this is a bit sad so do not read this if you are not a person who likes sad storys
i was told that the start of the story is familer to another, but no person
can remeber the name of the story. Sorry.
John
In Mornings Light do We Awake
The skys melancholy gray matched the landscape, and its mood certainly was in
reflection of the charcoal land. The overwhelming feeling of death was in
every aspects of the cemetery, from the grass to the trees to the old
decade flowers.
And the woman knew the mood of the sky. Her languid promenade down
the lethargic avenues of
the cemetery came to an prompt stop, the wind blasting the tails of her
protracted, black, London Fog
trench coat against her short, sturdy legs. As she thought of her current
predicament a sardonic smile
shone superficially on her lips, not in the eyes as all smiles from the
underside of the heart do. She
perceived that this would be an arduous task, to impart on him the
knowledge that she had kept to solely
to herself for so long. With a shaking hand she reached up to her petite
face and quickly brushed a thick,
curly, chunk of copper colored hair behind her ear and out of her eyes,
the other was busy holding dozen
white roses.
With a renewed sense of resoluteness, she carefully walked the tired
paths, trying somewhat
unsuccessfully not to step on any of graves and disrespecting them. After
a spell her mind began to
speculate many things at once, and soon it was completely wrapped in a
domain of its own; away from
gray of the landscape; away from the trepidation of her heart; away from
the guilt of her mind.
While her mind was not reasoning well, she was
contemplating, in truth she was doing an
awful lot of very hard thinking, she was simply not doing it rationally.
While working a case, many things that are not normally done are by
necessity made habitual.
While working a case, it was not unheard of for agents to leave in the
middle of the day, either to checkup
on a lead or to catch a bite or for any number of thousands of viable
reasons. While working a case, it was
not unheard to work with other agents who shared your expertise. While
working a case, it was not
unheard of for partners to work whole cases with out seeing each other,
especially when the one was a
pathologist, and the other was a behavioral profiler, as was the fact of the
matter with the woman and her
partner. It was however, unheard of to not show up for a meeting with
the director of the FBI. It was,
however, unheard of to not answer your cell or your home phone many
hours. It was, however, unheard of
to leave your door unlocked. It was, however, unheard of to leave
without telling anyone of your
whereabouts.
So absorbed in her thoughts was this woman with the flowers, that when
she stopped once again,
in front of a rather large gray stone she was shocked at the name in the marble: Fox
Mulder. He partner. In her reverie
she had not thought of where she was going,. She looked at her old
black leather banded watch to find
it was almost two hours after she had made her destination to go and
explain the events to Mulder, her
partner, even in death. The bureau mandated shrink thought that it would
be a wonderful chance for
closure, and the flowered lady didn't argue. The week that had
completed in the wake of his death had
made her realize that she never conquered, rarely came, and in some
futile attempt in the act of closure
the shrink thought that she could make up for years of failure and
unfulfilled potential in one single sided
conversation with the inanimate representative of a corpse.
Closure, she thought angrily, her furry directed towards the name on the
stone.
"I know the only way to get closure would be if I found out where you
had been. Why you left, who killed
you." she said out loud, the flood gates open to let out thoughts that she
had kept to her self. She found
that once she started it was quite impossible to stop.
"Oh, yes, the coroners office said that it was an homicide, and one
would think that the murder
of a federal agent would get solved in a record amount of time, but like
all you did in life your death is
also all mysterious and weird. Its almost as if you did not want to be
found, Mulder. I hope that this was
not the case, that you did not leave willingly
with those you had sworn to bring to justice, the ballistics matched the
guns of those you fought against
for so many years. I still do not know were you were for that whole
month. Thirty-one days, Mulder, you
were gone, thirty one days I wondered where you were. I did not sleep,
did not eat, only worried about
you. It was three thirty in the morning when I got the phone call I had
been dreading. It was the AD with
news that you had been shot, and your body was found fifty six miles
away in an alley. You were dead.
Gun shot wound to the back of the head, point blank. Coroners report
says death was instantaneous. You
left me! You ba..." The woman with the flowers stopped to try to get
control her anger. She failed at this,
as she did every thing else, and threw the flowers at the tombstone.
" You never realized, because I never told you, that I loved you. I never
thought we'd die
alone, I always assumed we'd be together, in a raid or a car accident or
whatever. I believe that you thought that I was your saving grace. I wish
I was, if only to save you. However I am no conduit to divine
salvation, Mulder. If anything I am a poor fallen angel, not able to get
back to that happy heaven
home again. I could not be your mediator, I could not help you escape
from fate, I could not help
keep the demons away. I failed you as I have failed so many before, and
this time I will pay for
my mistakes. I could not tell you in life that I loved you, so I will tell you
in death. I love you
damn it!" She once again broke down into sobs. With the sudden clarity
of the gods she was
her destiny. Sniffing and drying her eyes on her coat
With this the woman who used to have flowers calmly moved her hand to
her waist where her
government issued Colt .32 was holstered. With a steady hand she turned
the safety off, moved the gun to
her head and pulled the trigger. Her lifeless body fell to the ground, her
blood staining the roses red. Yes,
the sky knew the mood of the cemetery that day, and matched it
perfectly as a light rain began to fall, mourning the souls departed.
