From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org Date: Sun, 5 Dec 1999 13:10:04 -0600 Subject: A Bus To Saint Cloud by Riva Source: direct Reply To: DrScully@imneverwrong.com TITLE: A Bus To Saint Cloud AUTHOR: Riva EMAIL: DrScully@imneverwrong.com KEYWORDS: Heavy angst, character death, first person narrative SUMMARY: A first person narrative, and probably a very unusual fan-fic. ScullyAngst galore. (sniff!) DISCLAIMER: The X-Files doesn't belong to me, and I'm not pretending it does. It belongs to Chris Carter and Co. Also, I don't own the song "(A Bus to) St. Cloud" sung by Trisha Yearwood on her "Thinkin' About You" CD. It's a beautiful, sad song, and it inspired me. It is used with the utmost respect. Authors Notes: I wrote this as a assignment for Creative Writing at school. Hence, no names are used in this fan-fic. But any Phile could tell who the story is *really* about!! ;);) Heavy ScullyAngst and Tissue Warning in effect. RIVASTAR PRODUCTIONS PRESENTS........... -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- -------- T H E X - F I L E S ----------- ~~~~~~~ "A Bus To Saint Cloud" ~~~~~~~~~~ =-=-=--=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- St. Cloud A song by Trisha Yearwood On a bus to St. Cloud, Minnesota I thought I saw you there With the snow falling all around you Like a silent prayer And once on a street in New York City With the jazz and the sin in the air And once on a cold LA freeway Going nowhere And it's strange But it's true I was sure it was you Just a face in the crowd On a bus to St. Cloud In a church in downtown New Orleans I got down on my knees and prayed And I wept in the arms of Jesus For the choice you made We were just getting to the good part Just getting past the mystery And it's just like you, and it's just like you... To disagree And it's strange But it's true You just slipped out of view Like a face in the crowd On a bus to St. Cloud And you chase me like a shadow And you haunt me like a ghost And I hate you so And I love you so But I miss you most On a bus to St. Cloud, Minnesota I thought I saw you there With the snow falling down around you Like a silent prayer.... ------------------------------------- ~A Bus To Saint Cloud~ ~by Riva ------------------------------------- I saw him today. Standing there, in the snow. By the bus stop. It seemed as....right, and natural, and perfect....as it was impossible, and unnatural, and hopeless. It was just a glimpse, through the dirty window of the bus, and the snow that flurried to the ground in a torrent. He was standing there, at the bus stop. I know. I could recognize him anywhere. I was frozen. But then the bus jolted, and he suddenly faded into someone else, a stranger that boarded the bus, and never gave me a second look. But I saw him. I did. ----------------------- It's night. The bus rolls on, steady in it's pulsing rhythm against the highway. The only sound is the roll of the wheels and the faint whooshing of the occasional car as it passes. Where are we going again? Someplace called St. Cloud, Minnesota. That's what the bus driver said. I hardly care anymore. Away. I just want to go away. If I stay in one place too long, I start to see him again. --------------------- A man lays sprawled on the bus seat next to me. He snores softly and drools down his 48 hour beard. He reeks of booze. I can tell he's not your average transient, however. His suit, though crumpled and dingy, was once an Armani. Perhaps he was a businessman? Or maybe a government employee, like I am. Was. I'm not anymore. I'm not really anything anymore. I pull my dark jacket closer around my thin body. My hands are shaking. Cold. It's so cold. I shut my eyes and the bus rolls on. --------------- I remember the day I left. It had rained that day. The clouds had rolled in and covered Washington like a shroud. The rain had dripped down the windows of the car like icy tears as my mother drove me to the memorial park. No one trusted me to drive myself. They all treated me as though I was the one who had died. We stood there, in the rain, for a half hour, listening to the preacher drone on. I was a good girl. I stood there, tall and proud for the enemy, brave, defiant, not shedding a single tear. He would have been proud of me. His mother cried. Her sobs carried loudly over the preachers voice. I wanted to scream at her. She was never there for him in life. Why should she be allowed to grieve for him? My mother stood by me, holding my hand as though she were afraid that I would fade away. I let her. I didn't want to tell her how much I wanted to fade away. Leave, become part of the air and blow away from this place forever. Prayers were said. The casket was lowered. My hope was buried in darkness. People passed by me. Some spoke to me in kind gentle tones. I wanted them to scream. Some simply touched me. I wanted to lash out at them. Their hands burned a reminder. \He's gone. He's gone. He's gone.