Sure. Fine. Whatever. A Dana Scully Origin Story

Shells of Snakeskin

Barefoot, feeling every pebble and crack in the pavement with her toes, she ran chasing the street lamps. Her mind was numb. Her heart was empty. Dana Scully no longer resided in the shell of her own body.

While she had lived in the area for almost a year, she still needed directions when going places. She hoped that with every turn she made that it was in the direction of her own home. She felt alone as she left the party but now she felt scared and alone, which is nearly a million times worse.

A whirlwind of flashing lights, loud music, the warmth of the crowd overcame her senses and she began to sweat. Her lungs burned with the silent scream for air. Before she knew it, she was on her knees with a crash landing back to earth. A pain in her head sharper than a knife cut through her brain, exiting her ears with the shriek of a chainsaw. The tortuous feeling was so incredible that her body could not even let out a cry. Her eyes folded inward and she could see her thoughts play like a movie on the screen that was the inner mechanisms of her mind.

A young girl being lured into a dark room. Panic. Anxiety. Fear. Strong hands with bulging veins held the girl against her own will. A funnel being jammed into her bird-like mouth with those brawny hands forcing it deeper and deeper into her throat. Liquid. Chemicals being poured down her esophagus. She gagged. She flailed her bony arms around, kicking her chicken legs, breathing the burning acidic liquid into her lungs with every movement of reflex. Choking on her watery cocktail of death, the dark-haired girl with the piercing green eyes now stood motionless, held against the icy wall by the grasp of a hand to her neck. The number 8 was tattooed on the hand that held her there. Her head hung low like an old oak tree.

Gasping for air Dana awoke from the vision she witnessed in her mind. On her knees, choking, Dana began to tremble. What had she just witnessed? The emotions she felt were so real. So. So real. Her head still buzzed like a static radio. Struggling to her feet, she felt the trickle of warm blood flowing down her legs. Her knees were scraped from the sidewalk and her palms held the shock of catching her fall. She could only imagine that she looked as horrible as she felt on the inside.

With the ounce of strength that she had inside of her, she picked herself up and began to head for home. Limping down the road, she dragged her ankle behind her like a zombie from one of Charlie's comic books. She wanted to cry. She wanted to explode. All of her emotions gushing out of her brain like a fountain. But at the same time, she was hopelessly empty. She was numb. Headlights flashed in her flaming eyes. Car horns beeped at her like she was roadkill. Her mind flashed back to her Sunday school lessons about the good Samaritan that aided the sick and afflicted Jewish man left for dead on the road. Where was her Samaritan? Was she even worthy of one?

"Faster, Melissa," Mrs. Scully hounded her daughter from the passenger seat.

"I'm going as fast as I can, mom. Any faster and I'll get arrested again." Her voice trailed off with an insecure laugh. Her mom would have lectured her if they weren't on the hunt for Dana.

Right at the cross streets of Erlenmire and Big Blue, Mrs. Scully shouted an obscenity that her mouth had never formed. Halting the car abruptly, the concerned sister and heartbroken mother jumped out of the vehicle and smothered their missing Dana with hugs and a shower of warm tears.

"Dana! Dana are you okay?" Her mother cried as she placed her warm hands on the face of her daughter.

No reply. Dana could only stare back into the green eyes that looked so desperately into her's.

While she could not speak, she could think and feel. She felt like the hollow shells of snakeskin that she and her brothers would find in their backyard when they were younger. So delicate and frail, but yet strong enough that it once held an unstoppable creature within its walls. Now, it was empty. Useless. Lifeless.