From: Scott Miller <scgmille@indiana.edu>
Date: Sun, 27 Sep 1998 01:12:50 -0500
Subject: REV: Countless (1/1)

Proofreading would be good, I swear.

From the shadows comes an organized collection of binary data, transmitted
by electronic pulses where their interpretation brings something beyond
technology; emotion.  Words are but words, poetry is art.

Countless, by Scott Miller

	Mulder lay on his couch, staring at the water dripping slowly down the
pane of glass.  Through the beads, the street lights bent, creating a
pin prick of orange in each drop.  He sighed, running a hand through his
already disheveled hair, then stood and placed both palms on his desk,
staring up into the cloud covered sky.  Almost without thinking, he plopped
down into his chair and found pen and paper.  And he wrote.

	An impossible world,
		impossibly small,
	with millions of souls,
		all insignificant
	on reality's vast scale.

	But this infinite universe,
		among countless stars,
	there is but one soul,
		that calls to me.
	Lost among the countless stars.

	I've searched the earth,
		from dark to light.
	I've done what I can--
		all I can.
	But it isn't enough, I'm but a man.

	For what good is a soul,
		such as myself,
	when of the countless stars
		in the infinite reality,
	he can circle just one.

	My soul is so saddened,
		so incomplete.
	She lies in the countless stars,
		where I cannot reach.
	In the infinite universe, alone.

	So what do I do, this empty soul?
		Helpless, hopeless.
	I call out to the countless stars
		"Return her to me!"
	But she does not come..does not come.

	They've lost their beauty, 
		the countless stars,
	For in the infinite reality,
		they mean nothing.
	To this broken soul, there is no beauty.


	Closing the journal, Mulder wiped a tear from his eye, lay back on his
couch, and watched the rain fall, and prayed a silent prayer.
		
		
post script: This emotional voyerism into the mind of a fictional
character takes place during Scully's abduction, if it wasn't abundantly
clear.