From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org Date: Fri, 19 Jan 2001 00:47:12 -0600 Subject: THE SACRIFICE by T Bishop and T Griffen Source: direct Reply To: tbishop27@mindspring.com SPECIAL ADVISORY WARNING: This is a Sister Spooky story. Sister Spooky is known for telling highly controversial tales. If you are someone who is easily offended, sensitive, or lacking a twisted sense of humor - get out now! We feel this fulfills our legal and moral obligation to provide adequate an appropriate warning to potential readers. If you're still with us - good for you! Enjoy! THE SACRIFICE As told by S. Callahan (AKA - Sister Spooky) Written by T Bishop and T Griffen Content Rating: PG-13 for graphic but arguably justifiable violence. Controversy Rating: HIGH Category: Dark and Twisted Humor. We all have those days. Disclaimer: All hail Chris Carter, 1013 and FOX; and special kudos to David Duchovny for S. Callahan, and Gillian Anderson for "all things". That should just about cover it. Feedback: Please send to: tbishop27@mindspring.com And tgriff@accesstoledo.com You can find all T Bishop's stories at: The Literary G-Spot http://members.xoom.com/arcticfox42/Tbishop.htm Thanks to Grasshopper for archiving! The Sacrifice The portrait he's painted becomes desolate in my desperation, an obsidian landscape in a world illuminated by darkness, and deprived of hope. Captivity has been my master, enslaving me to this dour journey in which death is my only prospect of liberation. While he maintains his intent is altruistic, it is but an insidious plot of sadistic and evil machinations. The love he professes for me chills a frozen heart, incapable of empathy or mercy. My sorrow is all that I have left as proof of my existence. Fortification wears a mask of mourning, nourishing me to placate the designs of a madman. It is regretful that his choices have led me to this end. But I will not assume guilt for the consequence of my actions. I am what he has made me. This sacrifice rests on his soul. It's been a long time coming - in retrospect, far too long. The stones that pave the fated path on which I now walk, owe their placement to him. By requiring me to believe in extreme possibilities, through the cruelest lessons of destiny and misfortune, he has, in effect, given me the means by which to carry out this presumably implausible task. Beyond the bounds of skepticism, I have come to consider the possibility of escape. It is perhaps the greatest paradox of all that it will end this way after everything that's happened. He sleeps. And I can't help wonder if this is my nightmare or his. I weep the tears which at one time confused my vision, and for a life that had been condemned into an endless abyss for posterity. But, the epiphany of this vision has granted me all the rights and privileges of a moral arbiter, and I celebrate in my resurgence. "Scully?" His voice is weak, and mind groggy, from a peaceful slumber. Could he suspect my presence is nothing more than an apparition intended only for his dreaming hours? "Scully, is that you?" He turns slowly in his bed, not knowing whether he should respond to me with trepidation or excitement. Even now, I'm not real to him, and know I could easily be dismissed. "Wha...God, you're crying." "I'm so sorry," I confess to him with what small conscience prevails. "I've tried so hard, for so long to be all you've expected. You placed in me such faith, a faith I never wanted to betray." Momentarily I succumb to the years of delusional emotions that have captured my heart; and my sobbing is nothing more than a ruse to entice his sympathy of my pathetic existence. He stares into the watery depths of my blue eyes. How he has loved these eyes of mine that pierced his soul and now torment his heart. His hands attempt to be gentle, as he wipes the sorrow from my cheeks; but he is a liar and a coward, speaking words that cast a beautiful miasma over his misogynistic inclinations. "Don't! Don't touch me!" The screams stop his advancement to console my grief. "I don't understand, Scully. I don't understand why you're so upset?" He is as blind as he is heartless. Laughing at him in mock submission, I am more fueled by my convictions in following through with this end. "Exactly. You have never understood. All these years I have pleaded with you - begged of you - to stop, just stop! And you continued... How could you do this to me? Your arrogance and pride have done all but kill me. Although, I'm sure it's only a matter of time before my life would meet some cruel and meaningless providence. Is that what you've really wanted? Look at everything you've taken from me, and yet, you sit there aghast at my intolerance. What do you expect from me?" He pleads his devotion, as though he'd been practicing these words long before my arrival - he loves me; I've made him who he is today; and he can't do this without me... That is, until I serve no purposeful venue in his life. "All I've wanted was to have some small amount of happiness. Was this really too much to ask of you? Have I not been faithful to your vision and cause? Have I let you down, destroyed your dreams, taken from you that which you have loved and cherished more than life itself?" He is anxious by my uncharacteristic behavior, and I find his fear empowering. Never