Gentle Readers, the Swiss Witch is disturbed, and not just in the
mental sense of the word. She has
stayed away from Susan Proto's work until now because she heard rumblings that
it might vex her.
It has.
The Swiss Witch dusts off her wand and cracks her knuckles, but not simultaneously.
Come on, Susan. Let's
rumble.
Life
Cycles: The Unveiling
by Susan Proto
disclaimers
(Ack, Susan! Not even Bill Clinton's legal team
couldn't put in enough disclaimers for this HEINOUS story.)
in part 1
Part
2/5
They
swung by Mulder's apartment for him to change into traveling clothes, pack a
suit as well as a change of clothes, and feed the miraculously, still alive
fish. (Why? Has
something been hunting them?) Next, they decided to take the time to grab
a bite to eat first, (WHOO.
Look at all the nexts and firsts, all piled in with one another in one
small sentence.) as they no longer had to worry about hitting any of the
morning rush hour traffic. So, by the time they actually started driving to
Boston, it was a little after eleven o'clock. (This
is key to understanding the story HOW?)
Mulder
began the first leg of the trip. (I take it he
drove? The way it's written it
sounds like they're in a Conestoga Wagon and had got offed by the typhoid before
they left the Cantuck'.) He
headed toward the Baltimore-Washington Parkway that led them to Interstate 95.
Every now and then he stole a glance at Scully. He knew she didn't understand
his real motivation for making this trip. Hell, he wasn't even sure if _he_
understood it, but he knew if he didn't go to Boston he would have regrets for
the rest of his life. (But
he wouldn't really understand why.)
It
was almost as if he wished this trip would help him exorcise him of his father's
demons. (Ha ha ha ha ha ha!
The Swiss Witch laughs directly at the author for that one.
Dear, dear Susan, don't you mean he wanted to exorcise himself of his
FATHERS DEMON? That is:
the demon that is his father that vexes him? Unless after Bill Scully died, Hastur and the crew inhabiting
him came to live with Mulder. Maybe
that's who's been tormenting the above mentioned fish!) Mulder wasn't sure if it would be successful, but he
did know one thing. He was very grateful to have his best friend along for the
ride.
He
knew she would be there to help him pick up the pieces, because whenever he had
to do anything that included his mother or father, dead or alive, there were
always pieces of him that needed to be picked up.
(Well that's a pithy sentiment. And if you believe that, I have some fine fertile delta in a
bayou to sell you.)
#####################################################
September,
1973
(Let's do the time warp agaaaaain!)
"Bill,
we're going to be late. Please dear, you promised you would attend at least one
of the High Holy Day services with us. I really don't want to be late for the
memorial service," Elizabeth Mulder chided her husband.
(You know, Susan. I
agree with you that Bill Mulder was a bastard.
He'd have to be to practice such confusing polygamy right in front of his
two children. Did he have Teena
locked in the hallway closet when this story was going on?
Susan: Mulder's
mother name was TEENA. You want to
catch those little errors before you repost something older. And just because you don't like it doesn't mean it will
go away.)
"Damn
it Elizabeth, you know how much I hate going to these things. I feel like a God
damned hypocrite. Makes me wonder why we spend all of that damned money on
Hebrew school for the boy. He thinks it's a crock of shit too, don't you
boy?"
(Let's bring up a point: we're
not entirely, 100% sure that Mulder is Jewish or was a practicing member of the
faith as a child. It's certainly
never been confirmed by the series. There
also seems to be no evidence that his parents were particularly religious or
sent him to Hebrew school.
Once again, Susan, just because you'd like the 1013 world to be
different, doesn't make it happen.)
Both
Fox and his mother cringed at the obscene language which was obviously brought
on by too much Jack Daniels.
(THERE
IS NO EVIDENCE THAT BILL SCULLY WAS PHYSICALLY ABUSIVE.
THERE IS NO HARD EVIDENCE THAT BILL SCULLY WAS A DRUNK.
