Barely Alive
Author's note: This is a slightly different type of fan fic for me-I've never done a character sketch before, and this just kinda came to me a few days ago. Please let me know what you think, and if you could, check out my Buffy chapter fic "Freedom Fighter". Thanks.
Disclaimer: Not my characters, no money made, but my idea. You steal, I kill. Enough said.
His black duster swirled around him in the wind, barely seen in the dark night. His step was silent, perfected from night after night of midnight walks, his stealth maneuvers during the witching hours. At first, he felt like an intruder, breaking the still of the night as he followed in his soul's shadow down the empty streets. But why feel like an intruder in a world he knew so well, and was such a huge part of? The fear was always there, ticking away in the back of his mind, that the people in the houses along the street, with their empty, gaping windows and bolted doors, would rush out upon sensing his presence and badger him, staring with uncaring eyes and asking why he walked the lonely moonlit streets. And to this he would have no answer. They wouldn't understand that the night was part of him, that he couldn't stand day's piercing rays of sunlight, revealing people who believed they had everything under control, who thought they knew what they were doing and why. But they had no clue. That was why they hid from the night. "People are like stained-glass windows. They sparkle and shine when the sun is out, but when the darkness sets in, their true beauty is revealed only if there is a light from within." He had read this at one time, and was shocked that someone actually saw this. They saw that human nature was truly a world of created happiness and hidden angst and sadness.
During the day, anyone can put on a fake smile, laugh, and act as if their world was perfect, but they're actually falling apart inside. The lack of control that plagued them during the day could easily be hidden, but if they were step outside their safe houses for just a few minutes, they would discover that the night is one with their secret feelings, their untriggered anger, scorn, and sometimes cavalier attitude toward the world around them. The night was a tease. It taunted them, demanding all those who repressed their problems, their feelings, to release them underneath a starry sky. The night would not tell what they had confessed to the darkness. But that was what scared people. The night, not themselves, would be in total control of them, and if people lost control of themselves, the one thing they had almost absolute dictatorship over, they would be lost. Wandering souls with no purpose. Just like he was.
The dim light from a nearby lamppost flickered and he looked up, faltering in his step. The light made his eyes appear hollow, yet as cold as steel. But if his eyes were cold steel, than his soul was solid titanium. Unbreakable, unbendable to most things, but it had to be to start his day at twilight and end it dawn broke. He would be dead if it wasn't. He was one of the few that dared to venture out in the moonlight; to wander the streets illuminated by dim lampposts. Each step was pointless, his walk aimless, his being of absolutely no importance to others around him. But he knew this. He knew this as much as he knew when his cigarette burned out each night, so would his love for the dark, for the evil that shone in the moonlight, and for the lampposts scattered along the street, barely noticeable, barely alive. But at least he knew for a fact that the point of his existence was to walk in the cool evening air, to be a part of the darkness that surrounded his entire being. At least he had accepted what he was.
(Quote from Elizabeth Kubler-Ross)
Author's note: This is a slightly different type of fan fic for me-I've never done a character sketch before, and this just kinda came to me a few days ago. Please let me know what you think, and if you could, check out my Buffy chapter fic "Freedom Fighter". Thanks.
Disclaimer: Not my characters, no money made, but my idea. You steal, I kill. Enough said.
His black duster swirled around him in the wind, barely seen in the dark night. His step was silent, perfected from night after night of midnight walks, his stealth maneuvers during the witching hours. At first, he felt like an intruder, breaking the still of the night as he followed in his soul's shadow down the empty streets. But why feel like an intruder in a world he knew so well, and was such a huge part of? The fear was always there, ticking away in the back of his mind, that the people in the houses along the street, with their empty, gaping windows and bolted doors, would rush out upon sensing his presence and badger him, staring with uncaring eyes and asking why he walked the lonely moonlit streets. And to this he would have no answer. They wouldn't understand that the night was part of him, that he couldn't stand day's piercing rays of sunlight, revealing people who believed they had everything under control, who thought they knew what they were doing and why. But they had no clue. That was why they hid from the night. "People are like stained-glass windows. They sparkle and shine when the sun is out, but when the darkness sets in, their true beauty is revealed only if there is a light from within." He had read this at one time, and was shocked that someone actually saw this. They saw that human nature was truly a world of created happiness and hidden angst and sadness.
During the day, anyone can put on a fake smile, laugh, and act as if their world was perfect, but they're actually falling apart inside. The lack of control that plagued them during the day could easily be hidden, but if they were step outside their safe houses for just a few minutes, they would discover that the night is one with their secret feelings, their untriggered anger, scorn, and sometimes cavalier attitude toward the world around them. The night was a tease. It taunted them, demanding all those who repressed their problems, their feelings, to release them underneath a starry sky. The night would not tell what they had confessed to the darkness. But that was what scared people. The night, not themselves, would be in total control of them, and if people lost control of themselves, the one thing they had almost absolute dictatorship over, they would be lost. Wandering souls with no purpose. Just like he was.
The dim light from a nearby lamppost flickered and he looked up, faltering in his step. The light made his eyes appear hollow, yet as cold as steel. But if his eyes were cold steel, than his soul was solid titanium. Unbreakable, unbendable to most things, but it had to be to start his day at twilight and end it dawn broke. He would be dead if it wasn't. He was one of the few that dared to venture out in the moonlight; to wander the streets illuminated by dim lampposts. Each step was pointless, his walk aimless, his being of absolutely no importance to others around him. But he knew this. He knew this as much as he knew when his cigarette burned out each night, so would his love for the dark, for the evil that shone in the moonlight, and for the lampposts scattered along the street, barely noticeable, barely alive. But at least he knew for a fact that the point of his existence was to walk in the cool evening air, to be a part of the darkness that surrounded his entire being. At least he had accepted what he was.
(Quote from Elizabeth Kubler-Ross)