From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org
Date: Tue, 5 Sep 2000 13:51:45 -0500
Subject: Last Rose in the Desert by Laura Castellano
Source: direct

Reply To: laura@ddgallery.net


TITLE: Last Rose in the Desert
September 5, 2000
Author: Laura Castellano
email: laura@ddgallery.net
website: http://www.8op.com/laurita

Disclaimer: Not mine, never were, never will be

Rating: PG

Keywords: post-apocalypse?  Assumes the end of
the world predicted to Mulder in Amor Fati II
actually came to pass.  

This story grew from a strange dream I had last night.

Archive: Ok for Gossamer and Xemplary--I'd appreciate
knowing if it goes anywhere else.




LAST ROSE IN THE DESERT
by Laura Castellano

She stumbles slowly across the burnt ground, lines of
weariness etched upon her face, making paths for the tears
which continue to fall unchecked.  She is a single patch of
color in the endless brown of what was once green and
beautiful.

Occasionally she speaks to the man at her side, the man only
she can see, but there is nobody around to notice her
frantic mumblings.  Sometimes she cocks her head his
direction, once in a while she even stops in her trek, turns
her head toward the invisible man, and listens to his
replies.

When she sleeps, when her body must, he watches over her.
She dreams of him then, of the way he spoke to her the last
time she saw him.

Mostly she continues onward, hoping that over the next hill,
beyond the next crest, will be some sign of familiarity.
Days have passed with little food, and the only water the
collection of morning rain in a small metal cup she carries.
It rains, briefly, every day, and for that she is grateful.
It has kept her alive.

She found the cup among some camping gear, its original
owners long since disappeared.  She ate their food, but it
did not last her long. Sometimes she thinks all were taken
up except her, that she is the last living human on what
used to be the planet Earth, but on occasion she will find
evidence of others left behind.  They have not survived.
She has, by her sheer will and determination, bolstered by
the voice of the man at her side.  She knows she must
continue, for she will not stop until her quest is
completed.

She will kill the man who took him from her, the man who
brought them all to this.

She knows she is headed in the correct general direction,
but maps are useless when all she has for landmarks are
broken highways and empty streams.  All recognizable signs
of a once great civilization are gone now, leaving only the
barest hint that people once walked this planet in billions.

She continues on, driven by her instinct and her hatred,
knowing eventually she will reach him, secure in the
facility in which he and his kind protected themselves while
the world around them burned.

At first, she was accompanied by the child, daughter of the
man at her side, but children require care that she was
unable to give in this vastly changed world, and when the
girl at last gave up life, the woman buried her, marking the
desert grave with as many rocks as she could find.  She
checked the weapon in her knapsack before moving on, vowing
to the girl and the man that those who had done this to them
would suffer most of all.

She smiles grimly, walking onward, as she considers the
torturous deaths to which she plans to subject them.  There
are two that she knows personally, and others whom she has
only seen at a distance, but in her mind they are all
equally guilty and they must all pay penance.  She must seem
docile as a lamb while secretly cunning as a serpent.  She
must convince them she is there to help.  They will not turn
her away, she is certain.  She is a woman, and she can bear
children.  She has recently proven that.  She will be a
valuable commodity, and when they least expect it, she will
strike, bringing them down as surely as they ever did to
him.

She is tiring now, and the voice of the man at her side
whispers in her ear, telling her she must not rest, she must
press forward.  The facility she seeks is only a few miles
away, and if she continues, she will reach it this day.

She tells him of her plans, and they laugh together.  He
reminds her to keep his presence a secret, for if they are
discovered together, the men who must die will separate them
yet again.  They walk and talk and remember for another few
hours.

Just outside the perimeter of the facility, she comes upon a
stream still filled with water, and drops to her knees,
bringing the refreshing liquid eagerly to her mouth,
drinking until she feels almost ill.  Then she lies back,
looking dreamily up into his eyes, while he tells her to
clean herself and make herself look as attractive as
possible.  They must not know how desperate she has become,
he says urgently.  They must believe she has come here
easily, not by a back-breaking trek across miles and miles
of desert.

They must believe the child is still alive.

She agrees, removing her tattered clothing and splashing
quickly into the water, bathing as best she can with no soap
or washcloth.  Then she emerges, dries herself in the
blazing sun, and dresses in the other clothing she has been
saving for this occasion, the clothing which does not show
signs of wear and tear.

With a supportive hand on her shoulder, the man nods for her
to go on, and she does, approaching the facility slowly but
with determined, measured steps.  No outward sign of her
fear will show.

She sees him there in the doorway, waiting for her--the one
who must be the first to die.  His hands are nicotine
stained and his complexion is sallow, but for the first time
in her recollection he does not hold a cigarette between his
fingers.  She supposes there are no more to be found on this
burned out world.

He gives the sinister smile that often haunts her nightmares
and greets her with what she might mistake for sincerity if
she did not know he was the devil in disguise.

She casually fingers the weapon in her pocket and allows him
to escort her inside.

The End

Okay, I know it was depressing, but write what you feel,
right? ;)

laura@ddgallery.net