Story #67 Is About All The Would Have Beens In My Life.

Story 27

The X-files fanfiction "We only heal together" 1/3

Read it on AO3

1.

“Are they sleeping?”

“Oh yes, they are.”

“What are they dreaming about?”

“Their worst nightmare.”

----

The “ping” of the elevator car pulled her out of her reverie and as the doors slid open, she was confused to find the basement floor shrouded in darkness. Stepping out of the lift, Scully groped for the switch on the wall but when she flicked it, nothing happened. 

Darkness pervaded. 

At the end of the hallway, their office was beckoning her with its dim shaft of light peeking from under the door, and she moved towards it as if summoned. 

She expected Mulder, the one who didn’t seem to need much sleep and was always up with the sun, to be there. He would probably be starting the second pot of coffee by that time. Always thoughtful, she brought him a blueberry bran muffin for breakfast. A crack about him being the only person in the whole universe leaving the office after nine and coming in around six of his own volition was on the tip of her tongue. She was looking forward to their routine exchange of banter and innuendoes.

As Scully opened the door, the light from the overhead lamps spilt out into the hallway, chasing away the shadows to corners. Spending seven years in that office, she knew it inside out, but that moment she felt like a stranger. It was their office, and yet it wasn’t. Gone was the stale dusty air and little puncture holes on the ceiling from Mulder’s pencils, and even the fluorescent tube lamps blinking constantly as of recently seemed to be changed. There were two mahogany desks facing one another in the center of the room and a potted plant in the corner. Scully didn’t remember ever placing it there. She couldn’t even remember her partner putting in a request for a second desk. 

Mulder himself was nowhere to be seen. In passing, she entertained the idea of Mulder wanting to surprise her thus the desk and all the cleaning. The ludicrous idea her logical mind immediately rejected. It just wasn’t possible. They had left he office together the day before, around lunchtime, grabbed a quick bite in the nearby deli, and headed to investigate another case ending up on a damnably boring stakeout.

There was a lead into what Mulder suspected could be anything from hypnosis to telekinesis to possession. The victims claimed they were made to do terrible things against their will. One guy beat his boss half to death, but couldn’t even remember what induced such aggressive behavior. When he entered the office the next day, ready to come clean in front of everyone and make his colleagues report him to the police, his boss was there, not a scratch on his face. The face allegedly smashed to puree no more than a day before.

“A nightmare,” Scully said unimpressed. “Or wishful thinking. They probably had some beef and their hostility manifested itself in a very realistic dream. Not unheard of.”

“One for two?” It was Mulder’s turn to raise a brow. “The thing is, Scully, both remember everything down to the smallest detail, and claim they did some severe punching and kicking.”

It appeared to be worth the time to talk to the people involved, which eventually shed light on some other facts - a few hours prior to the fight, the company’s employees took part in a one-day team-building seminar conducted by two personal development coaches, who also happened to be a married couple. The agents didn’t get any insights into the case upon interrogating Maria and Sebastian Portaverro, but since their possible suspects were about to carry out another workshop, Mulder and Scully decided to stay close and check the participants afterward.

They were sitting in a car across the building where the Portaverros had an office. No matter how much she tried, Scully couldn’t remember anything that happened during or after that. She remembered being in a car with Mulder, and then she was standing in the elevator. The absurdity of the situation was bugging her -  the changes in the office, the fact that she couldn’t remember getting back home the night before, or even arriving at work in the morning - everything was wrong. A glance at her watch told her that Mulder should have been here hours ago. Where was he? She needed him to help her figure it all out. 

Trying to stay calm and not to spiral into panic, Scully decided to do what she always did best  - collect and analyse the data. Stepping over to what was supposed to be Mulder’s desk, she touched the pristine wooden surface. Instantly she knew that something was wrong. Mulder’s desk was never that clean. There was no junk. It was too tidy. Too not Mulder. The papers were put in an orderly pile, and Mulder never bothered to organize his desk’s contents in such an impeccable manner. Even office paraphernalia was scattered around in a weirdly neat way as if each object was placed in its spot, on purpose. On a whim, Scully pulled open the first drawer and felt her stomach shrivel in dread. There were none of Mulder’s most prized belongings. Not even his ever-present sunflower seeds. Scully was horrified as it sank that the only thing she was familiar with in that office was their all-time favorite full-sized “I want to believe” poster. Did someone violate their office while they were on a stakeout? To what end?

