Road Tripping
The road is so empty. It stretches out before me in an unending straight line, grey sky above mirroring my heart below. I'm not sure where it leads to, or even if it leads anywhere, but so long as it keeps going, I'll keep driving.
Buffy liked driving, I remember. That is, she liked being driven, especially in a convertible. Even when she was in a saloon car, she used to insist that all the windows and the sunroof were open. She said she loved the feeling of the wind in her hair, blowing it back. She said it made her feel free, like she was flying. I close my eyes briefly, trying to dislodge the image of her hair matted with blood.
I open them again and turn on the radio. Maybe the music will block the memories that are so close to overwhelming me.
Road trippin' with my 2 favourite allies, Fully loaded we got snacks and supplies, It's time to leave this town; it's time to steal away, Let's go get lost anywhere in the USA, Let's go get lost, Let's go get lost.
Instead of blocking them, it seems to be setting them free. I remember sitting in Willow's room with her and Jesse when we were about 14, planning our own road trip. We'd planned right down to the amount of each type of snack we were going to need. We were going to spend the whole summer after graduation in a car together, going first to the Grand Canyon for Jesse and then to Mount Rushmore for Willow. I didn't really care where we went as long I was with them and away from my parents. Now, that dream remains unreal, both of them dead before it could be realised. Another picture comes into my mind, Jesse's face as he realised the stake was in his heart, the pleading look in his eyes, as he became dust.
I change stations. A slow country song comes on. Much better - the music of pain. I continue to drive down the road with no end, passing straight through a crossroads without looking at the signs. It doesn't matter where I'm going, it only matters what I'm leaving behind. The further I get from Sunnydale, the better. It's ironic that out of the gang, it's me, the loser, the zeppo, that survives. Sometimes being only the donut boy has perks, obviously. If I hadn't gone that day, I'd have died with them. Instead, I took the first opportunity to escape the research party and came back to blood and death. Now I'm trying to escape from that scene, even though the image is burnt into my brain. Giles had been lying by the door, his neck snapped like Miss Calendar's. Buffy had obviously tried to fight; she still had a bloodied stake in her hand. I recognised it as one I'd carved, strange how you notice these little details when your world is falling apart. Her skull had been smashed in by something heavy and there was a bite mark on her neck. Willow had been up in the stacks, as if she'd tried to run. Obviously not fast enough - she also had a bite mark.
I wipe my mind of the picture for the hundredth time and concentrate on the road again. It's still empty, both in front and behind. I have no worries that Angelus might be chasing me; he's not going to put any effort into chasing after the least important member of the Slayerettes, not now he's got the hellmouth all to himself.
I'm just going to keep driving down this road with no end until I can wipe my memory clean.
The road is so empty. It stretches out before me in an unending straight line, grey sky above mirroring my heart below. I'm not sure where it leads to, or even if it leads anywhere, but so long as it keeps going, I'll keep driving.
Buffy liked driving, I remember. That is, she liked being driven, especially in a convertible. Even when she was in a saloon car, she used to insist that all the windows and the sunroof were open. She said she loved the feeling of the wind in her hair, blowing it back. She said it made her feel free, like she was flying. I close my eyes briefly, trying to dislodge the image of her hair matted with blood.
I open them again and turn on the radio. Maybe the music will block the memories that are so close to overwhelming me.
Road trippin' with my 2 favourite allies, Fully loaded we got snacks and supplies, It's time to leave this town; it's time to steal away, Let's go get lost anywhere in the USA, Let's go get lost, Let's go get lost.
Instead of blocking them, it seems to be setting them free. I remember sitting in Willow's room with her and Jesse when we were about 14, planning our own road trip. We'd planned right down to the amount of each type of snack we were going to need. We were going to spend the whole summer after graduation in a car together, going first to the Grand Canyon for Jesse and then to Mount Rushmore for Willow. I didn't really care where we went as long I was with them and away from my parents. Now, that dream remains unreal, both of them dead before it could be realised. Another picture comes into my mind, Jesse's face as he realised the stake was in his heart, the pleading look in his eyes, as he became dust.
I change stations. A slow country song comes on. Much better - the music of pain. I continue to drive down the road with no end, passing straight through a crossroads without looking at the signs. It doesn't matter where I'm going, it only matters what I'm leaving behind. The further I get from Sunnydale, the better. It's ironic that out of the gang, it's me, the loser, the zeppo, that survives. Sometimes being only the donut boy has perks, obviously. If I hadn't gone that day, I'd have died with them. Instead, I took the first opportunity to escape the research party and came back to blood and death. Now I'm trying to escape from that scene, even though the image is burnt into my brain. Giles had been lying by the door, his neck snapped like Miss Calendar's. Buffy had obviously tried to fight; she still had a bloodied stake in her hand. I recognised it as one I'd carved, strange how you notice these little details when your world is falling apart. Her skull had been smashed in by something heavy and there was a bite mark on her neck. Willow had been up in the stacks, as if she'd tried to run. Obviously not fast enough - she also had a bite mark.
I wipe my mind of the picture for the hundredth time and concentrate on the road again. It's still empty, both in front and behind. I have no worries that Angelus might be chasing me; he's not going to put any effort into chasing after the least important member of the Slayerettes, not now he's got the hellmouth all to himself.
I'm just going to keep driving down this road with no end until I can wipe my memory clean.