Now the Swiss Witch is just pissed off.
She is all for creative Mulder torture, but banging the child abuse key
for an empathy angle bugs the screaming shit out of her.
It's cheap, it's lazy and it unoriginal as all bleeding hell.
Whoops. This is a
Susan Proto fic. Bunny bunny heart
heart. I'll rewrite that
above paragraph without the profanity.
Now the Swiss Witch needs a time out. She is all for creative Mulder torture, but banging the
child abuse key for an empathy angle bugs the dooty right out of her.
It's cheap, it's lazy and it unoriginal as anything.
Hack. Spew. Look! I coughed up a hairball over this.)
"And
why the hell are we bothering to send Samantha? She's a girl for God's sake.
It's not like she has to be a bat mitzvah!" he said in drunken
exasperation. (Hack again.)
"Mom,
maybe Dad should stay home today. There's always tomorrow's Rosh Hashanah
Service. Maybe he'll be feeling better by then," a very soon to be twelve
year old Fox said hopefully. (Hack hack hack hack
hack)
"Oh
don't be ridiculous, boy! I feel fine. I'm in my New Year's finery, what more
could I ask for?" Bill Mulder explained. (Gah.
Hack hack hack)
"A
refinery?" Fox shot back. (Because we need
little Foxy to be sassy so Susan will show us how Daddy wallops him good.
Gack.) He regretted the play on his father's words immediately
after he said them. Bill's hand walloped him on the back side of the head.
William Mulder was never one to hit Fox in an area that would show bruising. (This
just makes me sick. And NOT in the
way you intended, Susan. It makes
me sick with YOU AS AN AUTHOR.)
He
next pulled Fox up by his arm, threatening to dislocate his shoulder. (Hm.
Threatening verbally, I take it?) He
began dragging the boy over to the chair and then pushed him into it.
Unfortunately, Fox missed the seat, and ended up landing on the small of his
back, flat on the floor. This of course infuriated his father even more.
(Of course it did.)
"Get
up (comma) you God damned klutz!" (Ah,
a little Jewish terminology to show consistency or just plain luck, the Swiss
Witch wonders? The latter, I
think.) he shouted, and with that he pulled him up from under his arm,
causing more pain in the shoulder.
Fox
reacted with a sharp gasp at the pain the motion caused him. He looked toward
his mother for help, but as usual, she chose to look in the other direction.
"Mom?" he whimpered. (She's
not your mother. Her name is
Elizabeth and she has your mother, Teena, locked in the closet so the Temple
doesn't know Drunken Abusive Polygamous Bill Mulder's dirty little secret.)
"Shut
up boy! Your mother has nothing to do with this. (Why
yes! That's absolutely true.) Elizabeth,
go get Samantha and let's go already to the damned temple. (How
apropos the Mulders belong to a Temple of the Damned.)
Now." He watched his wife hurry out of the kitchen to go get
their younger child. (Teena must have got out of the
closet.) "You coming?" he asked Fox.
The
pre-teen looked up at his father incredulously. His shoulder was very probably
dislocated, he was hit hard in the head and felt dizzy, his back was killing
him, and his father wanted to know if he was going to temple?
He
wanted to go to the hospital. His father had pulled his arm out of its socket
before, so Fox was well aware of how much pain he was going to be in soon.
(Soon? As
opposed to later? Or now?
What about the pain he was in now?)
But
instead, he replied, "No. I'll stay home."
"Stay
home, what." Bill Mulder replied between clenched teeth.
"Stay
home, sir," Fox spat out.
"Elizabeth,"
he shouted, " let's go." Bill Mulder left the boy where he was.
He
remained there until his family returned from the High Holy Day services,
whereupon his mother took him to the emergency room for treatment of a painfully
dislocated shoulder.
(I thought he had come NEAR to dislocating his shoulder?
