Rage (1/1)
Have you ever known true rage? Tasted it, touched it, smelled it? Been completely possessed by it? Probably not…most people never really become acquainted with it to the degree I have. And you'd probably count yourself lucky in that respect.
I always believed it was an emotion I was not capable of…I was all sunshine and roses. Mommy's good little girl…I was to be seen and not heard. My reserve became almost pathological…I tried so hard. I laughed when it hurt and smiled brightly when all I wanted to do was lay down and die.
But no more pretending-not now-and not ever again.
When I began this fall I reached out and the darkness reached back for me. I touched it; I wrapped my arms around it and brought it inside of me. I needed something to fill all the huge, empty spaces left behind. And that was when I decided- they had denied me my light so I would show them what happens when the white hat turns black. It's all I know now, this unearthly rage, this hate I feel burning my soul to ash. I eat it, I breathe it, I sleep it. When I wake up in the dead of night searching for her- I embrace my rage instead. Because that's all they've left me with.
If my mother could see what I've become she'd undoubtedly be dissappointed in me. Mom is…well, Mom. Almost as dysfunctional and repressed as I am…was. Oh, not about opinions or ideas- but emotionally. My mother is a frigid bitch who couldn't care for a plant much less a child. That was my childhood, Mother as cold and remote as the Arctic in January, Father absent or working late more often than not.
Emotional outbursts were deemed unseemly and they taught me my lessons well- dig a hole deep enough to bury all those messy and hurtful emotions so deeply that no one would ever be able to find them again, least of all you. I was raised to believe that anger never really solved anything- it was a useless emotion. Of course in my home all emotion seemed to be wasted anyway. Compromise and positivity could turn a frown upside down and spread sunlight and roses throughout the land-kind of like Tinkerbell on speed. Rage was illogical and accomplished nothing...only heaping more fuel upon the fire.
But tonight I find that's all I want to do.
Burn.
I want to set a fire so bright it'll be seen from the heavens above. I want them to see me coming. I want them to see what they've done. I will take everything they have and turn it inside out…I will take back what they've taken from me in flesh and blood and pain. Then and only then will I be able to rest, to grieve.
I always believed that rage was an emotion I was not capable of…now it's the only emotion I can feel. Otherwise I'd just be numb. Dead. Dead as Tara is…Now I'm lost, lost as she is to me. And I find that I have nothing left to lose.
They say they miss her too…It makes me laugh. Did they ever really know her? Did they ever really care? She was always just my little tag-along. They never took the time to truly see her. Mousy, blonde, sweet, nervous little Tara. What does her death have to compare with Buffy's destiny and Buffy's desires and Buffy's pain. Poor, poor Buffy and her fucked up little world and her poor necrophilial little heart. I find I hate her almost as much as I hate myself. Without Buffy, Tara would be alive. Without me Tara would have never been anywhere near Buffy. Without me Tara would never have died while her blood dried upon my face.
I hate and I ache and I damn them all- even as I damn myself. They say Tara would never want this…I know that. I know that better than I know my own name…This isn't about what Tara wants, this is about what I need. And all I need is for them to bleed until they're dead.
It's very simple really.
I choose this, yes, I know there are other choices, there are other roads I could travel- I hear the slayer patter on about my soul and damnation…But I choose this. I embrace this rage because if I did not the sheer weight of the greif that waits for me on the other side would undo me. I can't lose my soul because I can't lose what's already gone. My soul fled with Tara and now this is all that is left.
The magick in my blood and the rage in my heart- without it my world would be a colorless void. My rage is black; it covers my body like fresh bruises. It is blue like tears; red like the tracks her blood left upon my face as she died and it is white, mocking the light that I once loved almost as much as I love her.
I choose this…facing off against one I once called friend. One I believed to be a great hero and champion…I choose this because there is no other choice. All my choices fled with the woman I loved when her soul flew from me, I felt them leave along with my heart and soul as I watched the light fade from her eyes. There is nothing left for me but this vengeance and if that bitch slayer stands in my way I will put her back into the ground where she belongs-in a heartbeat.
