"A frantic feeling, when we know
That what we love shall ne'er be so.
I know not why I could not die
I had no earthly hope- but faith
And that forbade a selfish death." - The Prisoner of Chillon by Lord Byron
You see, the sky is on fire.
The once great blue heavens is crimson, fire is roaring overhead, flames rushing and dancing and burning and swirling and filling up the sky, and you can feel the heat, hot, so incredibly hot, you can feel the heat on the back of your neck, like a stranger's voice whispering empty promises, empty threats, you can feel the heat and you watch as pieces of smoldering embers fall from above and spiral down, so gently, so quietly, so delicately, so tenderly, so calmly , so softly, so slowly, so deadly and they fall on you and you wait for the fire, for the embers to burst into flame upon your dry hair, but all you feel is the slick coolness of water on your scalp and down your spine and you watch as others catch fire, limbs failing in the heavy air, faces contorted with pain, melting, melting, and you try to burn too because you don't want to be alone, not again, but you can't and all you can do is cry and moan and try to save the others in vain and the sky is on fire, your allies are on fire, your love is on fire, her daughter is on fire, your sister is on fire, your father is on fire, your heart is on fire and your mind is on fire but you're not on fire and you can feel the heat, so hot, so burning hot, on your neck and you want to die but you can't, so you collapse onto the burnt out shell that was once your love, your heart, your soulmate and you sob and you cry and you weep and you moan and you bawl until your body is drained and exhausted so you just lie there and hold her and feel sorry for yourself and feel the voices of all the dead inside you, crying and yelling and moaning and wailing and howling and shrieking and screaming in pain as they are eaten, consumed, devoured, ravaged, taken in by the indifferent flames, burning through skin, burning through muscle, burning through brain, burning through bone, burning and burning and burning....
And then you wake up.
But of course, you don't have dreams like this. I do.
And they keep me up countless nights, twisting and turning in bed, wringing the sheets in my silent agony, not wanting to wake up because then I have to face a new day with all its murderous twists but not wanting to fall back asleep because then I have to face my nightmares and all their torturing realizations. So I stay in between the two, in a half-sleep that does nothing but keep me occupied for the early and murderously drawn out hours of dawn, it gives me no rest, no conduit for all my grief.
And as I break away from this dream into the just as agonizing waking world, I jolt straight up, grabbing onto the black leather couch tightly, knuckles white with panic. I check the clock on the table. It's 1:16 AM. God, I should go back to sleep. But something's telling me I shouldn't, something's not right, something's out of place. I close my eyes, and bits of my dream play back on the inside of my eyelids. There's Scully, walking calmly towards me, the outline of her slim body ablaze, her silky crimson hair being singed and falling as ashes onto the grass she walks barefoot on, her eyes reflecting her murderous pyre, her palm stretched out to me and I watched in mute horror as her skin melted away like clay in a cheesy movie and revealed the muscles, bones and pulsing veins lying just underneath the surface. Her mouth opens slightly, just enough so that I can see her teeth drop from her gums to the soil, and she speaks to me, but her voice is hoarse and grating, and not hers at all, but its her that's forming the words with her scarlet lips, and she utters just a few words, a few words in Latin.
"Aduro cum meum, mei aeternus eternus amor."
I force my eyes open, reeling from the vividness of the memory and I'm certain that there was not anywhere as much details in my entire dream than there was in that few second memory.
I sigh, bite my lip and glance over at phone. I have to speak to Scully, to hear her normal yet melodious voice confirm to me and my tortured soul that she's fine. And there's a nagging notion in my brain that she might not be fine after all.
So I call her up, pushing her speed dial number. After three rings, she picks up.
"Hello?" she asks, and her voice isn't as sleepy as I imagined it would be, more annoyed.
"Hey Scully, it's me."
"Mulder? It's..." she pauses as she searches for the clock, "it's 1:18 in the morning. What do you want?" she says, and I can detect her annoyance.
I pause, trying to consider how I should explain that I called her because of a disturbing dream, and I hear crying in the background. I panic. "Whose crying?"
She sighs. "Lizzy. She's had a bad dream."
"Let me talk to her."
"Why?" she asks, puzzled.
"I can help her calm down. I think its fairly safe to say I'm an expert at bad dreams, don't you agree?" I reply, trying to lighten the mood, but I don't even fool myself.
"Whatever," Scully mutters. "At this point, I'll try anything."