Technically speaking, if you dislocate a shoulder, you'll hear it
go out. I for one, would
have appreciated a heart-wrenching "CRACK" or something. )
#####################################################
Spring,
1996
Scully
watched as Mulder took a trip down into his memory lane. She always could tell
when he was remembering an incident from his past. (How
psychically creepy of Scully.) He
got a far away look in his eyes, and his response time to outside stimuli was a
tad slower. (Which
is always an asset when one is driving.)
The
memories were usually difficult ones (How does she
know this? We are still with
Scully's POV, aren't we?) , though seemingly easier to handle
during daylight hours than at night. Perhaps the visual memories weren't quite
as clear during the day time versions, which made them easier for him to handle.
Scully
saw him shudder and try to refocus his gaze. "Hey partner," she said
to him, "how about we pull over and I'll take over the driving." He
had been driving for the last three hours. They were now traveling north on the
Garden State Parkway. "We're coming up to a toll booth. Pull over after the
toll booth, Mulder." (Say "toll
booth" again, Scully. Just for
fun.)
He
didn't argue. He merely nodded. Scully was very worried about him, very worried.
(Very, very worried. In fact, she was so worried about him she was sick from
worry. "Not to worry,"
she thought. Soon Mulder will pull
over after the toll booth and after the toll booth there would be no worries
because she would drive after the toll booth.
Party on, Author. )
She
realized if the daydreams were bad, the darkness was going to bring night
terrors. (It strikes the European contingent that it
would be hard to have night terrors if there wasn't darkness.
To quote Midwest: under redundant, see redundant.)
####################################################
As
Scully drove, she took in the east coast sights. (Which
caused Mulder to worry. He always
knew when Scully was taking in the sights while she drove because the car tended
to fly off the road and land in ditches. "Not
to worry," he thought. "The author will use the word 'toll' again
soon." He worried that he had
become redundant, but then all was forgotten when Scully drove into a bean field
while trying to find the World's Largest Rubber Band Ball.)
They traveled across the Garden State Parkway onto Interstate 87. After
paying a few more tolls, they came to the Tappan Zee Bridge.
Scully
remembered this was the bridge that had the movable lanes during rush hour. She
was almost sorry it wasn't rush hour, since she was curious to see how the whole
system worked in its ability to change the lanes. (Ah, Scully is still sightseeing and repeating key words, like
"rush" and "lanes". How
in character of her. Swiss Witch
cuts to the heart of the matter and says, "No one cares, Mary Sue, about your
fascination with the Tappan Zee Bridge. Neither does Scully.")
Sometime later, as she continued to drive, till they came to Interstate 84 in Connecticut. (What??? Let's look at the sheer car wreck of that previous sentence. "Sometime later": i.e. it's later. "as she continued to drive": Once again, Susan, look under "redundant". "till they came to Interstate 84 in Connecticut": this negates the first part. Try "She continued to drive until they came to Interstate 84 in Connecticut." Look! It sounds like people talk! You don't have to get all fancy-dancy with the written word. If it sounds right when you say it, it will probably sound right when you write it.) When she stole a glance at Mulder, she became a little nervous about what she saw. He had fallen asleep, but it was obviously not a restful sleep. (Sleep, rush, worry, lanes, bad sentence construction everywhere. What's a witch to do?)
Suddenly
he saw him wave his hands and arms in front of him, as though he were fending
off someone. Then the whimpers and the moaning began. Scully decided she needed
to pull over, so she could wake him out of this latest dream of horrors.
(Are we sure it's horrors?
He could be having a bondage dream.)
"Mulder,"
she said while gently tapping his shoulder. "Mulder, wake up, it's just a
dream." Mulder's eyes shot open. It appeared as if he looked straight
through Scully. Just as quickly, however, Mulder regained his sensibilities and
immediately groped for the passenger door handle. (So many Mulders, so little
paragraph, such bad sentence construction.)
"Mulder,
what are you doing?" she asked.
"Door…. Open…… Out ….. Car…. Sick," he panted.
"Shit,
Mulder, if you're planning on being sick, please don't do it in the car.
