From: pecan@hotmail.com   
      
   Going Out of Country for a Wee Spell   
      
   To the January contest of Weird Fiction Forum   
      
   Author: Spock spockdaggoo@yahoo.co.uk   
      
   Category: a desperate MT, an indirect X and a selection of humble attempts   
   at H   
      
   Rating: Subject matter slightly below the belt, more impressionable readers   
   be warned - I swear this is totally natural, however.   
      
   Summary: Mulder goes on a hunt for 'foxfires' and finds himself in a very   
   painful predicament before he even reaches the fells.   
      
   Disclaimer and author's notes: This might calm you, Cool Creator [CC]: You   
   did not write this. In fact, I am not sure you will recognize this   
   particular Mulder. Hope you can bring yourself to living with this side of   
   him for a wee spell, if you ever read it, that is. It's just that I am bored   
   in my trailer park in Miami, and want to pass my time thinking of piss-poor   
   stories, plus it's pissing down outside.   
      
      
      
      
      
   Location: 9000 meters above the English Channel   
      
   Time at destination: 4 p.m.   
      
   Miles to destination: 1490   
      
   ETA at destination: 6.55 p.m.   
      
      
      
   Mulder lifted his eyes from the book on Nordic mythologies and noted the   
   information screens. Still almost three hours to go.   
      
   He didn't mind particularly, as this gave him time to read up on the most   
   interesting of subjects in the book - the chapter about the so called   
   'foxfires'. He had been lured by the name, obviously, but also found other   
   points of interest in the rich world of the Nordic beliefs related to the   
   Nordic Lights phenomenon.   
      
   Mulder turned the page. He took a hearty gulp of his iced tea, in fact   
   emptying the paper cup. He wasn't quite sure how many gallons of iced tea he   
   had managed to down, but the vents overhead made his throat dry as sandpaper   
   with every breath of air. He stretched his legs, cocked his head from left   
   to right producing nasty cracking sound, which awoke his seat neighbor from   
   his drowsy state and made a passing stewardess stop and ask him if he was   
   all right.   
      
   Mulder set down the empty cup of iced tea and smiled at the stewardess.   
      
   "Can I have another.?"   
      
   "Iced tea?" the stewardess asked smilingly before he could even express his   
   wish.   
      
   "Please." He returned her smile, and she walked towards the back of the   
   plane.   
      
   He returned to reading a most enticing section on fables and myths as it   
   pertained to the periods of high Nordic light activity. The subject matter   
   of a mythological, devious Laplandish prankster held his attention as the   
   stewardess serviced his tray with three cups of iced tea. Instead of a   
   courteous acknowledgment through warm, smiling eye-contact as a thank you   
   for a service obliged, Mulder's eyes were fixed firmly on the page,   
   continuing to move over the lines of the chapter. His free hand, as if by   
   instinct alone, felt the presence of the iced teas featured on his tray   
   table and grabbed the closest one, moved it to his lips without disrupting   
   the enjoyment of his reading about a devilish spiritual creature who was   
   said to appear when the sky was an arena of red or green, dancing snakes.   
      
   As cup after cup of familiar and much-loved liquid poured down the   
   passageway of Mulder's throat, the words on the pages and the pictures that   
   accompanied them merged with his mind of complete thirst for knowledge.   
      
   Note the phrase 'cup after cup', will be of importance in understanding this   
   story.   
      
   The above described activity continued for quite some time. Mulder read and   
   downed iced tea. The stewardesses were by now rolling their eyes and filling   
   his cups with his preferred drink without him even asking them. Good   
   stewardesses did so, those stewardesses who knew the needs of their   
   passengers, were the best kind of stewardesses. Mulder did not even notice   
   this automaticity, this perfect attunement to his well-being onboard the   
   plane, he just continued reading, until the inevitable came to pass.   
      
   Yes,  the moment which we all have been waiting for to be described is   
   approaching fast.   
      
   Mulder shifted in his seat. He noted the three empty cups on the table tray   
   and felt that familiar tell-tale need building within. It had been at least   
   two hours since he had had the willpower to detach himself from his epic and   
   visit the toilet. It wasn't to be helped - he needed to visit the old boys'   
   quite soon.   
      
   He read a few more paragraphs, but then he decided firmly that it was time.   
   He took the empty cups, folded his tray table, put away his much-loved book   
   in the seat pocket along with the cups, put on his shoes and got up. Just as   
   he proceeded to walk down the isle one of the stewardesses stopped him and   
   explained that he must return to his seat immediately. The plane shook   
   suddenly, and Mulder needed no further instructions, and returned to his   
   seat.   
      
   The captain firmly announced that they were nearing a storm front and that   
   the turbulence they would experience dictated they buckle up, what Mulder   
   didn't know of course was that his willpower was going to be put to the   
   test.   
      
   The stewardesses quickly checked that everyone was buckled up and hurried to   
   their seats. The seat belt sign was blinking ominously. Everyone was buckled   
   up, including a slightly uncomfortable Mulder.   
      
   The first more powerful jolt surprised everyone. The second and the many   
   following unnerved everyone thoroughly. The soothing voice of the captain   
   assuaged many, but not Mulder. The bumpy ride did not reduce his need to   
   visit the toilet. The bumpy ride sent butterflies to his already prickling   
   lower abdomen.   
      
   The little information screens were folded up, a normal procedure at   
   turbulence, the captain explained. The last thing Mulder saw of the   
   announcements was that their flight was estimated to arrive at Kittilä   
   airport at 7.55 p.m. - an hour after schedule.   
      
   Mulder shifted in his seat and he fingered the book in the seat pocket in   
   front of him. Maybe if he thought of other things, he might be able to hold   
   it until they passed through this small storm cloud.   
      
   Yeah, right.   
      
   By the time it was time to begin descent for Kittilä airport, Mulder had   
   held it in for two hours, three minutes and fifteen seconds. It had been no   
   small storm cloud. It had been a huge storm cloud, wreaking havoc on all the   
   Nordic states. It had even been named Erik. He had been checking his watch,   
   counting the crumbs from previously devoured baguettes on the carpet in the   
   aisle, and trying to come up with names for his fellow passengers, just by   
   looking at the back of their heads, to name a few. He had counted backwards   
   from Z, 3799 and compared German adjectives: Schnell, schneller, der   
   schnellste, but had almost made himself laugh at the ridiculousness of his   
   German pursuits, which had of course not help his poor bladder.   
      
   His lip was bleeding, his palms sweating and he had gone through different   
   stages of pain, trying to find strength in his mental,   
   went-to-Oxford-psyche-major-kick-ass resources for the utterly horrifying,   
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)