I hear Scully bring the portable phone into Lizzy's room. "Do you remember Mulder?" I hear Scully tenderly ask Lizzy. "Your new daddy?" Lizzy's cries subside and I can imagine her small and angelic head nodding. "Would you like to tell him your bad dream?" Silence again. "Good," she says. "Hold on a sec," she says into the phone and then there's a faint rustle as she hands the phone over to Lizzy's cherubic hands.
"Hello?" she sniffles. "Hey Lizzy!" I exclaim, trying to cheer her up.
"What's the matter, honey?"
"Bad dream."
"Well, would you like to tell me about it?"
"Okay." Silence.
"Well, go ahead, tell me, Lizzy."
"Okay. There was fire."
My eyes widen.
"The sky was on fire."
My hand clenches the phone.
"I was on fire."
My knees lock.
"Mommy was on fire, too."
A shiver of terror runs down my spine.
"You were there, but you were okay."
That mix of shame and fear washes over me again.
"And you were sad."
Silence. I gasp into the phone, slowly taking shaky breaths. The dream had shaken me up enough, but to hear it and see it through the wide and innocent eyes of a child.... I was about ready to collapse. Suddenly, there was a noise and I sensed the phone being taken away from Lizzy.
"Mulder? What's wrong?" Scully's voice demanded, and she seemed more awake than ever. I inhaled deeply and dropped down into the cushions of my couch again.
"How is Lizzy?"
A pause as Scully turns her head to glance over a her. "Okay. Better now. I think she feels relieved to talk about it. She wouldn't tell me, though... why? Are _you_ okay?"
"I don't know. Scully, Lizzy had the _excact_ same dream as I did."
"Exact same?"
"Yeah, I think so. The dream's the main reason I called you anyway, I just sensed you needed help."
"Well, I didn't need help before, but I think its gonna take a miracle to get Lizzy back to sleep... what was this dream anyway? How bad was it?"
"Look, is it okay if I come over to tell you? I could help to help you tuck Lizzy in too..." I suggest gently, afraid I'll be rebuked. Truthfully, I still have the nagging feeling something's wrong, and I need to talk to her anyway. She pauses, and I know she's thinking about last week, when I threatened her physically. Contact's been relatively minimal since then, and I hate to admit it but I think she's actually semi-fearful of me and my mental state.
"Fine," she sighs. "I need to talk to you, anyway."
I grin and nod. "I'll be there in five minutes."
That what we love shall ne'er be so.
I know not why I could not die
I had no earthly hope- but faith
And that forbade a selfish death." - The Prisoner of Chillon by Lord Byron
You see, the sky is on fire.
The once great blue heavens is crimson, fire is roaring overhead, flames rushing and dancing and burning and swirling and filling up the sky, and you can feel the heat, hot, so incredibly hot, you can feel the heat on the back of your neck, like a stranger's voice whispering empty promises, empty threats, you can feel the heat and you watch as pieces of smoldering embers fall from above and spiral down, so gently, so quietly, so delicately, so tenderly, so calmly , so softly, so slowly, so deadly and they fall on you and you wait for the fire, for the embers to burst into flame upon your dry hair, but all you feel is the slick coolness of water on your scalp and down your spine and you watch as others catch fire, limbs failing in the heavy air, faces contorted with pain, melting, melting, and you try to burn too because you don't want to be alone, not again, but you can't and all you can do is cry and moan and try to save the others in vain and the sky is on fire, your allies are on fire, your love is on fire, her daughter is on fire, your sister is on fire, your father is on fire, your heart is on fire and your mind is on fire but you're not on fire and you can feel the heat, so hot, so burning hot, on your neck and you want to die but you can't, so you collapse onto the burnt out shell that was once your love, your heart, your soulmate and you sob and you cry and you weep and you moan and you bawl until your body is drained and exhausted so you just lie there and hold her and feel sorry for yourself and feel the voices of all the dead inside you, crying and yelling and moaning and wailing and howling and shrieking and screaming in pain as they are eaten, consumed, devoured, ravaged, taken in by the indifferent flames, burning through skin, burning through muscle, burning through brain, burning through bone, burning and burning and burning....
And then you wake up.
But of course, you don't have dreams like this. I do.
And they keep me up countless nights, twisting and turning in bed, wringing the sheets in my silent agony, not wanting to wake up because then I have to face a new day with all its murderous twists but not wanting to fall back asleep because then I have to face my nightmares and all their torturing realizations. So I stay in between the two, in a half-sleep that does nothing but keep me occupied for the early and murderously drawn out hours of dawn, it gives me no rest, no conduit for all my grief.