Please!" (God, Scully's a bitch. Mulder is
trying to get the car door open. The
real Scully wouldn't be a potty mouth or say this.)
All the while she pleaded with Mulder to control himself, she was outside
and running to open his passenger door to help him out.
(Nice of her.)
"Scully,
I feel sick." Mulder was out of the car, retching, and throwing up whatever
remnants of this morning's breakfast. (We
got that, author.
Not to be
redundant, but under redundant SEE redundant.) He ended up on his hands
and knees on the side of the road.
Scully
moved over to him, and watched as he continued to heave and vomit. She knelt
down behind him and wrapped her right arm around his chest to support him, while
she braced his forehead with her left hand. (Mulder
isn't a baby. I can picture her
putting a hand on his shoulder, but I seriously doubt she would get in the way
of a grown-man retch-o-thon.) He continue vomiting and gagging for a few
more minutes. The dry heaving became painful for Mulder, and he whimpered
quietly in between breaths.
After
a while, Scully felt him begin to relax a bit in her arms as he leaned back on
his rear (rear?) and then practically laid
back on Scully's lap (and said, "Change me,
Mommy. I've been a dirty, dirty
boy!") . Her knees were numb, so she finally sat down on the ground
behind him positioning his back and head so he was laying on her lap in a
relatively comfortable manner. She never let go of him; she continued to hold
him, while gently wiping his face with a tissue. (Then, she burped him and slipped
him into a one-sy and kissed Baby Mulder goodnight. "Good night, Baby Mulder!
Baby Mulder! Good
night!")
He
continued to breathe hard. He reached for Scully's arm, and held on to her
tightly. She held onto him that much tighter, bringing her chin down to touch
the top of his head. She then, without thinking, gently kissed the top of his
head. (The
earth moved. The ground shook.
A plague of locusts descended on the land.)
She
pulled her head up suddenly when she realized what she had done, though she
didn't really understand why she was so uncomfortable with what she did. She was
only offering him comfort, that's all. Really, it was just some comfort.
(So she did what she done to offer him some
comfort? Just some comfort? A
little did to do for some comfort?)
Mulder
felt his heart racing a mile a minute. He wanted to tell Scully about it, but he
didn't know where to begin. (How
about, "Scully, my heart is racing a mile a minute.
Call the paramedics." That's
always a good start.)
And
then he felt her kiss his head, and his breathing turned more rapid, and not all
because of the dream…..
"Do
you want to rest a little more (or should we just
sit here next to this pool of vomit on the side of the highway and I'll do
something to give you comfort, just some comfort, that's all?)" she
asked him.
"Just
another minute or two, okay Scully? Just until I catch my breath," he
replied honestly, but he also realized he liked being in her arms.
(The sentence structure has caused the Swiss
Witch to run screaming into the night.
Three days later, the Swiss Witch returns;
hungry, tired but clear in her vendetta to take this story to the trash
pile where it belongs.)
"That
one must have been a humdinger, Mulder," she said evenly. Mulder smiled at
that.
"Humdinger,
Scully?" He almost started chuckling, except his throat was very sore as a
result of the vomiting and dry heaving.
"Ahab used to use that expression with us kids," she said affectionately. She closed her eyes for a moment, reflecting on the fact that she was able to remember her own father with such joy and love in her heart (sitting next to a pile of Mulder hurl at the side of the highway) , while when Mulder thought of his father, he puked his guts up. Something was definitely wrong here. (That Scully's sharp! She doesn't need Mulder spew on her pants cuffs to let her know something's up!)
"Well,
to respond to your statement, yes, it was what you might consider a
humdinger," Mulder pronounced. (Why
does he need to speak like a business letter? "To respond to your
statement, Scully, why yes, my father was an abusive bastard!"
Why not just say "yes"?)
"Do
you want to talk about it?" she asked.
