From angelt@primenet.comSat Jan 13 18:35:32 1996 Date: Fri, 12 Jan 1996 19:42:22 -0700 (MST) From: Angel Trinkle Reply to: b5-creative@blob.best.net To: b5-creative Subject: Re: Nightmare I was so creeped out by the nightmare sequence, my brain just wouldn't let it sit. This isn't what I set out to do, but this is what resulted. I would love feedback, but please don't rip me too hard, as this is my first public attempt. All characters belong to the mighty one that created them, and if he wants them back, I'll cheerfully return them. Starting Over She heard Garibaldi moving around behind her, restlessly pacing. She didn't look at him, she couldn't. Not then. In a minute. But not then. For her his world had been destroyed. Ostensibly for the sake of the universe-- but mostly for her. She'd seen and understood that achingly familiar look in John's eyes when he'd pulled her out. Her beloved Don Quixote, forever tilting at windmills. And Za'Ha'Dum had been the ultimate windmill. It had seemed so clear-cut for all of them on the other side; an ultimate good-vs-evil of the type that had always appealed to John. Only she and her fellow survivors had been able to see the gray that dominated the landscape. Dark, overpowering Shadows-- an evil older than the planet, nearly contemporary with the universe itself. But there were not only Shadows in the star-swallowing Empire that the Forces of Light had only glimpsed. There were many like her, like Morden, who had served out of hope or fear or a twisted pragmatism. Survivors. Survivors, all of them. She thought of her people, her friends, whom she had fought unto death to bring home alive. Remembered Morden as she always did, curled up asleep in a pose that she'd been surprised he'd been able to get into, much less sleep in. Carl, Teresa, Samantha, Daniel, James. Seven of them. Only seven, where once there had been twenty-seven, and there had been nearly a hundred before that. So many had died in this terrible war. Too many. Too many of the wrong people, and not enough of the right ones. They had won the war, but the work wasn't finished. Not nearly. Indeed, her work was just beginning. "It's time," Michael said. Their eyes met as she glanced behind her. Could that be-- hope-- she glimpsed? "Yes." She decided it was. It was time for hoping again; time to rebuild everything the Shadows had corrupted. Including her own life. She'd spoken to other survivors, other fighters, earlier in the day. Well-wishers. Earthdome was emerging from chaos, almost unrecognizable. Psi Corps-- the Telepaths' Guild-- was being led by a soft-spoken man named Frank Caldwell, who had been thinking about how to effectively reconstruct the Corps for decades. G'Kar, ever the survivor, had returned home to pick up the pieces and find out what kind of a world could be built without the domineering Centauri. Vir Kotto had assumed that throne and was working in his patient, plodding way to undo the damage his former master had unwittingly wished for. Lennier and Jeff were on Minbar together, working on the legacy Delenn had left behind. Kosh-- who knew what Kosh was working on. They were still centuries from understanding their enigmatic allies. She pushed herself to her feet. she thought to the headstone. He wasn't buried there. There wasn't enough of him. But it gave him a *place*, a place for her to go and talk to him. It made it easier to leave him behind. She took Michael's arm, a deep breath, and the path through the garden that led to where the festivities awaited them. There were too many dead; too many of the wrong people. But she was alive, and Michael was alive, and Alexandria was reality. And there were people waiting. "Are you _sure_ you want to take my name?" Michael was saying as she pulled her thoughts impatiently into the present. "Yes, for the fiftieth time, yes. John would have wanted it that way. Now hush about it, already." "If you're sure." "I'm sure. I love you, Michael. Now shut up." "Yes, dear." FIN Be seeing you, Angel -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- |Angel Trinkle Nobody expects the Psi Corps Inquisition! | |angelt@primenet.com Amongst our weaponry are such diverse | |Keeper of the elements as: fear, surprise, ruthless | |Anna Sheridan Flame efficiency, an almost fanatical devotion | |Phoenix Phan to the Corps, and nice black uniforms. | |Columnist on http://www.comicsworld.com --If Bester were British | =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=