This is without a doubt the best story I've read in a long time. Whenever I read something that resonates just the "right" way, I call it "Tuning Fork Perfection" moments, and I found many of them here:
He leans against the refrigerator and watches her. She can see a magnet through his collarbone. A picture of her nephew through his sternum.
I love the way you've kept your phrases short and simple, straight to the point, without fuss. This is an efficient example of it. This very lean writing rhythm matches the atmosphere and it gives a kind of uneasy creepiness to the whole story, like bare bones.
I am a scientist, she whispers. To the faucet. To the soap dish. I am not insane.
Again a very vivid image. I love those "Little Things That Counts," little details that anchor the story down.
His voice is quiet, like it’s in her head, and loud, like it’s in her ear.
Clever way of converying the strangeness of his voice. And I concur, the font change works.
He is wearing the suit he was buried in, collar unbuttoned. Scully can see the y-incision she made during his autopsy...Her y-incision was textbook perfect.
This whole section just broke my heart.
“Are you fucking haunting me?” she asks, finally.
That is CLASSIC. It so cracked me up. Perfect.
At night they argue about goblins and swamp monsters, the possibility of Bigfoot, the genealogy of Nessie. They argue about Mulder’s incorporeity, its potential relation to water vapour, to Plato’s perfect Forms.
That is So *them*. Aw.
a poor man’s Clarice Starling.
You had me at "Clarice". ;-)
***
This story is going straight in my favourite fic folder, right next to "Gardening in Tropical Climates."
The only thing I'm mildly disapointed about is that I had plans to name one of my stories "Setting Out Towards Sheol." (after the Dead Sea scrolls proverb)but you've beaten me to it. Pah, never mind. :)
Thank you for reminding me the reason why I love fanfiction so much. I needed that.
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threeguesses's journal
no subject
Date: 2010-11-26 03:09 pm (UTC)He leans against the refrigerator and watches her. She can see a magnet through his collarbone. A picture of her nephew through his sternum.
I love the way you've kept your phrases short and simple, straight to the point, without fuss. This is an efficient example of it. This very lean writing rhythm matches the atmosphere and it gives a kind of uneasy creepiness to the whole story, like bare bones.
I am a scientist, she whispers. To the faucet. To the soap dish. I am not insane.
Again a very vivid image. I love those "Little Things That Counts," little details that anchor the story down.
His voice is quiet, like it’s in her head, and loud, like it’s in her ear.
Clever way of converying the strangeness of his voice. And I concur, the font change works.
He is wearing the suit he was buried in, collar unbuttoned. Scully can see the y-incision she made during his autopsy...Her y-incision was textbook perfect.
This whole section just broke my heart.
“Are you fucking haunting me?” she asks, finally.
That is CLASSIC. It so cracked me up. Perfect.
At night they argue about goblins and swamp monsters, the possibility of Bigfoot, the genealogy of Nessie. They argue about Mulder’s incorporeity, its potential relation to water vapour, to Plato’s perfect Forms.
That is So *them*. Aw.
a poor man’s Clarice Starling.
You had me at "Clarice". ;-)
***
This story is going straight in my favourite fic folder, right next to "Gardening in Tropical Climates."
The only thing I'm mildly disapointed about is that I had plans to name one of my stories "Setting Out Towards Sheol." (after the Dead Sea scrolls proverb)but you've beaten me to it. Pah, never mind. :)
Thank you for reminding me the reason why I love fanfiction so much. I needed that.