"Not
now. Probably later. It's been kind of a reoccurring one, so I'll probably have
to deal with it again tonight. (I'll just
procrastinate until then. Then,
I'll scream and wake you up as that's so much more fun!) So, I'll tell
you about it later….maybe….," he replied. He squeezed her arm gently as
a way of letting her know it wasn't anything personal. He just didn't want to
deal with the negative thoughts right now.
(Sitting by the side of the road, next to his
pool of vomit.)
It
was now going on four o'clock. She realized the idea of food would now be out of
the question because of Mulder's sensitive stomach, but she also knew she would
be hungry soon, as would Mulder. They would pick up something at the next rest
area. (This
is a conflicted paragraph if ever I've seen one. She was hungry, but she wouldn't eat. Mulder's stomach couldn't handle it, but soon it would?
The Swiss Witch's head hurts.)
He
was already moving toward the driver's side of the car when Scully shot him a
look that told him he'd better not even think of trying it. He meekly took the
hint and got back in the passenger side.
"We've
got about a hundred miles to go on I-84, Mulder. When we get to I-90, I'll let
you take over, okay?" she asked, hoping to placate his somewhat bruised
ego. (Show of hands now. Does anyone else find the specificity of driving information
a tad bit over the top?)
He
nodded yes and sat back in the seat. He wanted desperately to close his eyes and
sleep, but he feared what images the slumber would bring him.
(But he doesn't want to talk about it.
GOD.)
"Scully,
you don't by any chance have anything that would help me sleep, do you?" he
asked tentatively. ("Well,
let's see. I've got a hammer in my
bag…")
She
realized he was desperately tired. Mulder normally abhorred medication of any
kind, unless he was in extreme pain or duress, so for him to have actually
requested something to help him sleep was most telling.
(Under redundant…oh never mind.)
"In
my black meds bag, Mulder (Since when does Scully
carry a black med bag? She's a
forensic pathologist, not a pharmacist.) . Let me just pull it out of the
trunk, okay? She found some Tylenol with Codeine which with Mulder's sensitivity
to medication, could conceivably knock him out for the rest of the trip. Which
wouldn't be a bad thing.
(I agree. Tylenol
with Codeine would help everybody with this upcoming flashback at this point.)
#####################################################
December,
1973
Fox
had come home from the hospital the night before, but you would have never known
it from the silence that permeated throughout the house. Though he was no longer
in a catatonic state, (WHAT?
When did this happen? When
did catatonic state set in? Oh, I see. She's jumped in time.
That was entirely unclear.) he remained mute for those first several
hours at home.
Not
because he couldn't talk. Not because he didn't want to talk. It was because no
one spoke to him. No one came near him. No one came to be with him. He was left
alone.
Fox's
mother was fast becoming best friends with a small medicine bottle filled with
small pink pills. A very dainty, feminine drug. A good companion. One that would
never ask her to deal with more of life than she was ready to handle.
(I'm sure it helped her be confined in the
closet for long periods of time. But
why doesn't Elizabeth help the kid out?)
Fox's
father and his best friend, Jack Daniels, remained inseparable. Bill Mulder kept
the bottle within five feet of him during the entire time he was at the
Vineyard. (The
Swiss Witch is considering have a relationship with Jack Daniels after reading
this dreck. It's the only thing
that dulls this much schmoop.)
And
neither parent so much as stepped into the boy's bedroom to check on him.
Neither parent asked him if he was hungry or thirsty or tired or hurting or sad
or angry. Neither parent cared to see if Fox Mulder was coping with the
abduction of his little sister. Neither parent cared to deal with him. Neither
parent cared about him.
(I don't know about you Gentle Reader, but I feel like I'm stuck in some bizarro Mulder version of "Timmy, the Forgotten
Little Locomotive".
Engineer Bob didn't come and check on the lonely little train,
left alone in the train yard. Poor
Timmy. Nobody asked him if he
needed water for his boiler. Nobody
wanted to know if his engine needed coal. Nobody
wanted to blow his whistle or make him sing his happy chugga-chugga song.
