All Characters copyright of TenThirteen Productions and Chris Carter. No infringement intended on any part... go ahead, take me to court...I'm using the insanity defence... heh, heh, heh...
Comments, complaints and just plain talk to sheryl_martin@goodmedia.com
Summary: After all is lost, what do you do?Spoilers: Fifth Season, specifically "The End"...Rating: G, Vignette...
Ashes to Ashes (1/1)by Sheryl Martin
Smoke and mirrors.
That's all I can think about; smoke and mirrors.
That somehow this picture will erase itself and the office will reappear in front of me, intact and the same as it has been for over five years. The desk there; the filing cabinets over to this side - the poster safely hanging from the bulletin board alongside the newspaper clipping.
Then I smell it.
The smoke.
They left the window open and the ventilation system on full blast, but I can still smell it.
It's enough to make me gag. I know that I will have to change clothing and send this suit off to the cleaners by morning or I'll have an apartment full of smoky-smelling shirts.
But the image remains.
Many years ago I put my faith in that which cannot be seen; based on events that happened even earlier that that, resisting my impulses for so long. I hoped that there would be some resolution to it all, some final answer to the questions that destroy my sleep at times; destroy my relationship to so many people.
Threaten to destroy me.
Stepping over one rather large sooty puddle in the centre of the room; I take ahold of the metal handle of the filing cabinet. Giving it a hard tug, I'm not surprised that the warped metal doesn't open. In a way I'm glad - it prevents me from seeing the devastation that must be inside.
So many files. So much evidence.
It's not the facts themselves - it's the violation of this sacred place; the idea that it could happen here. Here, under our noses. Flaunting that no place is safe.
We expected it of our apartments; our cars... walking in public or even the people sitting beside us in the cafeteria. But this was supposed to be the sanctuary; immune from a direct attack. Our foxhole in the storm outside.
The files can be reconstructed, at least partially. We have the reports; the paper trails that were filed in other sections under other names. The results are still the same, even without the actual striped cover across the front. People are still dead; people are still in prison or other institutions; children are still safe at home once again. That doesn't change.
But the smell.
It reminds me so much of my own past and what I associate it with. And it's hard not to start gagging and throwing up. Takes all of my willpower to step away from the twisted cabinet and step back away from the desolation. One shoe dips into the dark puddle, staining me with it. But then, why am I surprised at that?
The legend of the Phoenix comes to my mind. Of the legendary bird that every thousand years builds a nest and sets itself on fire; only to rise anew from the ashes, renewed and young again.
Maybe that's what's supposed to happen here.
I hope so.
A gentle cough makes me turn around. The agent standing in the doorway is young, apologetic in his soft question.
"Assistant Director Skinner... they need you upstairs."
I nod, following him out of the office.
Instinctively I shut the door behind me, hoping against logic that maybe the next time I open it that it'll all be gone.
Smoke and mirrors.
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