Maybe I'm Still Dreaming
I often dream about the old days, when life was so much more simple. I
dream of mother, and the sweet curve of her tender mouth when she used to
kiss me on the forehead before she blew out the candle. I dream of my
beloved sisters, and how I miss them. I remember when we strolled along
the streets, flirting with the young men, laughing and blushing.
It's quite bizarre. I remember their faces so clearly and yet I forget my
own.
Oh Angelus. You killed them all. They used to eat eggs and cakes and
honey, but you ripped their throats out and they will sing no more. They
say you drove me mad. Fools, it was not you, and I was never crazy. I
see more clearly now than I ever have. I feel with such a passion and
sensitivity that the words come out wrong. Why must they come out all
wrong, daddy?
But it's not daddy. It's never daddy.
The stars dance on my skin, taunting me, and I wish they would simply
swallow me. But they will do no more than tease and stroke, and it is not
the dark night sky but the grey ceiling above me. But it was the stars
which danced. I could feel them.
I open my eyes slowly. Spike lies beside me, sleeping like dead. He is
dead, I remember. My dear, darling boy. But sex was not what it used to
be. Our lovemaking used to dazzle me. We used to have passion and our
craving to devour each other used to turn the pain into love. But my
Spike was gone. Just like daddy. He had lost the fire.
All the Slayer. All her fault. There was a time when my Spike hated her
and would do anything to kill her, but the time was not now. Now he was
drowning in her. He was blindly and stupidly in love with her, and he
refused to admit it to me. He did not want to hurt me, but I already
knew. I knew before he did.
"Spike," I say, "Goodbye, love."
He does not respond. He hears me, I know, but he just does not care. He
was not heartbroken; he was relieved. It saddens me. It's funny how
a century together can pass and end so quickly.
I slide out of his bed and walk out to the night sky. The moon glowers at
me, silver enveloped in blackness. Silver is second best. I wanted gold,
but I forget what the sun looks like. I forget the beauty of day. I
forget warmth. I shiver as I realize that I've been cold for almost one
and a half centuries.
My head spins and I laugh. I remember that it's been a day since I've
fed. Fed. The word bothers me. It's like a constant reminder that I
am not a person anymore. I'm an animal. And why not? I am cruel and
savage like one. It doesn't matter what I am. Nothing matters.
I let myself drop onto the dew-covered grass, limp like my dolls. I shut
out the world with one drop of an eyelid and a new one springs to life.
At first the black overwhelms me, and I am confused, because it is not
dark. It is everything at once. Heavy and Light, soft and hard.
I see grandmum's face in the confusion, and I call out to her. "Grand-
mummy! Where are we? Where have we fallen to? Did you hear the moon
growl at me? He doesn't like me, do you like me?" She laughs. She's not
supposed to laugh. She's supposed to save me. But she won't. "Darla!
Grandmum!" I plead, but she fades away.
Miss Edith stares. I pat her head and she nods understandingly.
"More tea?" I ask her, and she understands. She never speaks, but I know
she understands, just like a good little doll should.
I can hear the screams around me and I smile. The sounds are lovely.
Like star-music. I feel fire surround me and I sway, dancing to the
beautiful sounds. Such pretty fire. It licks like a cat. Hmm..
The dangerous heat arouses me, much like torture and chaos. The fire
grows higher, and I cannot see. Daddy? Daddy? Spike? But no one comes
to save me.
I had a knight in shining armour once. He was brave and galliant and
he loved me. He had a white horse and a sword, and he always came to
save his beloved princess.
Things have changed.
My eyelids flutter open, and I can see the sun. I smile at the sight of
such a beautiful golden orb. It is such a pleasant fiction. The flames
are dancing and the fire licks like a cat! Screams! Oh, the pain!
I close my eyes again. I feel myself burning but it doesn't bother me.
It will stop soon. I know it will. "Dru!" I hear. It's my darling
Spike. "Dru, what on earth are you doing?" He is shadowed beneath a
blanket but his feet are smoking. There are bloodied tears in his eyes.
He has come to save me. He is too late. I don't need saving anymore.
I feel an explosion of my world but I smile. I am not worried. It's
funny how dreams can be so close to reality that the lines blend together.
Like blood in tears.
"Dru!" Spike wails. "No! This isn't happening!"
Maybe I was wrong, and he still loves me after all. Maybe a century
together still means something.
