Title: El Color de la Oscuridad
Author: Astrid Billings
E-mail: USSTrustNo1@hotmail.com
Spoilers: Memento Mori
Category: A, M/S UST
Rating: PG
Summary: Darkness ebbs and flows while death is considered.
Disclaimer: Ha ha. I don't have to write one. No names are used.
Author's Note: I wrote this piece not originally as a fanfic, but as a look
at what went on when death is imminent. Scully just came to mind when I
considered the theme of Memento Mori.
X X X X X X X X X
"El Color de la Oscuridad"
The darkness creeps over the room slowly, an unnoticed and unwelcome
visitor. The kind of houseguest that stays for "just one week" then "perhaps one more" then "it would be a pity to leave now."
It invades every corner, filling and emptying, leaving the area in an
uncertain state of limbo. Is it dark? Is it light? The shadows from the
street play across the wall, teasing with their brightness.
I can still lift my arms at this point. A few more months and...who knows? As a physician I have always been fascinated by the psychological processes of death, what it was like to know you were dying. At the time, I justified my thoughts by the fact that *all* of us are dying, just some at a quicker rate. But the time I should have had stretches behind me, wasted with memories only of empty coffee cups and late nights. One mistake--right after the other.
I lift my arms again, watching my hands in the light from the street. Is It in there? I wonder as the translucency of my too-thin hands allows me to see my veins. I use much of my strength in getting up off the couch and walking to the bathroom.
The brightness constantly hurts my eyes now, so instead, I light the candle by the sink. Watch my hollow cheekbones in the mirror by the flickering light. It is there, behind my slightly crooked nose, a relic of childhood fights with my brothers. I think of It, not in the clinical terms of "cancerous mass in the nasalpharengeal cavity," but in personal terms. I can see It in my mind, ironically, the place It will attack next. The last place It will attack. It is a living entity, a being that has suddenly yet slowly become more real than I am.
There is nothing they can do for me at the hospital, so I remain at home, in my silent and empty apartment, with my cancer to keep me company.
We are close friends now, the cancer and I, since no one comes around any more. My mother joked, half-laughing, half-weeping, that It and I wanted time alone, to grow closer. They think I have given up, resigned myself to a death without a fight. What they do not understand is that as a physician, I know that death is imminent. I can bear that.
What I cannot bear is watching myself die through their eyes. She has been with me forever, is so strong. But he has had so little time, he screams. I read the words in his once-vibrant brown eyes, now dulled to a murky brown. I considered not telling them, separating myself from them and quietly and mysteriously dying.
But he would not let me slip away quietly. He reads me too well, yet does not know me. If he knew me, he would be able to understand why I am not angry. And am not, for the simple reason that there is no point. Especially when he has enough anger for both of us, for everything. I do not let It embrace me, but I embrace It. And I hope that someday, he can understand that. Until then, I will be alone, just me and my shadows and light.
I take one last look in the mirror, blow out the candle, and return to the colourful darkness.
-----
FIN
Author: Astrid Billings
E-mail: USSTrustNo1@hotmail.com
Spoilers: Memento Mori
Category: A, M/S UST
Rating: PG
Summary: Darkness ebbs and flows while death is considered.
Disclaimer: Ha ha. I don't have to write one. No names are used.
Author's Note: I wrote this piece not originally as a fanfic, but as a look
at what went on when death is imminent. Scully just came to mind when I
considered the theme of Memento Mori.
X X X X X X X X X
"El Color de la Oscuridad"
The darkness creeps over the room slowly, an unnoticed and unwelcome
visitor. The kind of houseguest that stays for "just one week" then "perhaps one more" then "it would be a pity to leave now."
It invades every corner, filling and emptying, leaving the area in an
uncertain state of limbo. Is it dark? Is it light? The shadows from the
street play across the wall, teasing with their brightness.
I can still lift my arms at this point. A few more months and...who knows? As a physician I have always been fascinated by the psychological processes of death, what it was like to know you were dying. At the time, I justified my thoughts by the fact that *all* of us are dying, just some at a quicker rate. But the time I should have had stretches behind me, wasted with memories only of empty coffee cups and late nights. One mistake--right after the other.
I lift my arms again, watching my hands in the light from the street. Is It in there? I wonder as the translucency of my too-thin hands allows me to see my veins. I use much of my strength in getting up off the couch and walking to the bathroom.
The brightness constantly hurts my eyes now, so instead, I light the candle by the sink. Watch my hollow cheekbones in the mirror by the flickering light. It is there, behind my slightly crooked nose, a relic of childhood fights with my brothers. I think of It, not in the clinical terms of "cancerous mass in the nasalpharengeal cavity," but in personal terms. I can see It in my mind, ironically, the place It will attack next. The last place It will attack. It is a living entity, a being that has suddenly yet slowly become more real than I am.
There is nothing they can do for me at the hospital, so I remain at home, in my silent and empty apartment, with my cancer to keep me company.
We are close friends now, the cancer and I, since no one comes around any more. My mother joked, half-laughing, half-weeping, that It and I wanted time alone, to grow closer. They think I have given up, resigned myself to a death without a fight. What they do not understand is that as a physician, I know that death is imminent. I can bear that.
What I cannot bear is watching myself die through their eyes. She has been with me forever, is so strong. But he has had so little time, he screams. I read the words in his once-vibrant brown eyes, now dulled to a murky brown. I considered not telling them, separating myself from them and quietly and mysteriously dying.
But he would not let me slip away quietly. He reads me too well, yet does not know me. If he knew me, he would be able to understand why I am not angry. And am not, for the simple reason that there is no point. Especially when he has enough anger for both of us, for everything. I do not let It embrace me, but I embrace It. And I hope that someday, he can understand that. Until then, I will be alone, just me and my shadows and light.
I take one last look in the mirror, blow out the candle, and return to the colourful darkness.
-----
FIN