Title: Dust to Dawn
Disclaimer: Joss is God.
My hands brush down through the photo album, pictures of everyone and everything. Pictures people don't know I have. Willow, evil, with her hair jet black. Angelus, grinning at me from beneath Buffy's window.
Angelus. I remember him. I remember when he kidnapped me. I was twelve. He took a safety pin, and pricked every one of my fingers, and there were little dots of blood. I remember he laughed, and licked them off, slowly, and Dru wandered up aimlessly and said something about magic and power. She touched my hair, cut short, and laughed. Angelus couldn't get her to quit. But then it was like, I was in a dream, and somewhere in that dream I saw Spike, before I had ever seen him. And I saw Glory, and I saw Anya, and I saw everything. It was like I was standing above the world, and I knew everything about everyone. But Spike, everything about him hit me then, probably because he was the closest thing, besides Dru and Angel.
I've thought about that, and I figure Dru was protected because she was physic, and my blood in Angel protected him.
But, I knew the lust, the power, the joy of the kill. The stunning clarity when the life seeps out. I knew that Spike wasn't a heartless killer: that was Angelus. And I knew that he had saved lives, I knew he had helped people, though he would never admit it.
He made sense to me. In the morbid thoughts of a twelve-year old, he made sense.
I don't know how much of that's true, though, since I wasn't real. No, wait. Why am I always thinking that? I was real. Maybe the monks didn't give me the memories, they were already there. Maybe the reason I know so much about people is that I was there. Maybe I was a part of everyone and everything, before they restricted me to a body. Maybe.
Anya.
I remember her. Well, I still know her. I didn't use to like her. But now... She's so much smarter then the Scoobies give her credit for. She knew that I was documenting them, and she helped. A security camera from the store really helped. I was even able to blot out the parts that showed my stealing...
My hands brush through the pictures, and I find like gems the old ones I sketched. Gems. The pictures were quite good. Talent. I look at my hand. My hand can produce that. Beautiful.
A few pictures of my life, my friends, but not much. I squint. Am I hiding from something? Am I scared of my life at school, where there are demons that you can't fight? Ugh! I shake my head, trying to chase the thoughts out. Fuck 'em all! I'm being way to critical, and analyzing everything. Gods, I need to stop this.
My hands come to stop on a picture of Spike, just before he left. His face, sketched by me, is looking troubled. Funny, I didn't see that at the time. His eyes, focused on something else. Ugh!
I hate him.
Spike.
I cover up his picture with my hand, and squint my eyes. I hate him! And it's not just for what he did to my sister. He used me. I am not a fucking tool. People can't play with me, and use me as a bridge to get to something they want. No.
But he did, and I, like a fool, fell for it.
it wasn't a crush. I just, well, wanted to know him. Wanted to know more about that person I saw through those seconds. I picture him, blowing up, and dust again and again, and as I do this, my fingertips start to burn. I open them, and take my hand off his picture to see what was pricking me. Nothing. I frown. Odd. And then my eyes settle onto Spike. Or where Spike was. A pile of dust is scattered on the floor, and behind where Spike was, I'm sitting, my arms crossed across my chest, and my eyes straight ahead. Around my body, there's this glow almost. I blink. The picture is still the same, but the dust looks as if it's moving up, and I'm a bit faded. What the...?
I shut the photo album. Enough for the day.
A/N: My fic, Book of Dreams has basically the same idea, but lots more cryptic, and lots more symbolism. Read it if you wanna, you might like it. And, review this, please!
Disclaimer: Joss is God.
My hands brush down through the photo album, pictures of everyone and everything. Pictures people don't know I have. Willow, evil, with her hair jet black. Angelus, grinning at me from beneath Buffy's window.
Angelus. I remember him. I remember when he kidnapped me. I was twelve. He took a safety pin, and pricked every one of my fingers, and there were little dots of blood. I remember he laughed, and licked them off, slowly, and Dru wandered up aimlessly and said something about magic and power. She touched my hair, cut short, and laughed. Angelus couldn't get her to quit. But then it was like, I was in a dream, and somewhere in that dream I saw Spike, before I had ever seen him. And I saw Glory, and I saw Anya, and I saw everything. It was like I was standing above the world, and I knew everything about everyone. But Spike, everything about him hit me then, probably because he was the closest thing, besides Dru and Angel.
I've thought about that, and I figure Dru was protected because she was physic, and my blood in Angel protected him.
But, I knew the lust, the power, the joy of the kill. The stunning clarity when the life seeps out. I knew that Spike wasn't a heartless killer: that was Angelus. And I knew that he had saved lives, I knew he had helped people, though he would never admit it.
He made sense to me. In the morbid thoughts of a twelve-year old, he made sense.
I don't know how much of that's true, though, since I wasn't real. No, wait. Why am I always thinking that? I was real. Maybe the monks didn't give me the memories, they were already there. Maybe the reason I know so much about people is that I was there. Maybe I was a part of everyone and everything, before they restricted me to a body. Maybe.
Anya.
I remember her. Well, I still know her. I didn't use to like her. But now... She's so much smarter then the Scoobies give her credit for. She knew that I was documenting them, and she helped. A security camera from the store really helped. I was even able to blot out the parts that showed my stealing...
My hands brush through the pictures, and I find like gems the old ones I sketched. Gems. The pictures were quite good. Talent. I look at my hand. My hand can produce that. Beautiful.
A few pictures of my life, my friends, but not much. I squint. Am I hiding from something? Am I scared of my life at school, where there are demons that you can't fight? Ugh! I shake my head, trying to chase the thoughts out. Fuck 'em all! I'm being way to critical, and analyzing everything. Gods, I need to stop this.
My hands come to stop on a picture of Spike, just before he left. His face, sketched by me, is looking troubled. Funny, I didn't see that at the time. His eyes, focused on something else. Ugh!
I hate him.
Spike.
I cover up his picture with my hand, and squint my eyes. I hate him! And it's not just for what he did to my sister. He used me. I am not a fucking tool. People can't play with me, and use me as a bridge to get to something they want. No.
But he did, and I, like a fool, fell for it.
it wasn't a crush. I just, well, wanted to know him. Wanted to know more about that person I saw through those seconds. I picture him, blowing up, and dust again and again, and as I do this, my fingertips start to burn. I open them, and take my hand off his picture to see what was pricking me. Nothing. I frown. Odd. And then my eyes settle onto Spike. Or where Spike was. A pile of dust is scattered on the floor, and behind where Spike was, I'm sitting, my arms crossed across my chest, and my eyes straight ahead. Around my body, there's this glow almost. I blink. The picture is still the same, but the dust looks as if it's moving up, and I'm a bit faded. What the...?
I shut the photo album. Enough for the day.
A/N: My fic, Book of Dreams has basically the same idea, but lots more cryptic, and lots more symbolism. Read it if you wanna, you might like it. And, review this, please!