listened to the
song
playing on the radio. <Uggh. Pop. They don't normally
play this crap on
this station.> He was about to get up and change the station,
when the
lyrics to the song hit him like a slap in the face.
Sometimes in my bed at night
I curse the dark and pray
for the light
And sometimes the light's
no consolation
Blinded by a memory
Afraid of what it might
do to me
But the tears and the sweat
Only mock my desparation
Don't you know me I'm the
boy next door
The one you find so easy
to ignore
Is that what I was fighting
for?
Walking on a thin line
Straight off the front line
Labeled as freaks
Loose on the streets of
the city
Walking on a thin line
Angry all the time
Take a look at my face
See what it's doing to me
The psychiatrist in him began to diagnose the ailment. Post-traumatic
stress disorder. But then an inner voice whispered at him <This
song
could have been written for you... Blinded by a memory... Labeled as
freaks... See what it's doing to me...> He relaxed, and listened
to the
song more closely.
------------------
The alarm clock went off. Skinner sat up in bed like a shot, wakened
from
yet another flashback to his days in 'Nam. The clock radio was
playing
some pop dribble, really unusual for this station. He was about
to hit the
snooze button when the music blended into lyrics.
Taught me how to shoot to
kill
A specialist with a deadly
skill
A skill I needed to have
To be a survivor
It's over now, or so they
say
Well sometimes it don't
work out that way
Cause you're never the same
when you've been
Under fire
Don't you know me I'm the
boy next door
The one you find so easy
to ignore
Is that what I was fighting
for?
Walking on a thin line
Straight off the front line
Labeled as freaks
Loose on the streets of
the city
Walking on a thin line
Angry all the time
Take a look at my face
See what it's doing to me
As the chorus repeated and the song faded out, tears rolled down Skinner's
face, as the memories washed over him in waves. Nights in the
jungle,
trying to sleep, while listening for the VC. Days in the hospital,
recovering from injuries, thinking of the buddies he had lost.
Evenings
back home, after he had received his medical discharge, when everyone
in
the neighborhood looked to the ground as they passed by him, ashamed
of him
for serving his country. He'd been home for over twenty years,
but had
never forgotten the heartbreak of "The Conflict."
The disc jockey's voice came on, over the last few cords of the song.
"Like I said, that's for all my buddies who served in 'Nam. God
bless all
of you." The sounds from the radio switched to an ad for the
Hecht's
Veterans Day sale, and Skinner's mind switched from recollection mode
to
business mode. He got out of bed, and began his daily routine.
---------------------
Mulder had been quiet all morning. Scully had barely heard a word
from
him. "Mulder, do you want to go get some lunch?" He looked
up from his
paperwork, and glanced at her over the rim of his glasses.
"No, thanks. I think I'll just take a walk later."
Scully gave him a once-over, and decided that he was just quiet, not
upset.
He actually looked... well, the only words she could think of were
'at
peace.' She grabbed her coat off the rack by the door and headed
out of
the office. "OK. I'm going to check out the sale at Hecht's."
He nodded
goodbye, and went back to his paperwork. After a few minutes,
he got up,
grabbed his coat, and left the office as well.
----------------------
As usual, Mulder's introspective walk led him to the Lincoln Memorial.
We
sat on the steps for a half hour, thinking about Samantha, and thinking
about Scully. He had been lucky enough to have Scully returned
to him, and
with more luck, faith, and Scully's support, he *would* find Samantha.
Feeling more content than he had in months, he headed back to the office.
For some reason he couldn't explain, he took the route via the Wall.
----------------------
As Mulder walked along the 'wall' that made up the Vietnam Veterans
Memorial, he noticed the letters, flowers, and gifts left on the ground
nearby. <I guess everyone has their own way of making peace.>
As he
reached the bottom of the Wall, he stopped and looked around at all
of the
people gathered at the memorial. He was ready to head back to
the office,
when he noticed Skinner a few yards away, fingering the names carved
into
the granite. He stood still for a few moments, not wanting to
intrude.
Just as he was about to turn and walk in the other direction, Skinner
noticed him, and caught his eye. Mulder walked up to him slowly,
unsure of
how to proceed. "Good Morning, sir."
"Morning, Mulder. Just saying goodbye to a few old friends, and
making
peace with a few bad memories." Skinner took one last glance
at the names,
and turned to walk back to the office. Mulder fell into step
beside him,
and the two men walked briskly back toward the J. Edgar Hoover building.
They walked past a street kid on the corner, his boom box blaring some
hip-hop garbage that neither of them could understand. As they
turned the
corner, the hip-hop faded into pop, and the lyrics washed over them,
like a
wave of peace.
Sometimes in my bed at night
I curse the dark and pray
for the light
And sometimes the light's
no consolation...
The End
--
Lori Rice
vtth0a@nando.net
Go VT Hokies!