From: "David Hearne" Date: Mon, 21 Feb 2000 10:51:35 -0500 Subject: xfc: Shoot Out the Lights (1 of 1) Source: xfc TITLE: SHOOT OUT THE LIGHTS (1 of 1) AUTHOR: DAVID HEARNE CLASSIFICATION: Post-ep for "X-Cops" RATING: PG DISCLAIMER: "The X-Files" belongs to what's-his-name...you know, the guy with the white hair. This story also incorporates lyrics from Richard Thompson's "Shoot Out the Lights" and Curtis Mayfield's "Pusherman." ARCHIVE: Ayup. SPOILERS: X-COPS AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story is done roughly in the same style as "Steal Away" last week. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Civilization is the act of imposing one wilderness onto another. The difference between the two is a question of subtlety. The desert, the forest, the mountain range...they all make their intentions clear at first glance. Beast and nature are aligned against the traveler in this realm. Your body can be worn down with the simple act of walking or burnt by the heat or frozen by the cold or fed to some animal's hunger. It's a vicious plan, but not a hidden one. There are no lies saying that it's something else. Now, look to the world of paved streets and houses and markets. See the darkness get held back by a hundred electric bulbs. Watch the people travel in forms of transportation tougher than the wagon or horse. Signs indicate where you should be and what should be done to keep everyone safe. The threats of nature have been silenced by the sounds of fast communication. However, a new voice speaks to us. We hear it speaking to us from outside our house, whispering under our window as we try to sleep in bed. It's the voice making us check the bolts on the door. Its language sounds human, but it uses words that we can't recognize. We also hear it as we pass by alleys or walk down streets alone. You're not sure if it's addressing you. You hope that it's not. However, every once and awhile... Hello. I'm lots of things. I'm the man who steals to pay his rent. Or the man who kills because you looked at him in a funny way. I'm the smelly tramp who forgot to take his medication. I'm the businessman with the candy-coated tongue, playing a game whose rules you don't understand. I'm the police officer who hates you for the color of your skin, the teenager with no hopes, the mother who drowns her children. I'm the high school student who thinks he's a video-game character and the militiaman who thinks he's Thomas Jefferson. I'm the politician who starts wars to gain power, the assassin claiming God as inspiration, the man who comes at you with a tire iron when you take his parking space, the spy watching your children in the playground, the poisoner of your breakfast cereal, the director of a snuff film, the office worker who hates his life beyond all control, I'm Oswald, I'm Whitman, I'm Jack the Ripper, I'm Sweeney Todd, I'm your momma, I'm your daddy... Well, that just scratches the surface. I can be anything your imagination can create. I can be as small as a virus or as big as a mushroom cloud. I'm urban myth. You can hear me crawling in the sewer or thumping in the attic. I can be The Man -- the individual who shapes the world to his master plan. I can be a visitor from another planet who has come to do the most appalling things to your body. And, most of all, I'm real. I'm real as a gun. Turn on all the lights you want. I'll turn them off. Or I'll leave just one of them on so you can see my face. However, it doesn't matter if you can see me. You'll know I'm there. You'll recognize the sound of my laugh. If you listen carefully, it sounds a lot like yours. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX