I loved the whole series of Firefly, but I found the last episode to be the most fascinating by far. I was also left wondering why there was such a strong similarity between the protagonist and antagonist of the episode - so I wrote this to see if I was the only person to come to the conclusion I did. Don't worry, I won't give it away yet - there're a few more chapters to come.
The whole story is set during Objects in Space. To my eternal chagrin, I don't own Firefly and I don't make any money out of this. Nevertheless; you can't stop the signal!
Whispering, whispering voices in my head, in my sleep. Whispering voices, memories, thoughts? Mine or theirs? Whisper! Whisper! Whisper! We're all just floating. Whose are they? Wake up!
Simon and Kaylee are together and happy in memories. I think they want to have sex, but my brother isn't very smart. I step closer to share in the happiness, in the past and present of smiles and laughter. But I step too close: he would still be there right now, if it weren't for me. He resents leaving his life, his hospital – he resents me taking them away from him, so I turn and leave. I'll leave them alone.
Chesty-man and the scary-hair-shepherd are talking. Sex and religion are bad for the dinner table. They don't say what they think but stay safe in lies. I step closer but don't mean to. I hear below the lies, and hear the truth lurking beneath. Chesty-man is scared. He is penitent. He heard the screaming truth as well. Won't forget. Will tell himself that he's stupid; just like he's always been told by everyone. The preacher, though… The lion tries to be a lamb, but still hungers. Harsh and ugly, seething under the surface. He doesn't care about our souls, just wanting to save his own. The pileous man is unrepentant. Where does that put me? Away, must go away.
The eyes, the mind of Serenity – the cockpit, the bridge, the control centre, the driver's seat. The driver's seat swivels but won't recline – not even for her, although he pretends he does. The lovers are together there, entwined in bodies and heart. Memories too: a hot honeymoon beach, ocean rushing and roaring around them like their passion. Pre-coital stimulation of primary and secondary erogenous areas. I gasp and touch, sharing in the sensation. Touch more? Closer, closer! No! I must leave them – stay safe, stay in control.
The dancers don't know the steps; if they're not standing on each other's toes, they drift away. Just all floating alone. Words, words, words – drowning in the words that should let them swim. So close… so close, their bodies want to but won't; their minds reaching out, but too afraid. Want to be told, like a big girl, but appreciates nothing being said. Too many words and not enough… none of it means a damned thing. Can't swim, must run! I'll be drowned – too much – run!
CRACK!
Stop.
I peer down and inspect the stick. I'm in the Captain's forest-without-a-path. He likes it that way, we all get lost together without a path. I suspect it's a metaphor, but when did it start? How much of my life was a dream? Am I? Just an object… doesn't mean what you think…
The nightmare is back - safe faces, but all shouting, shouting, shouting! Kaylee? Wake me up again! Don't be afraid; I'm too scared for you to be afraid. Look down, I have a gun. The nightmare doesn't stop because I don't know when it began. It was in my hand. Recipe for unpleasantness. Wake me up, Kaylee. You understand my fear of the past, of the blue. Kaylee is afraid of the gun, but afraid of me more. She understands… She doesn't comprehend. No touching! The dancers won't touch and I cannot stop. I cannot be helped. Touching is bad. Captain – Roman, Latin, Mal… bad. I cannot stop. I cannot… I can't stop thinking! It's getting very, very crowded!
Run before I cry: ashamed. I am bad. Just an object… not a person. I can't do these things and still be a person. I never mean what you think. An object occupying space within my mind. I am both within and without the dream. I can see theirs and hear them; I can make a dream walk and talk and provide an antithetical anthropomorphism. Take the nightmares and put them outside me. He is not serene. He is not inside. We are not alone, and he is early.