\ My mother drove me home, and then reluctantly left me to return to her own house in Georgetown. I walked into the house, and saw him sitting on the couch. That's when I decided to leave. ----------------------- Morning comes, and the bus rolls into another stop. People move and flow around me, and another group of passengers slowly takes the place of the old. I move my way up to the front, where I pay the bus driver to stay on the bus. He looks at me in surprise, as thought he forgot I was even there. A woman tried to strike up a conversation with me. Needless to say it doesn't go very far. I simply have nothing to say to her. What is there to say anymore? I lost my words the night he died. ------------------------ We argued that night. Ironic, isn't it, that after all we had been through, that we would spend our last moments together fighting about the relationship we never talked about. We were sitting in his car, outside a tall, dark building. It was late, and the only light came from the filthy streetlamps that gleamed overhead. I was angry. I never really had a right to be, but jealousy is always blind. I said things I knew would hurt him. And he responded with brutal honesty. That's when I got scared. Things were going much to quickly, and neither of us were thinking with our heads. Funny isn't it, that after all these years I was still afraid to admit the real reason I hated her, the other one? You'd think I'd have more courage by now. But I was a cowered. I got out of the car, running from his penetrating, sincere voice that broke down my walls, and those piercing hazel eyes that seemed able to read my every thought. We weren't exactly in the best part of town, and I knew it was dangerous to get outside the car, but I didn't care. I made a beeline for the Seven Eleven across the street, and solitude for my spinning head and pounding heart. I wasn't afraid, because I knew that he'd be watching my back, no matter what. Now, I wish he hadn't been. Because I had forgotten to watch his. ----------------- The bus pulls into it's final stop, and I am ordered off. Saint Cloud, Minnesota. I disembark slowly, standing there at the bus stop until the bus drives off, scattering dead leaves and trash in it's wake. I turn, and begin walking down the street, aimlessly. I feel like a pilgrim, who has finally reached his destination, and finds it's not where he wanted to be at all. It's an small town, a old town, that much I can see. Main Street is not a freeway, and the old soda fountain at the corner still looks like it's the main hangout for the town's young people. I walk past a few people on the sidewalk. Some of them give me strange looks. I imagine the picture I must present. Gaunt, harrowed, my too-large over coat filthy and my hair unkempt. But I just can't seem to make myself care. I walk past a small grocery store. There is a young man standing outside, and he smiles at me and waves. "Can I help you 'mam?" he asks. "Where is the nearest church please?" I ask in a voice that doesn't sound like my own. A church? Why did I ask that? I haven't been to mass in three years. Before I can wonder at my question, he nods, and points. "Yes, mam. Just around the corner and down the street. Mother Mary of Divinities." I nod at him. "Thank you." A wind blows past, and I huddle into my coat. I walk. ------------------ He died because I failed him. I still remember what it was that made me look. I was standing inside the Seven Eleven when I heard a car door slam shut. I looked up, hoping it was him, hoping he was coming after me. I was terrified that he would, and yet I desperately wanted him to. I knew that if he came after me, I could accept him. I came out of the Seven Eleven just in time to see the men push him against the car. My heart froze my chest. I knew, in a instant, what I had done. One of the men's hands flashed beneath his jacket. //BLAM!! BLAM!!!// The men ran. From the moment I heard the gunshot to when I dropped to his side all went by in a blur. I don't remember getting there, all I remember is taking him into my arms, and trying frantically to recall what to do with a victim of gunshot. My mind was blank. What had become second nature to me deserted me in a flash. Blood. Blood. So much blood. It was everywhere, spilling out on to the oily street. His blood on my chest, my legs, my hands. He was still, eyes open, unmoving. Perfectly silent. I still remember screaming. ------------- The church is empty and silent as I walk inside, my footsteps echoing against the polished wood floor. Slowly, I walk up the aisle, still not quite sure why I am here. I look upwards, towards the tall canopy of the sanctuary. But I am not looking at the ceiling, I am looking beyond it, towards heaven. Perhaps that is why I came here. Slowly, I sit down in one of the pews, my hands gripping tightly to the bench in front of me, my knuckles turning white as I try to keep from being carried away in the sudden storm of emotions that hit me. It's not fair. It's never fair. We were just getting things right. You lost your chance. My mind stages a war with it's self, one thought pulsing through it all. \He's gone........\ A strangled sob erupts from my throat. It's startles me in the dusty stillness. I never cried for him. I never let myself. But it is as if that one sob had opened the floodgates, and suddenly I am allowed release. I release other things to. Broken promises and broken dreams. Somedays that never came. Years of wanting. Years of fearing. Death. Life. Need. I never asked. I never let myself. Why? WHY!?!? The sanctuary is silent. I bury my head in my arms, and wait for the answer. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Finis. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Like? Hate?? I promise never to write anything this sad agian..... (unless of course people write back saying they want me to.) Feed Me: DrScully@imneverwrong.com