As if out of nowhere something clicked and the room was plunged into darkness. Scully recognized the sound as their old-fashioned projector came to life and started switching slides, changing the images rapidly, lighting and darkening the room in turn. It was them - Mulder and Scully. The photos flicked on the screen like memories in her head. The most significant, valuable, delightful moments of both their lives. Imprisoned by the retrospection playing out on the wall in front of her, Scully stood still, frozen. With each image, she was sent to relive her past sensory experiences all over again.

Click, and she was opening the door and looking at the agent she was assigned to work with. Their first meeting. A mixture of curiosity and caution in his hazel eyes behind the wire-rimmed  glasses.

Click, and they were in Oregon, standing in the graveyard under the rain.

Click. They were in a van and Mulder was dressed in a bulletproof vest handing her his gun.

Click, and they were sitting on the bench in a small town of Home talking about their genetic

makeup and potential parenthood.

Click, and there was a hallway in a hospital in Allentown where their words sounded like a confession. 

Click, and there was another time and other woods somewhere in Florida where she, who couldn’t carry a tune, was singing because Mulder asked her to.

Click, and they were in California, burying the daughter she had never known.

Click. “You’re my one in five billion.”

Click. Another hallway, another greatest wish never granted - their aborted kiss.

Click. He was pleading with her not to make him choose.

Click. Mulder’s high as a kite I-love-you.

Click. A hospital bed. Again. His head was on her hip, her hand was in his hair.

Click, and they were dragging their eyes over each other in the decontamination shower.

Click. She was sobbing in his arms, the floor was stained with her blood.

Click. They were exchanging vows on the threshold of his apartment.

Scully pivoted her back to the screen, unable to take it anymore. What kind of sick joke was that? It felt too much. Too personal. Too them. How was it possible to sum up the history of them so succinctly in a few slides? Who the hell played those tricks on them? Her legs went wobbly and she braced herself against Mulder’s desk.

There was another click and all of a sudden the basement was brightly lit again. Scully made a complete 180 and was face to face with Mulder, his tall figure looming over the entryway. “How long has he been standing there? Did he see that too?” There was an ominous look in his eyes, and a foreboding sense of horror permeated the air, but Scully ignored all of that. This was Mulder. He wouldn’t hurt her. The projector kept clicking the slides but with the light back on, it was nearly impossible to make out the images on the wall.

Trying to pay no heed to a knot of anxiety agitating inside, Scully took a few tentative steps toward her partner. Noticing some lint on his shoulder, she reached out to brush it off when he grabbed her arm harshly. 

“Mulder,” Scully gasped and stopped dead in her tracks at the threat that emanated from Mulder’s demeanor. 

We only heal together

Author: @642stories

For: @msrisallaround​

While investigating a seemingly simple and harmless case, Mulder and Scully find themselves in a situation when their reality is anything but real. 

Link Here

#XFDarkfic2022 11/17

Story #7 "David Duchovny"

What can you do in three minutes? In three minutes, you can boil water for tea or eat a banana. You can make a phone call, brush your teeth, or take an extremely quick shower. If you are on the subway, you can hop on the train and travel to the next not-so-far station. Three minutes seem to be just enough. Three minutes might take forever if you’re waiting for an answer from a girl you finally summoned up the courage to ask out. If you’re a defendant in a court waiting for the jury to reach a verdict, three minutes might drag on agonizingly slow. One hundred and eighty seconds of tickling as if a bomb is about to set off. All-in-your-head ticking.