And as I break away from this dream into the just as agonizing waking world, I jolt straight up, grabbing onto the black leather couch tightly, knuckles white with panic. I check the clock on the table. It's 1:16 AM. God, I should go back to sleep. But something's telling me I shouldn't, something's not right, something's out of place. I close my eyes, and bits of my dream play back on the inside of my eyelids. There's Scully, walking calmly towards me, the outline of her slim body ablaze, her silky crimson hair being singed and falling as ashes onto the grass she walks barefoot on, her eyes reflecting her murderous pyre, her palm stretched out to me and I watched in mute horror as her skin melted away like clay in a cheesy movie and revealed the muscles, bones and pulsing veins lying just underneath the surface. Her mouth opens slightly, just enough so that I can see her teeth drop from her gums to the soil, and she speaks to me, but her voice is hoarse and grating, and not hers at all, but its her that's forming the words with her scarlet lips, and she utters just a few words, a few words in Latin.
"Aduro cum meum, mei aeternus eternus amor."
I force my eyes open, reeling from the vividness of the memory and I'm certain that there was not anywhere as much details in my entire dream than there was in that few second memory.
I sigh, bite my lip and glance over at phone. I have to speak to Scully, to hear her normal yet melodious voice confirm to me and my tortured soul that she's fine. And there's a nagging notion in my brain that she might not be fine after all.
So I call her up, pushing her speed dial number. After three rings, she picks up.
"Hello?" she asks, and her voice isn't as sleepy as I imagined it would be, more annoyed.
"Hey Scully, it's me."
"Mulder? It's..." she pauses as she searches for the clock, "it's 1:18 in the morning. What do you want?" she says, and I can detect her annoyance.
I pause, trying to consider how I should explain that I called her because of a disturbing dream, and I hear crying in the background. I panic. "Whose crying?"
She sighs. "Lizzy. She's had a bad dream."
"Let me talk to her."
"Why?" she asks, puzzled.
"I can help her calm down. I think its fairly safe to say I'm an expert at bad dreams, don't you agree?" I reply, trying to lighten the mood, but I don't even fool myself.
"Whatever," Scully mutters. "At this point, I'll try anything."
I hear Scully bring the portable phone into Lizzy's room. "Do you remember Mulder?" I hear Scully tenderly ask Lizzy. "Your new daddy?" Lizzy's cries subside and I can imagine her small and angelic head nodding. "Would you like to tell him your bad dream?" Silence again. "Good," she says. "Hold on a sec," she says into the phone and then there's a faint rustle as she hands the phone over to Lizzy's cherubic hands.
"Hello?" she sniffles. "Hey Lizzy!" I exclaim, trying to cheer her up.
"What's the matter, honey?"
"Bad dream."
"Well, would you like to tell me about it?"
"Okay." Silence.
"Well, go ahead, tell me, Lizzy."
"Okay. There was fire."
My eyes widen.
"The sky was on fire."
My hand clenches the phone.
"I was on fire."
My knees lock.
"Mommy was on fire, too."
A shiver of terror runs down my spine.
"You were there, but you were okay."
That mix of shame and fear washes over me again.
"And you were sad."
Silence. I gasp into the phone, slowly taking shaky breaths. The dream had shaken me up enough, but to hear it and see it through the wide and innocent eyes of a child.... I was about ready to collapse. Suddenly, there was a noise and I sensed the phone being taken away from Lizzy.
"Mulder? What's wrong?" Scully's voice demanded, and she seemed more awake than ever. I inhaled deeply and dropped down into the cushions of my couch again.
"How is Lizzy?"
A pause as Scully turns her head to glance over a her. "Okay. Better now. I think she feels relieved to talk about it. She wouldn't tell me, though... why? Are _you_ okay?"
"I don't know. Scully, Lizzy had the _excact_ same dream as I did."
"Exact same?"
"Yeah, I think so. The dream's the main reason I called you anyway, I just sensed you needed help."
"Well, I didn't need help before, but I think its gonna take a miracle to get Lizzy back to sleep... what was this dream anyway? How bad was it?"
"Look, is it okay if I come over to tell you? I could help to help you tuck Lizzy in too..." I suggest gently, afraid I'll be rebuked. Truthfully, I still have the nagging feeling something's wrong, and I need to talk to her anyway. She pauses, and I know she's thinking about last week, when I threatened her physically. Contact's been relatively minimal since then, and I hate to admit it but I think she's actually semi-fearful of me and my mental state.
"Fine," she sighs. "I need to talk to you, anyway."
I grin and nod. "I'll be there in five minutes."