Or maybe I'm still dreaming.
I often dream about the old days, when life was so much more simple. I
dream of mother, and the sweet curve of her tender mouth when she used to
kiss me on the forehead before she blew out the candle. I dream of my
beloved sisters, and how I miss them. I remember when we strolled along
the streets, flirting with the young men, laughing and blushing.
It's quite bizarre. I remember their faces so clearly and yet I forget my
own.
Oh Angelus. You killed them all. They used to eat eggs and cakes and
honey, but you ripped their throats out and they will sing no more. They
say you drove me mad. Fools, it was not you, and I was never crazy. I
see more clearly now than I ever have. I feel with such a passion and
sensitivity that the words come out wrong. Why must they come out all
wrong, daddy?
But it's not daddy. It's never daddy.
The stars dance on my skin, taunting me, and I wish they would simply
swallow me. But they will do no more than tease and stroke, and it is not
the dark night sky but the grey ceiling above me. But it was the stars
which danced. I could feel them.
I open my eyes slowly. Spike lies beside me, sleeping like dead. He is
dead, I remember. My dear, darling boy. But sex was not what it used to
be. Our lovemaking used to dazzle me. We used to have passion and our
craving to devour each other used to turn the pain into love. But my
Spike was gone. Just like daddy. He had lost the fire.
All the Slayer. All her fault. There was a time when my Spike hated her
and would do anything to kill her, but the time was not now. Now he was
drowning in her. He was blindly and stupidly in love with her, and he
refused to admit it to me. He did not want to hurt me, but I already
knew. I knew before he did.
"Spike," I say, "Goodbye, love."
He does not respond. He hears me, I know, but he just does not care. He
was not heartbroken; he was relieved. It saddens me. It's funny how
a century together can pass and end so quickly.
I slide out of his bed and walk out to the night sky. The moon glowers at
me, silver enveloped in blackness. Silver is second best. I wanted gold,
but I forget what the sun looks like. I forget the beauty of day. I
forget warmth. I shiver as I realize that I've been cold for almost one
and a half centuries.
My head spins and I laugh. I remember that it's been a day since I've
fed. Fed. The word bothers me. It's like a constant reminder that I
am not a person anymore. I'm an animal. And why not? I am cruel and
savage like one. It doesn't matter what I am. Nothing matters.
I let myself drop onto the dew-covered grass, limp like my dolls. I shut
out the world with one drop of an eyelid and a new one springs to life.
At first the black overwhelms me, and I am confused, because it is not
dark. It is everything at once. Heavy and Light, soft and hard.
I see grandmum's face in the confusion, and I call out to her. "Grand-
mummy! Where are we? Where have we fallen to? Did you hear the moon
growl at me? He doesn't like me, do you like me?" She laughs. She's not
supposed to laugh. She's supposed to save me. But she won't. "Darla!
Grandmum!" I plead, but she fades away.
Miss Edith stares. I pat her head and she nods understandingly.
"More tea?" I ask her, and she understands. She never speaks, but I know
she understands, just like a good little doll should.
I can hear the screams around me and I smile. The sounds are lovely.
Like star-music. I feel fire surround me and I sway, dancing to the
beautiful sounds. Such pretty fire. It licks like a cat. Hmm..
The dangerous heat arouses me, much like torture and chaos. The fire
grows higher, and I cannot see. Daddy? Daddy? Spike? But no one comes
to save me.
I had a knight in shining armour once. He was brave and galliant and
he loved me. He had a white horse and a sword, and he always came to
save his beloved princess.
Things have changed.
My eyelids flutter open, and I can see the sun. I smile at the sight of
such a beautiful golden orb. It is such a pleasant fiction. The flames
are dancing and the fire licks like a cat! Screams! Oh, the pain!
I close my eyes again. I feel myself burning but it doesn't bother me.
It will stop soon. I know it will. "Dru!" I hear. It's my darling
Spike. "Dru, what on earth are you doing?" He is shadowed beneath a
blanket but his feet are smoking. There are bloodied tears in his eyes.
He has come to save me. He is too late. I don't need saving anymore.
I feel an explosion of my world but I smile. I am not worried. It's
funny how dreams can be so close to reality that the lines blend together.
Like blood in tears.
"Dru!" Spike wails. "No! This isn't happening!"
Maybe I was wrong, and he still loves me after all. Maybe a century
together still means something.
Or maybe I'm still dreaming.