However, if you talk to someone like David Duchovny, a person you were dreaming of having a conversation with, three minutes pass in the blink of an eye. Literally. You blink and then it’s over. David says that they are counting on us, and it is nice to see you again and then he’s gone. You are left with a mixture of euphoria and disappointment but unable to process it at the moment. It’s four in the morning and though you are so tired you cannot see straight, sleep is elusive. Your emotions are too raw to let go and grab so well-needed rest. So instead, you do some writing, keeping in mind what David has just told you - it’s all about discipline. And you write till letters start jumping on the screen and everything gets blurry. And then you brew some more coffee. A real thing. Not that decaffeinated crap you bought on a whim convincing yourself that this is what mindful people do. For they say it’s healthy. Sure. Fine. Whatever.

I got over my Duchovny crush in my early twenties, too busy to lust after anyone but my first-time-ever long-term boyfriend and struggling to major in English and Law simultaneously. Once my puberty was complete, I forgot about “The X-Files”. I didn’t think about David until I turned 33, which was 2018, the year when we moved to Moscow. It was a period of boring days dragging one after another in nothing but taking round-the-clock care of kids. Being acutely aware of my routine existence and suffering from the lack of babysitters, work-related stuff, and English altogether, I tried to fill an expanding void with books and series. I could read up to hundreds of pages a day and binge-watch Netflix every single minute whenever I had free time. It was my sea of tranquillity, and I was literally drowning in it.

I started watching Californication, the series I’d been deliberately neglecting for a little over 10 years (first released in 2007), due to my reluctance to shape Duchovny as anyone else but Fox Mulder. One more year later, I stumbled upon the news, that two more seasons of the X-files had been shot. You are so out of the loop, girl, exactly my thoughts. What are you? Some freak, living off the grid? How could you miss it? For what it’s worth, I loved it.

One day, almost accidentally, driving along the city center, I caught a glimpse of the billboard with his name and the word concert next to it. A concert? What the hell, the guy is an actor! Well, also a novelist now, but what does it have to do with music? Upon my arrival at home, I googled him thoroughly only to be struck by the fact that David indeed was a singer and it wasn’t even his first album. The same day I bought a ticket, including the meet-and-greet session pass, downloaded some of his previous tracks, and just like that, my affection was resurrected.

That first meeting we didn’t really talk. I remember my shy “May I hug you?” and his encouraging coarse “Yeah”. I remember warm strong arms around my shoulders. We took a photo, he sighed whatever it is I had on me to sign. It happened to be a tiny red notebook as nothing else seemed to fit in my lady’s purse. And then, there was an hour of pure bliss as the concert began. He may or may not be a good singer. If truth be told, it’s probably the latter. But he’s full of the heady dark intensity that shakes you to the core and makes the overall experience simply unforgettable. I could only hope that it wouldn’t be the last first time.

But then. Pandemic. It brought several good tidings, albeit being a catastrophe of the world. Virtual interaction is still booming. Back in the day, you either hoped that the flame of your heart would honor your country with a visit, or traveled over the ocean for the slightest chance to get a glimpse of them. Now all you need is broadband and a cell. Well, and some extra bucks on you. Virtual meet and greets, zooming, 1-on-1 calls, livestreams. You can get up to 10 minutes with the celebrity of your choice. At times, you can enter raffles they organize to raise money for charity, and then it’s a chance to win up to half an hour of a private talk. How cool is that?

So, the question posed, is it expensive? You bet. Is it worth it? Every second of it. Will I see him again? Well, I might. But then again, I might not. After all, I’ve already seen him three times. And two out of three I had a chance to talk with him. However, since we’ve already established that it was worth doing, I could only add that anything that is worth doing is worth doing well.

Some more factual information behind the CPE fiction article "The local hero". You can find a full article here https://www.nytimes.com/1995/10/05/nyregion/girl-s-death-is-attributed-to-rabid-bat.html

Story #19, that is about another amazing workshop I hosted for the Writing Incubator Project.

As we are about to embark on a fall season, I’d like to share a few words about the session I was honored to host in May 2022. 

The workshop I prepared was about “Stealing lexis from real articles to use in your CPE articles” (and any other articles as well). 

So how do you write a CPE article? Bet you’ve heard dozens (hundreds, thousands even?) of times that you should read real articles, explore the language, highlight some nice examples, and make lists of collocations or idioms you could use in your own piece. You do it mostly intuitively, just relying on your inner self to cue you, which is the right thing to do.

