From: "David Hearne" Date: Mon, 7 Feb 2000 12:35:24 -0500 Subject: xfc: The Dark Doesn't Rescue Me Anymore (1 of 1) Source: xfc From: "David Hearne" TITLE: THE DARK DOESN'T RESCUE ME ANYMORE (1 of 1) AUTHOR: DAVID HEARNE CLASSIFICATION: Post-Ep for "Sein Und Zeit" RATING: PG ARCHIVE: Uh-huh. SPOILERS: Sein Und Zeit, Amor Fati, Gethsemane AUTHOR'S NOTE: Mr. Carter, could you turn around for a moment? Whump. Thank you. Now that I've kicked you in the ass, you can turn back around and I can ask something of you. Has it ever occurred to you that "Harsh Realm" got such low ratings because it was a bad show? That, in fact, it sucked long canals of brown lumpy sewer water? Well, it wasn't *that* bad, but...only you would have the gall to mention the show in very innnnnnnnappropriate scenes. Not once, but twice. Watch it. Sorry about that. Just had to blow a little steam there. And now... XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Like most things in life, mind-reading is a novelty that wears thin. When I obtained this ability after the operation, I was amazed by it at first. To know what people are really thinking behind their lies and cant...it's an intoxicating knowledge at first. Then you discover that people are even more depressing and mundane on the inside than on the outside. You get to know all their regrets and understand how they misspent their lives. Their fantasies are very unimaginative -- desires for wealth, sex, the usual things. You also come to realize just how much mistrust really exists and how few people each of us really cares for. Still, mind-reading still has it uses. That's why I'm sitting in my car outside this apartment building, smoking a cigarette and listening to the minds of two people. (...she's gone, she's gone, they're all gone, I'm alone...) (...I better stay with him, there's no telling what he might do to himself...) (...what was she trying to tell me...what did she want...to say...mother...) (...God, this is bad, he's falling apart...) I think about Teena and the last time I saw her. She had come to me as a last resort to save her son. I consider her quiet, tense expression. Did she know what she was going to do in the future? Should I have known? Should I have probed her mind later and find the despair that was overwhelming her? Would I have stopped her? (...Samantha...Samantha...what have I been looking for...what have I tried to find...) (...should I give him some kind of medication...I don't know if he'll accept it...I don't know anything now...) (...I see her running after the ball I've hit...letting out a mock-scream at how far it's gone...her legs running with that mixture of grace and clumsiness children have...) I remember seeing that, too. They had been close siblings -- always playing together, talking in secret, never far away from the other. Perhaps they sensed the shadows hanging over their family. Maybe they knew that they had to depend on each other in the way they couldn't depend on their parents. (...he's holding me so tightly, I don't think he'll ever let go...) And now he has come to depend on this woman -- his partner, his friend, his lover. Well, a lover in nearly every meaning of the word except a physical one. (...I don't want him to let go...) I always suspected that they could become close. I deliberately picked her as someone who would stimulate and confound him on so many levels -- intellectual, emotional, sexual. To this day, I'm not sure if the pairing was a mistake or not. Sometimes, I can use her against him. Sometimes, she's the one who has protected him from me. Of course, I also picked her so he might be happy once and awhile. (...running away...everyone has ran away from me...my mother has...I remember the weight of my gun...the night I met Kritschgau...it felt so light...) Yes, you did come close that night, didn't you? You understand what it's like to see yourself with such disgust that you want to smash that repulsive thing out of existence. I have felt a similiar self-disgust. I never considered taking my life, though. I live with so many swords dangling over my head that suicide seems unnecessary. (...he needs sleep...) (...she wants me to go to sleep...I don't know...) (...please...) (...all right...I feel her hand on my back and on my arm...such small hands yet so strong, a surgeon's hands, knowledgable about the body...) (...I'll stay here for the night...no way am I going to leave him alone...) Like a dirty old man, I wonder if things are going to get sweaty now. I drop those thoughts. Nothing of the sort will happen. A sexual encounter isn't what he needs. He needs rest. Unfortunately, he thinks he needs more. (...the couch is so soft...her hand is so soft...) (...I will sit here on this chair...his hand trembles...) (...close my eyes...black...I will not be hurt here...) Yes, you can be hurt, I think as I toss the cigarette out the window and start the car. Darkness will not be your friend now. You have walked side-by-side with it for so many years, but it can offer you nothing now. There are no grand truths to be learned -- only an awareness of a corruption that touches us all. I drive away, the night sky hanging over me. (...Samantha...) XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX