We took them all into the deep, deep pits constructed for just that purpose.
Little cells with naked walls for their naked bodies, cold and shivering under the
bare light of the single bulb. That was how they were meant to be kept, like pets,
caged like animals. That’s all they were to us.
Men and women alike, one to a cell. No compassion for them. Not even for the
ones who thought they could prevent this. Into the cells like the rest of the maggot
population. Or get loaded onto a ship and sold to the nearest planet that harvested
oxygen so they could survive. Many opted for the cells. At least they were kept
with their own kind, on their own planet. Our planet now.
I dislike the humans greatly. In fact, I hate them. Despise them with ever part
and piece of my body. So fragile, so weak they are, and so foolish. Did they really
expect us to come here with the notion that a few choice cuts would be saved? Did
they think we operated the same way as their god Jesus does? Ha! Stupidity at its
finest. We do not care about them, nor their laws, nor morals and values. Society
is meaningless to our race. The only reason Earth was even in our take-over
manual was because Headquarters decided that humans did not deserve the
freedom they bestowed. D’Oma’ decided that it was time to teach the human race a
lesson; they are not the center of the Universe. We are.
It was such easy pickings once our ships landed on Earth soil. Many of the
humans did not fight, surrendering to us instead because of their weakness and
fear. We were merciful on those poor souls, letting them remain above ground in
little houses with their little families. It was decided that those who did not resist
would serve us above land, but would remain, for the most part, happy and free.
Those who chose to fight were a different story.
Headquarters deemed that no human shall be killed. I, personally, would have
amended that rule, but I have no say in what my leaders tell me. For my luck, I
was allowed to rule over the pits, or prisons, as the humans refer to it. That in
itself has made my millennium. But back to my story.
Since no human could be or would be killed, those that fought us were given
their choice. Of course none of the humans had the mental capacity to defeat us, so
they were forced into the prisons. I don’t feel sorry for any of them. They deserve
what they got because they chose the wrong path to follow. And now, they pay for
it, daily.
I am true to the word of the law. D’Oma’ says that to be a true superrace we
must show no compassion, show no pity, no mercy. Although some humans were
given the gift of slavery, and are not treated as those who battled, none are enjoying
the life they now lead. We make sure of that. If they were to be happy, what would
that say about us? I understand that to be a truly superior race, one must have a
heart of kindness within, but we do not have to abide by those rules. Those are
human values and human characteristics, and we, as their new leaders and centers
of the Universe, do not have to see things their way. I, for one, intend to never see
anything the way of the humans. I cannot say the same for some of my colleagues,
but I can say this. Not until the day that breath does not come to me, will I show
any spark of mercy or pity or whatever word Mr. Webster would use towards the
filth that once claimed planet Earth. And saying thus, I move on to more
interesting features.
It had been a long time since I wrote anything down, owning the keen
intelligence to remember everything. This is not for me. This is for the humans.
To see what we really think of them, to see how powerful we are, and how good we
can break their simple wills. There are not many stories that differ from one to the
other. For the most part, they are all the same. With enough pain, they break.
Words cease to fall from their lips, and they cease to exist. Many do not even fear
us anymore, because of the shock of unexpected life. Nobody dies. We know how to
fix that human problem.
But there are a few exceptions to the rule. One being a man by the name of Fox.
He hasn’t broken yet, for some reason that I don’t understand. Then again, maybe
he has and none of us can tell. Everyone breaks a different way, just many humans
show the same flaws. This man might just be hanging on because it is the only way
he won’t loose his mind, and oh, god forbid the poor human goes insane.
The people he dreams about did not suffer the same fate. The woman he cries
out for that is still alive, Dana, or Scully as he calls her, has been beaten for some
time. She was strong, very strong, stronger than any woman I have ever had the
pleasure of skin stripping. But her small body couldn’t handle all the pain, so
eventually she dropped, like the rest, into a nothing. Now she huddles in the
corner of her cell, staring at me when I enter with vacant, blue eyes. Eyes that are
devoid of life. I have ceased whipping her. She can’t cry anymore.
His former boss, a Walter Skinner, has yet to be able to move around. We have
not set his bones back into place, and every day his eyes plead silently for us to give
him back that bit of freedom that we stole. We never do, or, shall I amend, I never
do. But I have stopped going to his room, preferring some lower guard to take
notes. He bores me. Such a manly man reduced to nothing, and it bores me.
There are evils that Fox cries out against, such as a man only known as the
Cigarette Smoking Man. He was the first man to test us, telling us that he was to
be saved. Ha! No human was to be saved we told him. But he was the weakest,
yet most intelligent of them all. He did not resist us, seeing its futility. Now, that
man lives above the ground, with a woman and two children, not happy, but not
dead like the ones down here.
And then there is the man whom Fox does not cry for, rather who cries for Fox.
He is almost stoic when I go to him, trying his hardest to hide the emotions that
flow so brilliantly when I begin my tasks. Him I have not broken either, for some
reason. Even when I gave him his arm back, just to take it away again. That, in
itself, was pleasing, although it did not produce the desired effect. I expected
screams and curses and wails of frustration. All I got was a cup full of tears and
the saddest green eyes I had ever seen. But, as to show how much that touched me,
I had every inch of skin on his backside removed with leather and hot irons.
Today is a special day. Anniversary of sorts. The day that we invaded, took
over, claimed Earth for us and D’Oma’. No matter it was forty years past. Nobody
ages anymore, that would just be cruel. And in talking with Celazei, second in
command of the High Council, we decided to give the humans a little celebration.
Let them see what had become of those they loved. Love, such a sickening word.
But it proves to be a great use where humans are concerned.
I was put in charge of my favorite tenant, Fox. That satisfied me, for the simple
reason that I wanted to watch his wall crumble around him. It almost made me
giddy with excitement.
He looks up at me as I enter his cell. Both hazel eyes focus on mine. I must
seem overbearing to him as he sits on the floor in a pile of skin and bones. Even at
six feet, I still tower over him with my eight.
“Happy anniversary,” I say, in the cold tone that I use to address all lower life
forms.
“Anniversary?” His voice is scratched, hoarse, rough. The way all voices become
from screaming and crying.
“Forty years, Fox.”
His eyes break from mine. I can see the gears in his smart little head twirling
round and round as he digests the information. Forty years is a long time to be
held captive, especially if each day you look the same as the day before.
“Earth years?”
Ah, so there is hope in his eyes. “No, stupid, alien years.” I can feel my hands
beginning to burn. “Of course Earth years. That’s where we are, isn’t it?”
He remains silent, the evidence of my words sinking in on his pretty face. I can
say that now, pretty. It was never a word in my vocabulary until I came to this
world. Humans are so unlike any other creature in the Universe, well, any that I
have met. So I can call some pretty, as I do now.
“This is eternal.” His voice lacks luster. It is as though he has given up all but
that sliver of a chance that someday this all could turn out to be a dream.
Nightmare, actually.
Yet, I ignore his comments. “Since this is the anniversary of when we first
arrived, Headquarters has decided to give you pathetic wastes of air a little
present.”
Glimmer of hope in his eyes. And another. And another. So much so, that I feel
sick. He is too smart for the forty years he has been held captive. He understands
too much. For that, he will be punished, but later. Now, there is an agenda to stick
to.
One word confirms my suspicions. “Scully?”
I crook my mouth to the side. Yes, you will see your precious lady whom you call
for nightly, but you will not like what you see. She is more dead than you are, and
seeing her will make every part of your body hurt with a pain that you have never
felt before. “Is that who you would like to see?”
“Yes.”
“Then I will take you to her.” I turn from him and leave the room, knowing that
he is following me. No matter how weak he might have been, he still has the
strength to join me in my walk. I lead him down the hallway, past other reunions,
to the cell where his Dana Scully is resting comfortably.
He does not allow me to open the door, instead he does it for himself. I stand
back and witness the reunion. She is on the floor, boneless, thin and pale, with her
red hair sticking and flying in all sorts of directions. Her eyes do not register his
presence, not even when he crushes her head against his breast and murmurs
words into her ear. Only when he begins to rock and his tears fall into her hair
does she look at him. A moment of remembering.
Her eyes fill with that salty water and flow, as her pale pink lips try to form a
word. I know that word, but she cannot say it.
“I’m here, Scully. I’m here.”
Her eyes close and her head rests. His body continues its motions as he
continues telling her nonsense. I know it is nonsense because he has talked to me,
many times, through great pain about a great number of things. What he tells her
is garbage, meant to comfort. But my eyes witness no comfort, just a defeat that
she has already learned and he has yet to. He notices it too, and tries vainly to
make her speak to him. Too bad she lost that ability years ago.
I leave them to each other, content in the fact that there is still one place Fox
needs to go before returning to his own cell. As he sees her, so he must be seen. It’s
amazing to think that in times of great despair, one who was once an enemy
becomes a friend. Nothing in my life gave me witness to that, but today, I think it
is a possibility. Fox had been called upon, to be seen, as a present for another. One
who I know from talks he hates more than life. Well, that may be pushing it. Life,
now, has no meaning for him, for any human, anymore. So maybe now hate can be
put away in a box. I haven’t seen much anger and hatred towards fellow humans
within the past twenty or so years. My guess was that they forgot how.
Upon returning to the room I find Dana curled against Fox, who is still rocking
away and muttering sentences. His voice is broken as he whispers, the tears
leaving tracts upon his cheeks.
“It’s time, Fox.”
His glassy eyes meet mine. There is a depth of pleading in them that I have
never seen before, not in his eyes. He wants to stay, to remain with her. This I
know, but cannot grant.
“Please, just a few more minutes.”
Begging, how appropriate. But there is no time for mercies in my catalogue. I
motion him with my finger. “Now, Fox.”
He turns his eyes away and kisses Dana on the head. I hear a muttered string
of “I’m sorry” and “I love you” before he pulls away. She raises her eyes to his for a
brief moment, then sags against the floor again. Watching her, I am certain that
she will never move another day in her life. Watching Fox, I can see he knows that
as well.
He is crying, and not holding back or hiding it from me. “Back to my cell so you
can beat me until I pass out?” His voice is cold, devoid of feelings. But I know he
feels, the pain inside slowly eating away at his skin until he is just like her.
“No. You have been asked for.”
“By whom?”
“Another human.”
“Who is it?”
“His name is Alex.”
And he grows silent. I know he knows who I am talking about. As if it
mattered, he sniffs loudly and wipes his cheeks. We bypass other humans, who
seem to just hold each other for what little comfort they can grab, and make our
way towards the other end of the pit. It is where all the real resisters are held.
Before I open the door, a thought strikes. “Be nice, Fox, or I will hurt you in
front of him.”
He swallows and nods, a gesture that I have become accustomed to. Slowly I
open the door, to see Alex sitting in the corner, good arm wrapped around his chest,
stump a mangled mess of flesh. I move to allow Fox entrance to the room.
No words are exchanged, just looks. Both sets of eyes lock on the other’s. Fox
was the first to break the silence. “You called?”
Alex turns his eyes away, almost ashamed, and says, “You can go now.”
“No,” I say, pressing my hand against Fox’s back. “He stays until I say it’s time
to go.”
The green eyes move their way to my face, but quickly retreat when they see
that I will not budge on that subject. Fox realizes that there is no escape, so he
crosses the small room and sits beside Alex.
“I’m sorry.”
I almost jump. It was said so quietly that I didn’t think I had heard it. When I
refocus my eyes on Alex, I can see the tears that drip from his eyes.
Fox does not move, nor does he say anything. Just stares at the man he calls his
enemy, waiting out the tears or waiting for more words. I am enrapt, waiting also
to see why it was Fox whom Alex called for.
“I know,” he starts, wiping the tears from his cheeks. “I know that I was the last
person you’d want to see.”
Fox still does not answer. I remind myself that he is just as foolish, if not more
so, than the others. Maybe two pieces of his past is too much for him. Maybe now
his wall of will has finally dissolved.
“I. . .I don’t know what to say?”
Alex laughs, a sound that I had not heard in years. “That’s funny. Fox Mulder
with nothing to say.” He takes a deep breath. “Well, I have something I have to tell
you.” And he leans close to Fox’s ear, whispering words that I knew he was
uttering.
Fox’s eyes fall closed, tears already descending. And with that, I leave the room,
to allow them time that I cared not to see.
Outside the sun is descending, leaving the Earth cool in its sleep. The only light
now comes from the bright glow of the FauxMoon, since the original was destroyed
by some youngsters out for a joy ride. Soon, it will be time for all the good humans
to sleep, or to be beaten into sleep. That is the time that I cherish. As much as
today was fun for all, there was a regime to continue.
I often wonder what the others think about this new world we have brought. I
do not think any of them feel guilt or shame or sadness, as human emotions go, but
I do wonder if they understand the human pain. Sometimes, I think humans too
weak and frail to have ruled a planet of this magnitude with such order, and other
times I am deceived. In all, however, the new race that inhabits the Earth is far
more superior and well-to-do than any human race. That I understand well enough
to write an entire book on the subject. Which I won’t do. There is no need for my
descendents to read about what we do here today; they will be able to see for
themselves when the time comes.
Bored with my thoughts, I return to the room. Both men sit close, Alex’s lips to
Fox’s ear, as Fox trembles and turns his knuckles white from holding onto Alex’s
hand. They see me in the doorway. Fox turns his face, wipes tears from Alex’s
cheeks and after a brief kiss, stands. Before we leave, I hear Alex say, “Thank you.”
The door closes then.
I can hear Fox sobbing all the way back to his room. When we reach it, he says
to me, “Why? Why show us what we can’t have? Why let us see what has become of
those we loved?”
I want to smile at that. “Torture,” I reply.
That word, that one single word makes him silent. Although the tears continue,
his eyes take on an angry glow. Good. The better to explain my punishment. My
fingers motion for him to turn, and he does, remembering from the day before how I
like him to poise himself. On his knees, facing the wall, with his palms against the
slick metal of the cell.
This night I rip apart his skin slowly, taking my time. No matter how hard he
tries to hold back, the screams depart his lips. I work methodically, leaving not an
inch of skin showing on his back, shoulders and neck. When I am done, he is
bleeding, shivering, sweating and crying. His body crumbles into a neat little ball
on the floor, and I leave him to his misery.
Forty years, and forty more and forty more after that. It is all they deserve for
thinking they could best us. And now, as nighttime commands me to return to my
bedchambers, I say a silent prayer of thanks to Headquarters, the High Council and
D’Oma’. Thank you for keeping the breath in me, and thank you for loaning me
life forms that bend so easily. I hope that someday in the future there will be
nothing left for us to do here, and we can go in search of others to destroy. Good
night to all. May D’Oma’ rest in your blood and run through your thoughts.
FIN
1/25/99