Not clearly, not the way I want to—hell, the way I need to at times. It's
better in the country, better still in the middle of the fucking desert. Out
there they look close enough to touch, to grab onto and throttle in a demand
for answers. Shooting at them does no good, neither does screaming. I know,
I've done it until I was hoarse. And I probably will again. I've known hell,
puked it out of my eyes, nose and mouth while buried inside
two tons of concrete left over from the Cold War. I've had it burn through
my flesh, severing muscle and bone in the name of protecting me from the very
thing I had gone in search of in the first place. I've seen it writhing
beneath me, poised above me and standing before me, fists raised, on the
verge of attack. Odd how the expression it wore at those times was similar.
Love and hate, they are sometimes too close to tell apart. I survived those
hells, as well as the one that saw me in the cesspool of a
prison in Tunisia. I know why I was there, but having my release secured
through the same channels that put me there did come as a surprise. Just goes
to show you that even I can still be caught unaware once in a while. But this
last hell, the one that I've endured for the past six months, beside
it the others are nothing—less then nothing. Fucking Cancerman. He knew all
along. I wish now that I had done him slower, but at the time the bunching of
the muscles in my arm as I shoved his chair down the stairs was nirvana. As I
do to him I do to the world—yeah, right. Fucking nicotine bag would
have said anything to save his life. I don't know what I would have done if
he had offered the one thing I wanted. I like to think it wouldn't have
changed my mind at all but I'm not going to pretend to be that noble So many
fucking questions, so few answers. I know more now then I ever did
but why do I feel like it isn't enough, like it will never be enough? Maybe
because the one question that means the most remains unanswered. Resist or
serve, the answer used to come without question. It didn't matter
who they were, there was no way I was going to serve. Stupid shit that I
was, I actually believed that. I was in it for me—hell, it got to the point
where I had myself almost convinced of it. Now, if they offered me the one
thing I want, what would I do? The fate of the human race weighed against the
life of one man. It's an easy
choice, and one he'd probably hate me for, but then I've always been a
selfish rat bastard. Not like it matters anyway. They have him, they aren't
going to let go that easily. So this is what it comes down to. By day I lie,
cheat, steal, kill, whatever
it takes to save this shithole called earth, but by night... Grab a bottle of
whatever is handy and head for an open space, any one will
do. Stare at the stars, watching in vain for something, anything to let me
know I've made the right choices. Nothing ever comes of it except bleary eyes
and monstrous hangovers, but I
persist. My truth is out there. It has a name, Fox William Mulder. And I
will find it.
My Truth
by Rina
You can't see the stars in the city.