But where do you begin? How do you know what’s a good and what’s a bad choice? That’s what we had a look at in our Writing incubator project in May. And here I will succinctly summarize it for you in a god-knows-how-many-words blink. 

The technique we used is called investigative reading. However, before you even start opening your favorite sources, be it NY Times, The Guardian, or the Washington Post, for authentic articles in order to mine any good lexis you could borrow, create your template. And what do I mean by that? Find or invent the prompt of the article you intend to write and go through it.  Then start reading articles on the topic. Highlight the language. See what you can borrow. Explore it. Put it in your article. Toss some away. Experiment.

Is it something you can do with real articles for your blog? Sure thing, just keep the plagiarism rule in mind. Three consecutive words is borrowing, and more is stealing. 

The trick is, the more you write, the more you notice, how words and phrases naturally and effortlessly find their way into your pieces. You’ll start having your own unique style with a bunch of favorite chunks and structures. NO secret here. You just read some more, write some more, rewrite some more. 

On a related note, it occurred to me that I've never posted the article I wrote for that workshop following the aforementioned guidelines. So here it is, story #37 on my blog.

Story #2, which is the CPE article

"Taking risks makes life worth living"

Nowadays phrases like “It is worth the risk” are quintessential to some people’s lifestyles, and therefore they act under the no-risks-no-rewards rule.

Having said that, such wording used to be part and parcel of my own playbook. Back in the day, before turning into your average wife and mother, I was reckless in my pursuit to open up to extreme possibilities. Skydiving? Count me in! The first attempt at snowboarding on the highest mountain around right off the bat? No big deal! Driving a convertible at 150 kilometers an hour when my license was only a week old? Sure thing! No sun, but damn did it feel like the brightest day ever. I wanted to be a hero, weightless as a bird and careless as a child.

However, sometimes that omnivorous hunger for adrenaline doesn’t pass over time and manifests itself in different professions. We see these people every day, people performing miracles on a daily basis: firefighters, law enforcement officers, medical scientists. Here, they can write their own stories, best-selling stories in that they are full of twists and turns, and as the plot unfolds, we never know whether the main character is going to make it to the end. I dare to surmise that in these movie-worth moments they see the substance and very marrow of life.

Nobody can ever tell anyone if it is worth the risk or not. Some people want to recline languidly on an office chair, others want to touch lepers and cast out demons. Perhaps, the right thing to say would be: if you have that much faith in something, then the risk is worth taking. It can show you the right path forward. Otherwise, do not tempt fate.

Stories #46-47 are the X-Files fanfictions stories.

All good things happen on the couch, as well as bad ones.

Read it on AO3

Read it on AO3

Story #23 which is another CPE Review.

The prompt: A literary magazine has invited readers to submit reviews of non-fiction books. You decide to submit a review of a book that has influenced you greatly. Your review should briefly describe the book, explain what aspects of your life have changed after reading it, and assess the importance of non-fiction literature.

Whether you are a devoted vegetarian, want to embrace a meat-free day a week, or just look for new flavor combinations, Jamie Oliver’s “VEG” cookbook fits the bill. Inventive and varied, albeit pure and simple veg recipes, will bring vibrant phenomenal dishes onto your dinner table. Oliver’s collection of craveable recipes, full of gorgeous photos, will get you salivating and eager to jump on cooking right away. 

Having an impressive range of dishes from all over the globe will not only excite your taste buds but also widen your recipe repertoire. There’s hardly a dish that doesn’t taste utterly delicious. Oliver’s cookery book is packed full of nutrient-rich and healthy meals. Each recipe is followed by the nutritional breakdown beneath, and the paragraphs are organized in an “easy to follow cooking directions” way. 

At first, I was certain that such food would never float my boat. I couldn’t be more in the wrong! The book inspired me to be braver and bolder in my own kitchen and prompted me to make a concerted move to up my veg intake. It came at the perfect timing. Naturally, I turned into a voracious veg eater in the blink of an eye without any great efforts and complicated schemes! Should I mention the apparent positive effects it had on my body and overall health? 