Have you ever known true rage? Tasted it, touched it, smelled it? Been completely possessed by it? Probably not…most people never really become acquainted with it to the degree I have. And you'd probably count yourself lucky in that respect.
I always believed it was an emotion I was not capable of…I was all sunshine and roses. Mommy's good little girl…I was to be seen and not heard. My reserve became almost pathological…I tried so hard. I laughed when it hurt and smiled brightly when all I wanted to do was lay down and die.
But no more pretending-not now-and not ever again.
When I began this fall I reached out and the darkness reached back for me. I touched it; I wrapped my arms around it and brought it inside of me. I needed something to fill all the huge, empty spaces left behind. And that was when I decided- they had denied me my light so I would show them what happens when the white hat turns black. It's all I know now, this unearthly rage, this hate I feel burning my soul to ash. I eat it, I breathe it, I sleep it. When I wake up in the dead of night searching for her- I embrace my rage instead. Because that's all they've left me with.
If my mother could see what I've become she'd undoubtedly be dissappointed in me. Mom is…well, Mom. Almost as dysfunctional and repressed as I am…was. Oh, not about opinions or ideas- but emotionally. My mother is a frigid bitch who couldn't care for a plant much less a child. That was my childhood, Mother as cold and remote as the Arctic in January, Father absent or working late more often than not.
Emotional outbursts were deemed unseemly and they taught me my lessons well- dig a hole deep enough to bury all those messy and hurtful emotions so deeply that no one would ever be able to find them again, least of all you. I was raised to believe that anger never really solved anything- it was a useless emotion. Of course in my home all emotion seemed to be wasted anyway. Compromise and positivity could turn a frown upside down and spread sunlight and roses throughout the land-kind of like Tinkerbell on speed. Rage was illogical and accomplished nothing...only heaping more fuel upon the fire.
But tonight I find that's all I want to do.
Burn.
I want to set a fire so bright it'll be seen from the heavens above. I want them to see me coming. I want them to see what they've done. I will take everything they have and turn it inside out…I will take back what they've taken from me in flesh and blood and pain. Then and only then will I be able to rest, to grieve.
I always believed that rage was an emotion I was not capable of…now it's the only emotion I can feel. Otherwise I'd just be numb. Dead. Dead as Tara is…Now I'm lost, lost as she is to me. And I find that I have nothing left to lose.
They say they miss her too…It makes me laugh. Did they ever really know her? Did they ever really care? She was always just my little tag-along. They never took the time to truly see her. Mousy, blonde, sweet, nervous little Tara. What does her death have to compare with Buffy's destiny and Buffy's desires and Buffy's pain. Poor, poor Buffy and her fucked up little world and her poor necrophilial little heart. I find I hate her almost as much as I hate myself. Without Buffy, Tara would be alive. Without me Tara would have never been anywhere near Buffy. Without me Tara would never have died while her blood dried upon my face.
I hate and I ache and I damn them all- even as I damn myself. They say Tara would never want this…I know that. I know that better than I know my own name…This isn't about what Tara wants, this is about what I need. And all I need is for them to bleed until they're dead.
It's very simple really.
I choose this, yes, I know there are other choices, there are other roads I could travel- I hear the slayer patter on about my soul and damnation…But I choose this. I embrace this rage because if I did not the sheer weight of the greif that waits for me on the other side would undo me. I can't lose my soul because I can't lose what's already gone. My soul fled with Tara and now this is all that is left.
The magick in my blood and the rage in my heart- without it my world would be a colorless void. My rage is black; it covers my body like fresh bruises. It is blue like tears; red like the tracks her blood left upon my face as she died and it is white, mocking the light that I once loved almost as much as I love her.
I choose this…facing off against one I once called friend. One I believed to be a great hero and champion…I choose this because there is no other choice. All my choices fled with the woman I loved when her soul flew from me, I felt them leave along with my heart and soul as I watched the light fade from her eyes. There is nothing left for me but this vengeance and if that bitch slayer stands in my way I will put her back into the ground where she belongs-in a heartbeat.