There is no truth, no greater cause, no happy ending; there is only staying alive, of trying to survive what is to come.
As a girl, when she imagined how her life would turn out, Marita never imagined this. Even in her worst nightmares, she could never have conceived of a world where men sold their integrity, their freedom, their very souls so cheaply.
No matter what Fox Mulder thinks, there will be no stopping the invasion, no saving humanity. And frankly, Marita doesn't think humanity really deserves to be saved.
Maybe wiping the slate clean is the best way.
Or maybe not, but she can't really find the will to care anymore. Maybe that’s the real truth: the willingness to push and try your hardest, only to discover that no matter what you've done, your best efforts aren't enough.
She wonders if it wouldn't have been better to never have been cured, to have stayed in a comatose state as the world fell apart around her.
If she has learned one thing over the years, it's that life is hard and has no absolutes. Mulder's ever-precious truth is a worthless lie to another man. Truth is not a finite thing so much as an outlook to be twisted to suit any current set of circumstances.
These days lies fall as easily from her lips and leaves from an autumn tree and sometimes they’re just as pretty. Marita wonders if she'd recognize the truth if she spoke the words, if the truth even matters any more. If survival does.
Still, she does what she's told, watches, remembers, hides what she knows. Some day the truths she hidden away like so much pirate treasure will save her. Or kill her.
On days like today, the second option is the happier one.
Truth
Marita, there is no truth. Word Count: 300
There is no truth, no greater cause, no happy ending; there is only staying alive, of trying to survive what is to come.
As a girl, when she imagined how her life would turn out, Marita never imagined this. Even in her worst nightmares, she could never have conceived of a world where men sold their integrity, their freedom, their very souls so cheaply.
No matter what Fox Mulder thinks, there will be no stopping the invasion, no saving humanity. And frankly, Marita doesn't think humanity really deserves to be saved.
Maybe wiping the slate clean is the best way.
Or maybe not, but she can't really find the will to care anymore. Maybe that’s the real truth: the willingness to push and try your hardest, only to discover that no matter what you've done, your best efforts aren't enough.
She wonders if it wouldn't have been better to never have been cured, to have stayed in a comatose state as the world fell apart around her.
If she has learned one thing over the years, it's that life is hard and has no absolutes. Mulder's ever-precious truth is a worthless lie to another man. Truth is not a finite thing so much as an outlook to be twisted to suit any current set of circumstances.
These days lies fall as easily from her lips and leaves from an autumn tree and sometimes they’re just as pretty. Marita wonders if she'd recognize the truth if she spoke the words, if the truth even matters any more. If survival does.
Still, she does what she's told, watches, remembers, hides what she knows. Some day the truths she hidden away like so much pirate treasure will save her. Or kill her.
On days like today, the second option is the happier one.