She sat gazing into space on the cold cement block, barely concentrating on what she knew lay ahead. At first there was a rustle, a stir... she ignored it. She knew what was coming. She knew it all too well. Out of the corner of her left eye, she spotted movement. She turned her head slightly, snapping back into reality somewhat. First the right hand snaked out of the cold dirt, splintering its way through the wood of a coffin, and then the left. Soon, the whole torso of the horribly distorted man was lifted and visible. It was all she needed. She leaned in, and drove her ready stake straight through his unbeating heart. He gave a quick bewildered glance at her before bursting into dust. He didn't even get a chance to remove himself from his grave. She should have felt proud - it was a good slay. But her heart simply wasn't in it. He was just another quick kill. She didn't even remember the distinctions of his face. He was just like all the others she had staked... and all the others that would keep on coming. This was her fate. This was the life of Buffy Summers, Vampire Slayer.