Title: Putting on a Long Black Skirt Author: allimarie Rating: G Category: V Spoilers: This Is Not Happening Keywords: post-ep Summary: just read it, it's short enough! Disclaimer: Feedback: pleeeeeeeeeease! and that's all i have to say about that. oops, fooled you...! see, i know this is just a little vignette and not a whole lot to get excited about, but i'm a nice person so you may just want to email me anyway! ; ) and i always write back! cadenzathequarterhorse@yahoo.com Archive: sure, just let me know Author's Notes: at the end ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The dresser leaned its bulk against the wall, its oppressive mass distinct in a room filled with silent mourners. The floor which separated Scully from its dark comfort seemed a vast and barren wasteland which must necessarily be crossed. How had she gotten here? A remote section of her mind seemed to be governing her movements but her awareness existed in only one, very primal plane. She indulged without consideration in a dark, suffocating hell - her only connection to life. She knew none of the words that described her suffering state; knew not of the English language at all, nor of its parts of speech and its poetry and its prose. She knew not of science and its centrifuges and its strands of DNA. She knew not of music and its chords and its suspensions and resolutions. She knew not of math and its proofs, of its architectural triumphs. She knew not how the wind blows in the Adirondacks in the winter, nor how the sun caresses the sand and holds its bathers in a gentle peace on the beaches in Santa Barbara. She knew not the rain that cleanses the sins of a preoccupied city, nor the blue skies that dominate the landscape in Kansas after a storm. She knew pain. Pain in all its forms, though not how to classify them. She was enveloped by pain. There was nothing that was not dark and sad, nothing that did not weep. Various shades of pain made up the backdrop, the stage, the players, and the audience. But, like oil and water, Scully's pain did not merge with that which surrounded her. She was alone in her pain because it was beyond the comprehension of any who might seek to empathize. Now a detatched but increasingly insistent voice seemed to clear its throat. There was a reason she stood in this threshold, and she desperately grabbed at the fringes of a notion. Bare legs. Clothes. She had to get dressed. Instinctively, she avoided following the thought any further. There was no aspiration higher than the donning of a skirt. Observing once again the distance to the dresser, the detatched voice seemed to take remote control of Scully's legs and walk her forward a few steps. Perhaps it was a whiff of a familiar scent, or the empty space on the floor where a pair of shoes once lay, but all at once Scully realized that light was shining through the window and that particles of dust were floating on the air hightlighted by the patches of rays, and that air filled her lungs when she breathed, and that cars were driving by outside, and that the clock in the living room ticked loudly, and that when she looked in the mirror someone looked back. And it was too much and she fell sobbing to the floor. And she tried to shut out the memories as they intruded on her tattered soul, tried to drown out the sounds that accompanied the memories with her fists by pounding the carpet. She tried with as much strength as she could muster to deny the realization she did not want to face. She had to put on a long skirt. She would get up, she would walk to the dresser and choose from a large selection of varying styles and materials. She would put one leg through, then the other, and she would pull it up. She would button the button and zip the zipper, and it would be on. And then, she would go to his funeral. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Author's Notes: don't worry....it all works out! oh, you knew that? just checking. now, was it better than you expected? or better than you hoped? hehe, just kidding of course. i wrote this in a really short amount of time.....i'd say about an hour. (an hour?!?!) yes, it took that long...hey, i'm a perfectionist, and that is like having something heavy chained to your leg all the time. anyway, i wrote this because i was inspired by the notion, and that is all. i think i would never be able to write anything this sad if i didn't have the knowledge about how it all ends, and the time that has passed since then, under my belt. i think i have to distance myself from that kind of devestation. i think i wrote this mainly for myself, because i don't know who enjoys reading this kind of torture....i know i usually avoid it. after my last fic, which was my first, a lot of people asked me to write more (and they probably thought i was kidding when i said it might be awhile!) but this is probably not what they had in mind! in any case, this is unlike anything else i have ever attempted, but i am glad that i did it! thanks muchly to mer for the beta and stuff! and thanks rie and lise forthe and stuff! and to the other pocas, because i heart you and stuff. Add Endum to the Author's Notes: ;) i wrote this in july, but i only formatted it now, so if i wrote anything that is no longer appropriate, i'm sorry, but i'm not goingback and changing anything now! hope you like it, and i hope i still do, too!! :D