*************************
The End.
I know, I know.....
i was told that the start of the story is familer to another, but no person
can remeber the name of the story. Sorry.
John
In Mornings Light do We Awake
The skys melancholy gray matched the landscape, and its mood certainly was in
reflection of the charcoal land. The overwhelming feeling of death was in
every aspects of the cemetery, from the grass to the trees to the old
decade flowers.
And the woman knew the mood of the sky. Her languid promenade down
the lethargic avenues of
the cemetery came to an prompt stop, the wind blasting the tails of her
protracted, black, London Fog
trench coat against her short, sturdy legs. As she thought of her current
predicament a sardonic smile
shone superficially on her lips, not in the eyes as all smiles from the
underside of the heart do. She
perceived that this would be an arduous task, to impart on him the
knowledge that she had kept to solely
to herself for so long. With a shaking hand she reached up to her petite
face and quickly brushed a thick,
curly, chunk of copper colored hair behind her ear and out of her eyes,
the other was busy holding dozen
white roses.
With a renewed sense of resoluteness, she carefully walked the tired
paths, trying somewhat
unsuccessfully not to step on any of graves and disrespecting them. After
a spell her mind began to
speculate many things at once, and soon it was completely wrapped in a
domain of its own; away from
gray of the landscape; away from the trepidation of her heart; away from
the guilt of her mind.
While her mind was not reasoning well, she was
contemplating, in truth she was doing an
awful lot of very hard thinking, she was simply not doing it rationally.
While working a case, many things that are not normally done are by
necessity made habitual.
While working a case, it was not unheard of for agents to leave in the
middle of the day, either to checkup
on a lead or to catch a bite or for any number of thousands of viable
reasons. While working a case, it was
not unheard to work with other agents who shared your expertise. While
working a case, it was not
unheard of for partners to work whole cases with out seeing each other,
especially when the one was a
pathologist, and the other was a behavioral profiler, as was the fact of the
matter with the woman and her
partner. It was however, unheard of to not show up for a meeting with
the director of the FBI. It was,
however, unheard of to not answer your cell or your home phone many
hours. It was, however, unheard of
to leave your door unlocked. It was, however, unheard of to leave
without telling anyone of your
whereabouts.
So absorbed in her thoughts was this woman with the flowers, that when
she stopped once again,
in front of a rather large gray stone she was shocked at the name in the marble: Fox
Mulder. He partner. In her reverie
she had not thought of where she was going,. She looked at her old
black leather banded watch to find
it was almost two hours after she had made her destination to go and
explain the events to Mulder, her
partner, even in death. The bureau mandated shrink thought that it would
be a wonderful chance for
closure, and the flowered lady didn't argue. The week that had
completed in the wake of his death had
made her realize that she never conquered, rarely came, and in some
futile attempt in the act of closure
the shrink thought that she could make up for years of failure and
unfulfilled potential in one single sided
conversation with the inanimate representative of a corpse.
Closure, she thought angrily, her furry directed towards the name on the
stone.
"I know the only way to get closure would be if I found out where you
had been. Why you left, who killed
you." she said out loud, the flood gates open to let out thoughts that she
had kept to her self. She found
that once she started it was quite impossible to stop.
"Oh, yes, the coroners office said that it was an homicide, and one
would think that the murder
of a federal agent would get solved in a record amount of time, but like
all you did in life your death is
also all mysterious and weird. Its almost as if you did not want to be
found, Mulder. I hope that this was
not the case, that you did not leave willingly
with those you had sworn to bring to justice, the ballistics matched the
guns of those you fought against
for so many years. I still do not know were you were for that whole
month. Thirty-one days, Mulder, you
were gone, thirty one days I wondered where you were. I did not sleep,
did not eat, only worried about
you. It was three thirty in the morning when I got the phone call I had
been dreading. It was the AD with
news that you had been shot, and your body was found fifty six miles
away in an alley. You were dead.
Gun shot wound to the back of the head, point blank. Coroners report
says death was instantaneous. You
left me! You ba..." The woman with the flowers stopped to try to get
control her anger. She failed at this,
as she did every thing else, and threw the flowers at the tombstone.
" You never realized, because I never told you, that I loved you. I never
thought we'd die
alone, I always assumed we'd be together, in a raid or a car accident or
whatever. I believe that you thought that I was your saving grace. I wish
I was, if only to save you. However I am no conduit to divine
salvation, Mulder. If anything I am a poor fallen angel, not able to get
back to that happy heaven
home again. I could not be your mediator, I could not help you escape
from fate, I could not help
keep the demons away. I failed you as I have failed so many before, and
this time I will pay for
my mistakes. I could not tell you in life that I loved you, so I will tell you
in death. I love you
damn it!" She once again broke down into sobs. With the sudden clarity
of the gods she was
her destiny. Sniffing and drying her eyes on her coat
With this the woman who used to have flowers calmly moved her hand to
her waist where her
government issued Colt .32 was holstered. With a steady hand she turned
the safety off, moved the gun to
her head and pulled the trigger. Her lifeless body fell to the ground, her
blood staining the roses red. Yes,
the sky knew the mood of the cemetery that day, and matched it
perfectly as a light rain began to fall, mourning the souls departed.
*************************
The End.
I know, I know.....