If you dare to look at a simple cookery book from another refreshing perspective, you’ll see that it is all about facts rather than just a list of ingredients and instructions. Facts, structured and organized, so this book could be your quick solution manual, a source of inspiration, or an answer to a nagging question. You name it! In a world where people hardly know what to believe anymore, they crave not far-fetched stories from someone’s figment of imagination but clear-cut and specific facts. Don’t skimp on facts. They’ll give you the perfect new flavor to taste. 

Story #69, which is a positive travel experience.

“Look, we gotta go there,” said my travel buddy Katya showing me the first photo that came out as she googled Austria. The photo showed the tiny alpine village of Hallstatt, nestled between a mountain and a lake with a mouthful of a name. 

The vista rendered me speechless and was enough of a reason to say yes to a holiday, yes to Austria, yes to Hallstatt.

Between us, Katya and I have five kids and the power to move mountains when it comes to traveling without them. Ironically enough, our choice fell on that postcard-perfect Instagram-worthy place at the heart of the Alps. 

Three train journeys, two soaked-through backpacks, and one ferry cruise across the lake later, we finally arrived in Hallstatt. The place, included in the top ten places to visit while in Austria, miraculously wasn’t swamped with tourists. We took a leisurely funicular ride to the skywalk observation deck, enjoyed a cup of Viennese coffee with a piece of the Sachertorte, walked up the path for another hour, and then set off on a hike back, all the way snapping away left, right and center.  

Snap and we were 900 meters above sea level. 

Snap and we were inside an old salt mine. 

Snap and we stood in front of the stained glass windows of the old Protestant Church on the main square.

Snap and we were back home, locking away new precious moments in a memory box along with a few hundreds of photos capturing those unforgettable instants. 

Story #3 "Good night, Moscow"

“Wake up. Come with me,” he whispered, tugging me out of bed.

He put a coat over my nightgown, wrapped a heavy blanket around my shoulders, and pushed me towards the door.

“Close your eyes and don’t let go of my hand.” I did, trusting him to guide me through the darkness. We were in our summer house, on the edge of the universe, hundreds of miles away from the nearest city. It was chilly, but the muddy ground felt surprisingly warm and soft under my bare feet. I had an urge to dig my toes in its depths and stand still for a moment, enjoying its comfort. His arm snaked around my waist, fingertips gently stroking the outline of my ribs through my shirt.

“You can open your eyes,” he said, and I did. My eyes wandered aimlessly over the clearance sprawling in front of us, studying every angle and plane. Above, a canopy of stars, so dense that nothing else seemed to exist at that point. We were lost in the moment, two tiny dots on the palm of the universe. He took off the blanket from my shoulders, stretched it out on the grass, and lay down. I followed suit, snuggling to his side. I could see Milky Way, and Orion’s belt stood out prominently. There was no moon, and I’d never seen so many stars at once that it seemed impossible to pick any familiar patterns. Not for him.

“You see that? Orion”.

“I do,” I nodded against his chest. “You do remember that my dad had taught me the constellations? As a child I used to think Orion was a lady in a white gown, arms open to embrace the whole galaxy”. He chuckled, and it was music to my ears. I lifted up to look at him, and found him smiling at me, his gaze unheavy.

“We don’t have it back in Moscow,” I pointed with my chin to the skyline.

“No,” he replied, pulling me back and wrapping his arms possessively around me. “We don’t.”

“It’s over there, to the north. Moscow. Home. Does it feel like home?” He asked, sliding his hand down my arm to intertwine our fingers.

“Feels pretty much like home to me.” I knew that he still had doubts about whether I felt like home in that enormous urban setting even five years after moving house. So, I just squeezed his fingers in a gesture of reassurance.

“They say, there are two things that might happen to you in Moscow: you either fall over heels in love with the place, or you only tolerate it. I always was the former.” I felt a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth at my words. My hand slid beneath his shirt, tracing constellation patterns on his bare skin. I could feel his fingers playing with the wisps of hair at my temple as he leaned to kiss the crown of my head. Wherever he was - felt like home to me.