A/N: Buffy's dead and not comming back. This is set after season 5. And is in Dawn's point of view. I don't own anything, blah blah.
She's dead, you know. Down in the ground. Rotting in the soil. Feeding the worms. Decomposing in a wooden box. Just skeleton and ash. Soon all that will be left is teeth and bones.
It makes me wonder what happened to her insides. Not her organs. Liver. Heart. Brain. Kidneys. But her soul. Did it float into the sky to be with God and Mom? Go into a box to be recreated into something better? Or did it evaporate. Turn into nothingness and swirl with the sky to be with the stars.
After everything that has happened, I don't believe in heaven. Or a god. God. Gods. I don't pray to the Powers that Be. Or the saints that are gold-encrusted into charms on necklaces. Oh please Saint Clare: Save me from every evil - of soul and body. Right. Even if there was a god, why would he listen to a wretched soul like me? There are millions-billions-of more righteous people that are just like...better than me.
Why would I be so special for someone to hear what I wish for?
Because I'm not, you know. I'm just a broken heart that the world forgot.
Wow, what's up with the quoting lyrics today?
I take another deep drag on the cigarette that's between my lips. I then place it in my fingers and stare as the red embers eat away at the white paper. The end turns to ash and blows away in the wind. Tapping it against the shingles on the roof, I ash it off. The embers are almost at the filter and I know this will be the last drag. Blowing out the smoke, I watch it twirl in the sky.
Dance. Dance. Fly away. Go some place better.
I smudge the flame against the assault shingles and flick the filter into the night sky. Though I can't see it, it lands on the ground. In amongst a giant pile of cigarette butts.
My aim has gotten near about perfect these past weeks.
Taking one last look out on the night sky, I raise my body and step through the window.
A distressed and equally worried Tara greets me in my room. A nervous frown is placed on her face. Lately Tara has been all about tense glances and concerned smiles. She's been the only one that's really noticed me. Or at least tried to.
"Dawn," she says and her voice is so quiet and scared.
I think she thought I was going to jump. Will jump. One day jump. Splattered brains and blood and guts. No more breathing and no more heartbeat. Just a closed casket viewing and a polished stone.
I try to forget how good that sounds.
"You shouldn't smoke. It's bad for you."
Her words were so hushed that they seemed harsh. But they didn't penetrate through me.
I ignored her standing in the middle of my room and walked over to my closet. I stripped my shirt off and pants, making sure the front of my body was hidden from view and put on a tank top and some shorts. I then slipped into my bed.
Tara walked out quietly and shut the door behind her. It almost made me feel bad about the way I was treating her. But it didn't in a way. She should stay out of my fucking life. It was mine. The only thing left I had that was mine. And all I wanted to was to live it out my own way.
But I guess you really couldn't call what I've been doing since she died living. I've just been existing in a world that I never belonged. I actually hate it here. Everything went so slow and fast at the same time. And when it was going slow, I was going fast. And vice versa. I was trapped here. In hell. In a world that no one cared.
But it's okay. Because one day, I'm going to fly.
I know, I know. I need to stop playing this say old song. One day I'll write about different things. But I need a muse to have that. R&R. Hope you liked it.