Poor Timmy. Poor,
poor Little Train.
That's not true, Timmy. The
Swiss Witch loves you and will renovate you into a lovely little "besides
the track diner" as soon as possible.
In fact the Swiss Witch loves you much more than the character of Fox
Mulder in this story. In fact, I hate it so much I hope that Bill Mulder rises off
the page and thwacks the author for writing such a disgraceful thing.)
That
evening he came downstairs to the kitchen when he thought everyone else was
either asleep or not home. Fox knew his mother and father couldn't stand the
sight of him. (Yes. You've said that. Copiously.)
He knew they blamed him for Sam's disappearance, and that was okay with him. He
blamed himself too. The weight of the world became heavier and heavier to bare
for young Fox. (Is the weight of the world really
getting' naked with young Fox Mulder?)
"What
do you want?" the gruff voice asked in the darkness. (Oh!
Maybe it's Engineer Bob!) It was the first time since he was home
that anyone had actually addressed a question towards him. He didn't know if he
would be able to find his voice to answer.
"I'm
hungry." His voice was raspy from disuse. (He's
been quiet for about 8 hours, not 8 years.) Fox hoped it wouldn't annoy
him (How can his own voice annoy himself? Oh,
you mean the unknown, possible Engineer Bob?)
too much, but apparently it did. Bill Mulder (Darn.
I really was hoping for Engineer Bob.) chose that very moment to
express his annoyance by rapping his son in the mouth with the back of his hand.
(The Swiss Witch shakes her head in disgust and
sorrow at this heavy handed, unoriginal writing.)
Fox immediately brought his fingers up to his mouth and felt the blood.
Bill
Mulder surveyed the damage, (How could he?
It's dark in the room. Did
he turn on a light?) finished
his drink, and got up to leave the kitchen. He looked at the boy and told him,
"Wash your face."
Fox
went to the sink and rinsed the blood off his mouth. His lip stung a little, but
he'd felt worse. Next, he opened the refrigerator to find something to eat.
Obviously, food was no longer a priority in the Mulder household.
(I wish Teena would come back.
She always seemed capable of having some food in the house.
This Elizabeth is a real shoddy housekeeper. I don't know why old mean Bill keeps her around.)
He
saw a couple of slices of old American cheese with the edges turned hard and
dark. There was no milk, no orange juice and no fruit. (This
is feeling very "Children's Story" again. It gives the Swiss
Witch the willies.) He
found the jar of jelly on the door. He opened the freezer to find a half a loaf
of bread.
He
took out two slices and put them in the toaster. He filled a glass up with water
and ice, spread some jelly on the toasted bread, and proceeded to eat at the
counter. Dinner at the Mulder household was a lonely time for Fox Mulder.
(That's it, Gentle Readers.
This must be some kind of bedtime warning story for naughty youngsters!
Look at the repetition, look at the use of simplified language at the
end. Look at the "Pretty
Mommy" Scully and the Little Lost Mulder.
It's the only thing that makes sense!
EEG.)
End
of Part 2/
RATINGS
(0=good,
5=bad in all categories.)
Evilness
Rating:
5
EVIL EVIL EVIL EVIL EVIL!
Who
ARE these people?:
5
I have no earthly idea. No one we know.
I
Speech Goodly:
5
The sentence structure alone is enough to drive the Swiss Witch to distraction.
I
R A Gud Speler:
3
It was more like Homynymicide. Still.
Gak-o-Tron:
to infinity and beyond
Off the scale.
There aren't enough hourglasses in the world.
Laziness
Quotient:
see comments below
Not an original thought in this IF it's an adult story. That garners it the 5. If it's a children's story, which the Swiss Witch suspects it might be, then I would say it's HIGHLY original. Not to mention deeply disturbing. That's where the 0 comes in.
And
your point was...?:
5
Wild Card
Nobody wants to sit that long by the side of the highway next to a pool of vomit. Even if it's their beloved partner's vomit.
