Colorblind
by immutable
Disclaimer: "Buffy, the Vampire Slayer" belongs to those other than me.
Takes place post "Grave."
- - -
The first days were almost unbearable. She remembers rain, rain and so much darkness, both in the sky and in herself. The sky was broken and so was she. She's killed . . .
She's killed, and Tara is still gone.
She remembers Tara in the rain, the way she'd made it beautiful. She always liked the rain, ever since she was a small child. It was gray and sad and cleansing. Even after she'd learned that it wasn't really clean, after she'd learned about all of the germs and the poisons that water can hold, she still found it entrancing.
Tara had illuminated it. She'd taken the sadness away and replaced it with rebirth, with beginnings. Tara had laughed and smiled and taken her hand, and they'd walked for so long that it seemed like forever. It should have been forever, but it wasn't. Because good all things must end, though she can't remember who said that, and Tara was so much more than good.
Tara was life. Tara was her life. And now she's gone.
The water is soft outside the window, small rivers the color of ashes sliding down the glass, and the blankets are cool beneath her fingers. She can feel each small stitch of the interwoven cotton, and it burns with memory. She wants nothing more than to sleep, to let the falling water pull her away, but when she dreams, it's of Tara and blood on her hands, and Tara tells her she was wrong, and it always hurts so much when the sun rises.
The air is different here, heavier, or maybe that's just her, the weight of her life and her actions pulling her down. It gives her distance, keeps her apart, makes this unreal. She doesn't want to go back, though he said that they're still there. He didn't say that they wanted to see her, though, and she appreciates that he didn't lie. She couldn't trust him anymore if he did, even though it would be such a small betrayal.
He's the only thing she has now. Tara is gone, and her friends. Even the magick that was once so much to her has disappeared, and she's scared of what will happen if she looks for it.
The days of her arrival here are remembered as shaking, as the weakness that crumpled her body and the screams that tore at her mind. The screams - his dying screams, and what she thinks is her own voice, forever in mourning and loss. She tried to find Tara's spirit, tried to find her beautiful girl in the hazy gray shapes of the spirit world, but they threw her back and warned her to stay away.
The rain intensifies, slanting beads like ice against the window, and in each drop the gunshot echoes. There were three, but only one destroyed. She thinks she will be here when the snow falls and she will be buried under the thick white layers, but even then she will be lost. Her only home was with Tara, and Tara is gone.
Tara is gone.
It is summer, but the rain falls, and the future is pale and blurred, though whether it is with the storm or with her own tears, she doesn't know.
- - -
The End.
Feedback would be appreciated.
by immutable
Disclaimer: "Buffy, the Vampire Slayer" belongs to those other than me.
Takes place post "Grave."
- - -
The first days were almost unbearable. She remembers rain, rain and so much darkness, both in the sky and in herself. The sky was broken and so was she. She's killed . . .
She's killed, and Tara is still gone.
She remembers Tara in the rain, the way she'd made it beautiful. She always liked the rain, ever since she was a small child. It was gray and sad and cleansing. Even after she'd learned that it wasn't really clean, after she'd learned about all of the germs and the poisons that water can hold, she still found it entrancing.
Tara had illuminated it. She'd taken the sadness away and replaced it with rebirth, with beginnings. Tara had laughed and smiled and taken her hand, and they'd walked for so long that it seemed like forever. It should have been forever, but it wasn't. Because good all things must end, though she can't remember who said that, and Tara was so much more than good.
Tara was life. Tara was her life. And now she's gone.
The water is soft outside the window, small rivers the color of ashes sliding down the glass, and the blankets are cool beneath her fingers. She can feel each small stitch of the interwoven cotton, and it burns with memory. She wants nothing more than to sleep, to let the falling water pull her away, but when she dreams, it's of Tara and blood on her hands, and Tara tells her she was wrong, and it always hurts so much when the sun rises.
The air is different here, heavier, or maybe that's just her, the weight of her life and her actions pulling her down. It gives her distance, keeps her apart, makes this unreal. She doesn't want to go back, though he said that they're still there. He didn't say that they wanted to see her, though, and she appreciates that he didn't lie. She couldn't trust him anymore if he did, even though it would be such a small betrayal.
He's the only thing she has now. Tara is gone, and her friends. Even the magick that was once so much to her has disappeared, and she's scared of what will happen if she looks for it.
The days of her arrival here are remembered as shaking, as the weakness that crumpled her body and the screams that tore at her mind. The screams - his dying screams, and what she thinks is her own voice, forever in mourning and loss. She tried to find Tara's spirit, tried to find her beautiful girl in the hazy gray shapes of the spirit world, but they threw her back and warned her to stay away.
The rain intensifies, slanting beads like ice against the window, and in each drop the gunshot echoes. There were three, but only one destroyed. She thinks she will be here when the snow falls and she will be buried under the thick white layers, but even then she will be lost. Her only home was with Tara, and Tara is gone.
Tara is gone.
It is summer, but the rain falls, and the future is pale and blurred, though whether it is with the storm or with her own tears, she doesn't know.
- - -
The End.
Feedback would be appreciated.