A songfic to Caroline B. Cooney's The Fog.
A/N-Okay, guys, I love C. B. Cooney's stories, so I hope others
do too, so we can get this new topic going. This is my first
fic, so please don't flame too much, and please r & r. Also,
this fic has a few semi quotes from the trilogy The Fog, The Snow,
and The Fire. What if the fire hadn't happened, and Christina
went crazy? Find out here.
Disclaimer-Jewel owns the song, and C. B. Cooney owns the characters.
People living their lives for you on TV,
They say their better than you and you agree,
Another burger, another hot dog, some fries,
A wish in the well, hope your health don't go to hell, well
Another doctor's bill, a lawyer's bill,
Another cute cheap thrill
You know you love him, if you put him in your will,
Christina gazed at the flame at the tip of the match. It danced like leaves in an autumn breeze. Her hair was dull; the silver and gold streaks on top of chocolate brown were muted like a muddy river. Christina wanted to get inside the flame, to become the flame. A part of her, a ghost of a thought flickered, screamed "No, Christina! Hang on! Don't slip!" But it blew away from her thoughts. She felt calm and vague, as if she was wrapped in a cottony pillow. And she knew, but only in some vague, offhand way, in the corners of her mind, that the Shevvingtons had succeeded, had won her soul, even as they lost Val, Anya, Dolly.
Who will save your soul?
When it comes to the flower,
Who will save your soul?
After all those lies that you told, boy
Who will save your soul,
If you won't save your own?
Christina was still in school, but she was slipping. Any
day now she would end up on the docks, a wharf rat. Wharf Rat.
The words brought a mixture of fear, contempt, and disgust to
the seventh graders on their summer break. A girl who worked
in the canneries all day long, and had babies before she was 16.
A girl who ate jelly donuts 10 at a time, getting fat and repulsive,
and nobody cared. A girl who worked on the docks, knee deep in
fish heads and motor oil, and sat in a dingy little house all
winter, mending fish nets. A girl who lost all of her teeth,
and didn't bother to get false ones.
Christina, fierce and brave and small.
Christina, of fire and the sea and Burning Fog Isle.
A wharf rat.
We try to hustle them, try to bustle them, try to cuss them,
The cops want someone to bust down on Orleans Avenue,
Another day, another dollar, another war, another tower,
Went up to where the homeless had their homes
So we pray to as many gods as there are flowers
But we call religion our friend
We're so worried about saving our souls,
Afraid that god will take his toll,
That we forget to begin
Jonah talked to her. And Robbie and Katy. And Benj talked
to her. And Anya and Blake, when they came on a trip to see their
families. And even little Dolly, who had once told Christina that
the Shevvingtons were wonderful. They all told her "Hang
on, Chrissie! The Shevvingtons are gone! Come back, Val and Anya
and Dolly did, you can too!" Those words, spoken so many
times, with slight variations did nothing.
Because Ms. Frisch, who had decided to stay in town for a little
longer, saw Christina for counseling, and therefore Christina
did not get better. Could not.
And Christina's parents cried, and tried to get her to come back
to her old self, made promises to her, said they would help her,
believe in her. But they did not believe that the Shevvingtons
or Ms. Frisch was Evil. They thanked them for helping Christina
all they could.
And that made all the difference.
Who will save your soul?
When it comes to the flower,
Who will save your soul?
After all those lies that you told, boy
Who will save your soul,
If you won't save your own?
Christina had done well. She had saved Dolly, Anya, even
brought Val back from her fear of the alone. She had fought a
good war-until the very end, when she could not save her own soul.
She-and Emily and Wendy, Margaret and Jessica, Room number 6
of sunshine and laughter, and all the rest-had not been saved.
And the Shevvingtons had gone on to another school, where there
would be other girls to destroy, other girls whose souls would
be blown out like candles, tossed about like dry leaves in a hurricane.
Christina was no longer a horse in the granite.
She was the tern.
Some are walking, some are talking, some are stalking their
kill,
You got social security, but that doesn't pay your bills,
There are addictions to feed, and there are mouths to pay,
So you bargain with the devil, say you're okay for today,
You say that you love them, take their money and run,
Say it's been swell sweetheart, but it was just one of those things,
Those flings, those strings you've got to cut,
So get out on the streets, girls, go bust your butts.
The Shevvingtons were Evil. This Christina, Anya, Val, Jonah,
Robbie-and perhaps a little of Benj, Dolly, Blake-knew. They
did not use guns, knives, or any of the other weapons of mankind
today, but an Evil older than time. They cut away pride, friendship,
beauty, intelligence-until there was nothing left but an empty
shell of a girl, a wisp of what the person had once been.
And so Christina was alone, the thing she had feared most, alone
with her dreams of fire and matches and flames and the sea. Alone
to wander mindlessly, until she became a wharf rat, standing on
the docks.
Christina was alone, friendless, and lost. Her worst nightmare
had come true.
Who will save your soul?
When it comes to the flower,
Who will save your soul?
After all those lies that you told, boy
Who will save your soul,
If you won't save your own?
The waves in Candle Cove clapped.
The flames of a thousand fires danced.
Schooner Inn's walls whispered "Chrrissssteenaaaa."
And the town shook their heads and whispered "We always
knew she was just a wharf rat."
No one. No one will save our souls.