Lottery Land
By: afg – www.ofnoconsequence.com
Rating: PG 13 
Category: Woolsey fic? Once again I have no idea
Disclaimer: Not mine and no money is being made.
Feedback: siggy.63@btinternet.com
Note: Written for the GateShip Wednesday Shorts 'Scourge' Challenge
Summary: Nearly being eaten by alien insect life can have interesting effects.


~oOo~

LaPierre is muttering something in French, it sounds like a prayer. I'm pondering the 
benefits of death by misplaced claymore or death by alien bugs. I'm desperately 
hoping that Colonel Mitchell has laid an explosive too close to the building I'm 
cowering in.

Through the noise of explosions I can hear them. The sound of chitinous skittering is 
overwhelming. I put my fingers in my ears but it doesn't help. I can see them in my 
mind's eye, an endless wave of undulating horror, getting closer and closer...Oh God 
they're here...

"Dick?...Dick, it's all right dear, it's just a nightmare."

I open my eyes. Instead of a black wall of ravenous insects, I see my wife, resplendent 
in curlers and facemask. I relax into the bed, feeling the sweat cool on my body.

"Darling, you were having a terrible dream." She spoke without moving her lips in 
case she should crack the brown gloop that had set hard on her face.

"I'm sorry, dear. It's been a busy couple of days."

"Was Albuquerque that bad?"

It took me a moment to figure out what she was talking about, until I remembered the 
cover story I'd rambled out so casually two mornings ago. "Oh, you know, dear. Just 
the usual endless meetings with boring military types."

"Oh, well that's all right then."

She lay back down on the bed beside me and within moment was gently snoring. As I 
looked at the shadows on my bedroom ceiling it occurred to me that I was alive, 
wonderfully, vibrantly alive!

Suddenly I felt the urge to do something reckless, like running naked through the 
Pentagon or bungee jumping off the Washington Monument. I sat up in bed, too 
energised to sleep. I grabbed my robe and headed for the kitchen. Opening the fridge I 
pulled out a bottle of Champagne. The cork released with a satisfying 'pop' and I took 
a long swig straight from the bottle, the bubbles tickled their way down my throat. I'd 
never tasted anything like it.  I spotted some left over Salmon mouse from the dinner 
party we'd held a few days ago. Toasting a slice of wholemeal bread I smeared some 
on and ate it ravenously. It was wonderful.

I wondered if this was how Colonels Mitchell and Carter were feeling right now. No 
wonder they felt so strongly about the Stargate program. To live like this, never 
knowing whether this was the day your luck would run out. My God it the rush must 
be unbelievable.  I'd been behind desks for all of my life. Always collating facts 
studying the efficiency of others, but never experiencing what they actually did for 
myself. 

Now the world was made anew. I had stood on the edge of the precipice and stared 
death in the face and it had not claimed me. I had been given a second chance.

Taking one last swig of Champagne and with the dawn slowly creeping over the 
horizon. I went back into the bedroom.

"Mmmm, Dick, what are you doing?"

"I'm kissing my wife...you know, you taste of oatmeal."

"It's my face–mask... apricot and oatmeal."

"It's delicious."

"Dick, are you quite well?"

"I'm gloriously well, I just want to make love to you."

"Now!"

"Yes, right now."

"Ooooh, Dick, it's been so long. Just give me a minute in the bathroom and I'll be 
right back."

"I'll be waiting, my love." Woolsey watched as his wife of thirty-five years 
scampered off to the bathroom.

All those dull grey years of endless dinner parties filled with dull grey people. All 
those evenings spent in front of the television not speaking, or secreted away in his 
study pouring over reams of numbers and statistics. Well, no more. Tonight he was 
going take his beautiful wife out for dinner at Gaston's and then they would dance the 
night away. 

He made a mental note to himself to send Lieutenant Colonel Carter a dozen roses as 
a gesture of thanks. It was the least he could do.

The end.    

End Note: I apologise profusely for this, but I can only write what pops up in my 
head.