There's something there, something tugging at the corners of his mind. Fraying the thin rope of his existence, forcing him to box his life in a container and shift through the contents. It mumbles in indistinguishable phrases, in voices he can't recall. Voices he thinks he should know.
He can't sleep with the constant mosquito buzzing in his ear, real and not real. Fabricated, but there it is. Gnawing away at him until he is nothing but a shell.
I watched it gut her from the inside out. Everything she was is gone. There is nothing left but a shell.
He understands that word well enough. Shell, container, bottle and box. Meant to hold something in, keep others out. His lov-...
She is one. Nothing left of her but that shell, that husk of a person. Although, a person she is no longer.
He wonders if perhaps he has suffered the same fate as she. To be claimed by an ever nagging voice, reeking of lies and half-truths. It coils around him, marks him, takes away his soul with its very presence.
It's a miracle he is still sane. Though, he must admit, he is uncertain of this as well.
You have a visitor.
I thought I was in isolation.
Who's fault is that?...Tell me a joke.
Two men walk into a bar, the first man orders a scotch and soda. The second man remembers something he'd forgotten, and it doubles him over with pain. He falls to the floor shaking, and then through the floor and into the earth. He looks back up at the first man but he doesn't call out to him. They're not that close.
Yeah. You always know where you are.
It's my particular skill.
This is only the first layer. Don't you want to see how deep I go?
The stark clarity of memories untold fold around him in his dreams. And dream he does, of impossible things. Signs and portents of vile beasts, loves and betrayals so harsh they blacken his heart with the ache of unease and torment. The dreams of a mad man. The dreams of a man tainted by the world, the harsh reality that he's known the world to be since his youngest memories.
Lessons taught to him by his father so long ago, branded into his being by force. He offered no resistance then in his ignorance, he offers none now for lack of courage.
No, not courage. Fear.
You've been sitting for a long time.
Yeah, dozed off.
You drank a great deal of that poison. You called me a lot names to hurt feelings I no longer have and then you sat there for hours making noise with your nose.
I was dreaming, you twit.
You said her name. Fred.
It was a nightmare.
Change crests around him as scotch and numbness takes hold, stills that tug of pain and remembrance that is there, will always be there. Mostly, it masks the pain of his loss. His truer intent, but the quiet is welcome.
Dusk falls around him, and when he looks at her he can almost see the past. But with her words, the illusion shatters and his glass is empty.
Why are you so afraid of this? He said that it would bring back the past. Will undo what you did?
No. It won't bring her back.
Let's find out.
No, please. You have to trust me.
I can't. Not anymore.
The flash of light, the flash of pain as he hits the wall, is swallowed up and placed in trivial matters as the tugging swells into a shift. The shift becomes righted, it's revelations falling into place. Panic grips him as the memories are sorted out to their respectful places and he finally knows.
His silent scream goes unanswered as his betrayal runs deep within his veins and with it takes away all that he was supposed to be, replaces it with what he was.
He can't face it. He retreats to a corner of his mind where they cannot touch him, but they do and it's too much. Too much for him to handle. His thoughts are a pitiful echo of what they were as he remembers his past in it's entirety.
He only has himself to blame.
You betrayed Angel. You stole his son. He tried to kill you.
Yes.
Are these the memories you needed back? Does this now make you Wesley?
Atleast I know what happened.
And as everything changes, he knows nothing will ever be the same. The pain is his to bear and he knows nothing can be done for it. He's alone once again.
He thinks he deserves it.
He can't sleep with the constant mosquito buzzing in his ear, real and not real. Fabricated, but there it is. Gnawing away at him until he is nothing but a shell.
I watched it gut her from the inside out. Everything she was is gone. There is nothing left but a shell.
He understands that word well enough. Shell, container, bottle and box. Meant to hold something in, keep others out. His lov-...
She is one. Nothing left of her but that shell, that husk of a person. Although, a person she is no longer.
He wonders if perhaps he has suffered the same fate as she. To be claimed by an ever nagging voice, reeking of lies and half-truths. It coils around him, marks him, takes away his soul with its very presence.
It's a miracle he is still sane. Though, he must admit, he is uncertain of this as well.
You have a visitor.
I thought I was in isolation.
Who's fault is that?...Tell me a joke.
Two men walk into a bar, the first man orders a scotch and soda. The second man remembers something he'd forgotten, and it doubles him over with pain. He falls to the floor shaking, and then through the floor and into the earth. He looks back up at the first man but he doesn't call out to him. They're not that close.
Yeah. You always know where you are.
It's my particular skill.
This is only the first layer. Don't you want to see how deep I go?
The stark clarity of memories untold fold around him in his dreams. And dream he does, of impossible things. Signs and portents of vile beasts, loves and betrayals so harsh they blacken his heart with the ache of unease and torment. The dreams of a mad man. The dreams of a man tainted by the world, the harsh reality that he's known the world to be since his youngest memories.
Lessons taught to him by his father so long ago, branded into his being by force. He offered no resistance then in his ignorance, he offers none now for lack of courage.
No, not courage. Fear.
You've been sitting for a long time.
Yeah, dozed off.
You drank a great deal of that poison. You called me a lot names to hurt feelings I no longer have and then you sat there for hours making noise with your nose.
I was dreaming, you twit.
You said her name. Fred.
It was a nightmare.
Change crests around him as scotch and numbness takes hold, stills that tug of pain and remembrance that is there, will always be there. Mostly, it masks the pain of his loss. His truer intent, but the quiet is welcome.
Dusk falls around him, and when he looks at her he can almost see the past. But with her words, the illusion shatters and his glass is empty.
Why are you so afraid of this? He said that it would bring back the past. Will undo what you did?
No. It won't bring her back.
Let's find out.
No, please. You have to trust me.
I can't. Not anymore.
The flash of light, the flash of pain as he hits the wall, is swallowed up and placed in trivial matters as the tugging swells into a shift. The shift becomes righted, it's revelations falling into place. Panic grips him as the memories are sorted out to their respectful places and he finally knows.
His silent scream goes unanswered as his betrayal runs deep within his veins and with it takes away all that he was supposed to be, replaces it with what he was.
He can't face it. He retreats to a corner of his mind where they cannot touch him, but they do and it's too much. Too much for him to handle. His thoughts are a pitiful echo of what they were as he remembers his past in it's entirety.
He only has himself to blame.
You betrayed Angel. You stole his son. He tried to kill you.
Yes.
Are these the memories you needed back? Does this now make you Wesley?
Atleast I know what happened.
And as everything changes, he knows nothing will ever be the same. The pain is his to bear and he knows nothing can be done for it. He's alone once again.
He thinks he deserves it.