Title: FWD: Catching the Stars (1/1) by Cheryl V. Author: Admin - XFC takakin0@slip.net Date: Tue, 26 Aug 1997 19:15:56 -0700~ This story is being forwarded to ATXC on behalf of the author from XFCreative. Please send comments via e-mail to <c1424@aol.com> For information about XFCreative, visit our website at http://www.slip.net/~takakin0/xfc.htm ~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~- Catching the Stars (1/1) By: Cheryl V. c1424@aol.com Spoilers: Ascension Rating: G Category: V Summary: A short vintagette inspired by the beautiful, heart-breaking ending of "Ascension". It was written as a continuation of the scene on the mountain, but it will make sense at any point during Scully's abduction. This is dedicated to everyone in the world except my neighbor, who's dumb garage light has ruined more beautiful nights for me than I can count. I know that this is really short, but its my first piece of fanfic, so I'd love any comments you have. Disclaimer: Not mine. CC's. Gee whiz. * * * * * Catching the Stars Cheryl V. E-mail c1424@aol.com * * * * * My earliest memories are of the night sky. When I was barely old enough to leave the house on my own, I would sneak outside in my pajamas and bare feet, to lie alone among the stars. I would fall asleep to the sound of them humming to me noiselessly, and wake up in the wet morning grass to the stricken face of my mother. During the summer months, I would sneak out after midnight to a place where the grass was thick and tall. It was pleasantly warm there, curled up in the dirt and grass, just out of reach of the breeze. Lying back, I could surround myself in this strange and complete mixture of earth and sky. The reeds would arch over my head and block out everything but a small porthole of sky. I would trace the blades of grass with my fingers, following the direction of their gentle curve, past the tips, and to the point in space above them. I thought of the grass as the mother of the stars, calling the stars down to the earth at bedtime. No matter how much the grass rustled and gestured and pleaded, the stars would shine on, as if they never noticed. I pretended I was being eaten alive by the stars. I would lie on my back and spread myself out, like a Snow Angel. I could close my eyes and then open them, and it was as if the entire world had turned upside-down. I was falling. They were calling me to them. I remember swimming at night, and how the stars would sink into the blackest water, like tiny pinpricks into the ocean. Samantha and I would try to catch them; one by one, sneaking up on them, then pouncing quickly, as if to surprise them. They would disappear into a halo of water, on the back of our empty fist. Or we would slide our hands under the water, until the moon glowing off our own palm would overwhelm the reflection of the star and hide it in our skin. Then I became a young adult. I no longer cared about chasing magical stars that were always a finger-length away. I was interested in baseball and games and friends and girls. I had my first kiss under the stars. When Samantha disappeared, I returned to them, unwilling, dissatisfied. I hated them for their silence. They were secrets, and they loved to flaunt themselves at me. And I listened to them, and followed them. I had no where else to go. Again I laid on my back in the night, but I did not will myself to fall, and the stars did not will me to come. I lay there on my back, challenging them to come closer. Daring them. Begging them. But they stood there and laughed at me in my impudence. I found my soul in the stars, but they never let me touch it. I am not superstitious. I don't search for meanings in every falling leaf, every knowing look, every broken vase. I don't believe that fate taunts me anymore. But I still talk to the stars. And though they never give me answers, they give me a silence that I need. When I came to believe that Samantha had been abducted, I would search the skies for signs of her. I would inspect each star, taking it in from a far distance, and examining it like a piece of evidence. It was a foolish fantasy-- wanting to believe that she was staring at me, from one star, far away. But I watched tirelessly. Every star was another chance. I found hope in the thought that, if she was watching, at least she could know that I was watching her too. I don't believe that anymore. I don't believe any of it. But sometimes, like tonight, I find myself talking to the stars again. It is always the same conversation-- where is she? What have you done to her? Can I see her? Can I touch her? Can I touch you? But they would never answer me, those stars. They would stare at me with a sincerity as clear and unquestionable as a child. They tell me nothing, except that they exist. It is enough to know, they say. I will catch the stars. I will bring them down, one by one, like glass droplets. I will take them and steal their secrets. I will steal the secret to their peace. Peace. It is Samantha, in dark braids that fade into the blackest sky when I look up. It is Scully, with the light of the North Star in her eyes, her face as clean and radiant as the moon. It is the last thing that I see, when I fall asleep. It is so far. I will never be able to reach them. But the stars are there, and sometimes I can imagine I feel their heat on my hand when I put it up to the sky. They are completely real, more real than I am. I know that I will never find answers in the stars. I'm not foolish. But I do find hope there-- it comes in tiny streams, emanating from the flickering points of light. A million tiny patches, where the truth has worn through the sky. It is through these holes that hope leaks through. It never fills me, but I can feel it in my mouth when I try. This is my life-- small trickles of hope surrounded by so much blackness. But it is enough-- it is enough. I have found Scully in the stars. * * * * * Tell me what you think, please! ~C.