Reverse Madness#2: The Story of How

XxXxX

Hollywood to Cleveland. We flew. We held hands, cuddled, and nibbled
snacks. Inked silly poems on paper napkins.

The case sounded black. It took a plunge beyond nihilistic hate.

The body bled glistening red over purple weeds and soft dust. A
monster skinned her and devoured her heart.

The autopsy frightened me with its clues.

My partner cried, but he wrote the profile that ended it.

Closure is a wicked fantasy.

We drove him from his cover. I shot the man when he jumped us.

Mulder is a skeptic. But his religion is conspiracy and dark,
passionate love. I'm a believer. We join on my bed, lovers in a
debate without words. An embrace of silk and moist lips, lanky legs
and teasing fingers. It is frivolous and beautiful.

"The enemy lost, Scully," he whispers. "Touch me."

I damn death and choose to be happy.

XxXxX

A word to Branwell

back to reality