From: Beatriz Owl Date: Sun, 21 Jul 2002 11:24:19 -0700 Subject: NEW: Spiders (1/1) by Beatriz Owl Source: xff date: March/April 2002 title: Spiders author: Beatriz Owl email: bea_owl@runbox.com summary: "Look into the darkness, and tell me what you see." category: vignette, msr, a smidgen of angst. rating: PG-13. spoilers: none. archive: sure, just let me know. disclaimer: not mine. notes: this is my fist piece of xf fic, so feedback is greatly appreciated. You can reach me at bea_owl@runbox.com, and thanks for reading. Huge thanks to Nichole L. for beta'ing ;o) Spiders by Beatriz Owl The darkness cast no shadows, but it swallowed people whole. It hung thick like attic dust, a quilt thrown over old, lost memories. The man wondered bleakly what it would feel like to run his fingers through it, if it would cling like cobwebs to be cleared. He longed to reach out, to touch the night as it touched him. His fingers moved independent of his mind, believing in motion. They met resistance at the wrists bound tightly like need and skin split with frustration, giving way to the release of blood. Droplets fell, forming puddles invisible in the consuming darkness, each reflecting pieces of self. *** Soft fingers danced lightly across fragile glass, eyes mirroring bits of truth. Memories flashed across the dark landscape of her mind, and the woman tried to fit the pieces together but the world was bathed in black stars and she could see nothing outside the window. She wondered briefly if this was what 'the end' meant. She wondered why she had never wondered before. Alone, she continued to look. He said 'look' and she looked, forever, never seeing. *** Spiders glided soft collecting fallen pieces, bits of past, constructing thin webs of memory and wondering what they would catch this way. Childhood glimmered as it was spun forward, secret games played to song: "mothers are dying, children are crying, concentrate. Concentrate." A rhythm of sound and light. Concentrate. Concentrate. What do you see, child? Red mirrors cracked and broken, darkness spun further forward, protection and I am failing, I am falling. Spider gliding down its rope smooth to perch upon bound wrists. Man was caught by her hand when he thought all was lost. *** Spiders played fate like it was a game, daring new futures to be spun. The woman trailed her fingers along the dirty glass of the windowpane, trying to see what he had wanted so much to show her. "Scully," a voice whispered, rough with remembered need, and her hands stopped cold against the glass, surprised. Why was he here? She only remembered alone. She only remembered the end. The woman blinked and when her eyes opened she found a spider dangling near her face, a children's rhyme come to life. It's body was soft and hard, its string of memory lenient and pliable. "Can you see me?" she asked it, or him. She turned slowly to face the man she could not see and wondered which of them was dying. His features were outlined by darkness, sharp and pure. His lips were parted, parched. His closed eyes held her, and she felt him carefully open them, unsure what sight would bring. Their eyes met, and she wondered why she could see through him. *** Whispers sifted the unseeing black, a foggy plait of words. Man looked to where he knew she stood, wondering at the form hidden by darkness. She is not shadow, he told himself as she faded like memory, like cobwebs. The man closed his eyes once more and wondered weary where the spiders went when they abandoned shiny webs, leaving their silver strands glinting perfect in the haze. End. -- "Yes, I have tricks in my pocket, I have things up my sleeve. But I am the opposite of a stage magician. He gives you illusion that has the appearance of truth. I give you truth in the pleasant disguise of illusion." --Tom, 'The Glass Menagerie'