Living Dead
Prologue
It was a hot and humid summer night in Sunnydale. Somewhere, deep in the heart of the small town a deathly scream pierced the silence of the night. It was a woman. She lay face up on the wet cemetery grass. She looked around for the last time with her hazel eyes as the wooden stake she was holding rolled out of her hand. As her heart beet for the last time she felt someone forcing something in her mouth, it was blood. Then, she was dead.
***
Part 1 – Not dead, not yet alive
"Giles, I have something very important to tell you" Willow spoke quietly. Her eyes were red and her whole body ached.
"What is it?" the now very concerned Watcher asked. It was almost 3:30 in the morning and Willow had come over to his house hysterically.
"Buffy, she…", warm tears started falling from Willow's eyes, again, " Buffy didn't come home tonight…"
She found it hard to continue, She didn't want to be the one to tell Giles.
"Well then", Giles said "We can go look for her, She might be…maybe…probably…." his voice trailed off in to the okward silence. He new exactly what Willow was trying to tell him.
A small sob escaped the Watcher's throat as he thought of his slayer. "How?" he asked still very confused and shocked.
"Vampire…" Willow answered avoiding eye contact with the devastated man who stood before her.
Giles didn't know what to do; he lost the one thing he cared most for in this world. He lost his slayer, his friend, but above all he lost the only daughter he ever had.
***
A short and painful funeral was held the next morning. No one spoke much, and after, each went their own way, alone. The scoobie gang was now officially unexciting. It had no purpose any more. What good were slayeretts without a Slayer?
***
The sun set on a quiet Sunnydale. No one was in the cemetery, not even they undead. It seemed as though everyone was locked away, either grieving over the slayer's death or celebrating it.
A warm breeze blew through the trees in the cemetery. The soil on the freshest grave there started to shift, and suddenly a hand reached out from the depths. The desperate body dug it's way out of the ground, yearning to feel alive once again.
It was the slayer.
Prologue
It was a hot and humid summer night in Sunnydale. Somewhere, deep in the heart of the small town a deathly scream pierced the silence of the night. It was a woman. She lay face up on the wet cemetery grass. She looked around for the last time with her hazel eyes as the wooden stake she was holding rolled out of her hand. As her heart beet for the last time she felt someone forcing something in her mouth, it was blood. Then, she was dead.
***
Part 1 – Not dead, not yet alive
"Giles, I have something very important to tell you" Willow spoke quietly. Her eyes were red and her whole body ached.
"What is it?" the now very concerned Watcher asked. It was almost 3:30 in the morning and Willow had come over to his house hysterically.
"Buffy, she…", warm tears started falling from Willow's eyes, again, " Buffy didn't come home tonight…"
She found it hard to continue, She didn't want to be the one to tell Giles.
"Well then", Giles said "We can go look for her, She might be…maybe…probably…." his voice trailed off in to the okward silence. He new exactly what Willow was trying to tell him.
A small sob escaped the Watcher's throat as he thought of his slayer. "How?" he asked still very confused and shocked.
"Vampire…" Willow answered avoiding eye contact with the devastated man who stood before her.
Giles didn't know what to do; he lost the one thing he cared most for in this world. He lost his slayer, his friend, but above all he lost the only daughter he ever had.
***
A short and painful funeral was held the next morning. No one spoke much, and after, each went their own way, alone. The scoobie gang was now officially unexciting. It had no purpose any more. What good were slayeretts without a Slayer?
***
The sun set on a quiet Sunnydale. No one was in the cemetery, not even they undead. It seemed as though everyone was locked away, either grieving over the slayer's death or celebrating it.
A warm breeze blew through the trees in the cemetery. The soil on the freshest grave there started to shift, and suddenly a hand reached out from the depths. The desperate body dug it's way out of the ground, yearning to feel alive once again.
It was the slayer.