did he expect this from me, I, who have always been forgiving and accepting of his unconscionable behavior. There is no forgiveness in our world tonight, nor can I turn away from what he began so long ago. "It's over," I whisper, "I can't do this anymore. I won't." My pain is unbearable; and I, once again, grieve in the remembrance of all I have lost on this quest, all I have sacrificed in his name. Our heartbeats are palpable in the deadening silence of his room. The terror is obvious in his eyes as I remove the pearl handled knife from its case and raise the blade between us. "No! Nonono... Scully! Don't do this! I need you!" He doesn't understand. "There's no way out," I tell him. His last cry only serves to dull my senses as the blade, which he thought I intended for myself, punctures his vicious heart. This is the ultimate sacrifice, where the lamb refuses to be slaughtered. "Why, Scully?" comes a faint murmur, that breaks the silence of the room. "Mulder?" I turn to find him standing in the doorway, a horrified witness to a brutal crime. "Scully, what did you do?" "I stopped him, Mulder." "But why?" "Ask him. He created us. The truth you've been looking for... is right here. The man who took Samantha, who killed my sister, who stole my ova and gave me cancer, the man who killed your parents... it's HIM, Mulder. He did all of it; and he was taking us away from each other again... this time maybe forever. I couldn't risk losing you." "Wow, Scully, this is weird. This can't be happening." "And why is that, Mulder? Don't you see what this is? It's the father of all X-Files. To create us so perfectly, that in his vision we became real." "But you killed him, Scully. You murdered him in cold blood. What's going to happen to us now? Without him, who's to say we won't cease to exist?" "We're still here aren't we?" "Well, yeah... I mean... Yeah. But, when all is said and done, we're only fictional characters, Scully. HIS characters. You murder the man; you murder the muse. Without Chris Carter, there will be no more vision, there will be no more show, there will be no more US!" "No. You don't get it, Mulder. We're free! Finally free of this warped, sadistic, little man. No more conspiracies, or plots within plots so convoluted as to defy all logical rationalization... The endless angst and subterfuge - it's all over. We've transcended our own myth. Our lives belong to us now." "Well, that says a lot... a lot, a lot, a lot. That's probably more than we should be getting into at this late hour." "Now you see, the last time you said that, HE made me fall asleep on the couch, sending you to bed alone." "You're right, Scully. I remember. And I'd say 'all things' considered, you did what you had to do." "I just wish I knew why he made me do it, Mulder. Why?" "I think it was like you said. He was always such a... little man. This was finally something that made him feel big." Considering Mulder's words, I reflect momentarily, as I watch the life's blood slowly drain away from a man to whom success was built on the torment of others... Until it dawns on me how morbid it is for us to linger like this over his corpse. And, preparing to leave this grisly scene, I take Mulder's hand in mine, for the first time knowing that what lies ahead is left for us to decide. "I say we don't let him take up another minute of our time." ~AND THEY LIVED HAPPILY EVER AFTER~ We made this! T-n-T Be afraid, Chris, be very, very afraid. ;-) AUTHORS' NOTES: If you made it this far - Congratulations! We're proud of your open- mindedness. Thank you for giving our fic half a chance to entertain you. At this point, we would like to reassure everyone that we absolutely love Chris Carter and have the utmost respect for his work. We believe he is a creative genius, blessed from above with a talent that most can only envy. We are both faithful fans of The X- Files, and of Mr. Carter. This story was meant as a tribute to him - okay, more along the lines of a roast - (Wait, Tracy. This gives me an idea. Maybe Scully should have - / Don't even go there, Teresa!!! / Sorry. Now where was I? Oh yeah, defending our reputations... / Whoa! I have a reputation? / We'll talk later, Tracy.) Okay, the point is we love him. This story was in no way meant to insult him or cause harm. We were merely playing around with the idea of 'extreme possibilities', and this fic, good - bad - or indifferent, was the end result. We ran the fic through a 'test market' and saw the responses were mixed, therefore decided to slap on the content advisory and warnings. Not much else to say, except we think Chris would get a laugh out of this if it ever crossed his desk. All right, he'd probably laugh AT us, but he'd laugh. Oh, one more thing. We know Chris Carter did not write "all things" (that wonderful story from the amazing Goddess Gillian, of course). But, from what we've been told, HE did write the last scene; so, Scully didn't have her facts confused. Lastly, we'd like to humbly offer our genuflection to Mr. David Duchovny for his creation of Sister Callahan - aka Sister Spooky. Without whom none of this dribble would have been necessary. She's a wild and wicked Sister, mixes her Tangeray and Absolute, but we've enjoyed her immensely. Thank you for reading. ~Teresa Bishop and Tracy Griffen~