Title: But a Wimper
Author: Sanguinary
Rating: PG 13
Improv: glow -- rain -- bound -- crave
Disclaimer: Joss owns Buffy and Angel but I can still borrow them for my own twisted reasons.
Just as long as I remember to return them when I'm done.
Author's Notes: Inspired by T.S. Eliot's quote below. Also, I've been dying to use the words
'pools of pus' for a long time.
Feedback: Love it like choclate.
Spoilers: Season Five general.
Summary: Lets pretend that Buffy's alive and well. And then, lets pretend that she's not.
~~~~~~
This is the way the world ends, not with a bang but with a wimper~ T.S. Eliot
~~~~~~
The sickly yellow light reflected off of her face, giving her already gaut skin the look of
cracked parchment. Clothing which was once the hight of style, was nothing more than a
collection of rags. Her hair, which hadn't been washed for years, lay matted to her scalp. Her
eyes were no longer the beautify orbs they has been. Instead they were blank, black iris
floating in yellow pools of pus. The healthy glow that had once surrounded her was gone,
washed away a thousand nights ago.
She had been a Slayer.
One of the greatest of all times. She had lived beyond her time and had saved it a thousand
times over. He name was recorded for all time. All her deeds and all her triumphs.
But this would not be spoke of.
They said she had died at the hands of a mavolent force named Glory. A creature than she had
forced into another dimension before her death. That her body had been buried in the Sunnydale
cemetery.
But she hadn't died. And yet, she didn't live.
Buffy Summers had resided in a coma for thirty years. Her mind and her soul had been destroyed
the day she faced Glory. Only her body remained.
Over they years, her friends and family had taken care of her. Feeding and bathing the thing
that once was Buffy. But as the years went by, one by one they died.
And only he was left.
It had come to this now. He couldn't stand seeing her like this anymore. Yesterday he had
attended the funeral for Tara. A car out of control had destroyed the only other friend he
still shared. All had fallen. All but him.
Out side, the rain poured. It was as if the night knew what was coming. And it wept for the
lost beauty that had been Buffy.
He sighed and kissed her on the forehead. Even though he knew that it wasn't Buffy inside, he
couldn't help but feel regret at what he was doing. He still loved her, after everything that
had happened, after all the horror's and the lonely nights, he still loved her. And part of
him didn't want to let her go. He craved her. All of her. He felt bound to her. Even this
empty shell that really wasn't her.
They had all died. One by one. First Dawn by Glory's hand. Then Giles by a heart attack.
Weddings and divorces had flown by. Xander and Anya lowered into the ground by his hand.
Willow killed during the battle. Wesley by a rouge demon. Gunn by a stray bullet. Darla and
Dru by Angel's hand. Joyce during an earthquake. Oz by a silver bullet. And Cordelia drowned.
All dead but him.
Not wanting her to see the end coming, he closed her eyes. And, as he placed his hands on the
side of her head, he couldn't help but wish that it had been different.
He twisted his hands, letting his eyes fill with tears as the grinding of neckbones turned
into a snap. Buffy's head fell lifeless to the stained pillow.
"Buffy, I love you." His voice was filled with sorrow. He pulled her hair back and then
reached for the spike lying by the bedside table. The twisted iron was rusted and stained with
blood from hundreds of victims over the years. And with a thrust of his wrist, he drove it
though her heart.
They would find the body of Buffy Summers, greatest Vampire Slayer of all time, with a spike
though the heart. Find that she hadn't died by Glory's hands. And they would credit her death
to the last remaining member of the Slayer's gang.
Spike, killer of three Slayers, destroyer of Angelus, Childe of Dru and last of the line of
Aurelius.
~End~
Author: Sanguinary
Rating: PG 13
Improv: glow -- rain -- bound -- crave
Disclaimer: Joss owns Buffy and Angel but I can still borrow them for my own twisted reasons.
Just as long as I remember to return them when I'm done.
Author's Notes: Inspired by T.S. Eliot's quote below. Also, I've been dying to use the words
'pools of pus' for a long time.
Feedback: Love it like choclate.
Spoilers: Season Five general.
Summary: Lets pretend that Buffy's alive and well. And then, lets pretend that she's not.
~~~~~~
This is the way the world ends, not with a bang but with a wimper~ T.S. Eliot
~~~~~~
The sickly yellow light reflected off of her face, giving her already gaut skin the look of
cracked parchment. Clothing which was once the hight of style, was nothing more than a
collection of rags. Her hair, which hadn't been washed for years, lay matted to her scalp. Her
eyes were no longer the beautify orbs they has been. Instead they were blank, black iris
floating in yellow pools of pus. The healthy glow that had once surrounded her was gone,
washed away a thousand nights ago.
She had been a Slayer.
One of the greatest of all times. She had lived beyond her time and had saved it a thousand
times over. He name was recorded for all time. All her deeds and all her triumphs.
But this would not be spoke of.
They said she had died at the hands of a mavolent force named Glory. A creature than she had
forced into another dimension before her death. That her body had been buried in the Sunnydale
cemetery.
But she hadn't died. And yet, she didn't live.
Buffy Summers had resided in a coma for thirty years. Her mind and her soul had been destroyed
the day she faced Glory. Only her body remained.
Over they years, her friends and family had taken care of her. Feeding and bathing the thing
that once was Buffy. But as the years went by, one by one they died.
And only he was left.
It had come to this now. He couldn't stand seeing her like this anymore. Yesterday he had
attended the funeral for Tara. A car out of control had destroyed the only other friend he
still shared. All had fallen. All but him.
Out side, the rain poured. It was as if the night knew what was coming. And it wept for the
lost beauty that had been Buffy.
He sighed and kissed her on the forehead. Even though he knew that it wasn't Buffy inside, he
couldn't help but feel regret at what he was doing. He still loved her, after everything that
had happened, after all the horror's and the lonely nights, he still loved her. And part of
him didn't want to let her go. He craved her. All of her. He felt bound to her. Even this
empty shell that really wasn't her.
They had all died. One by one. First Dawn by Glory's hand. Then Giles by a heart attack.
Weddings and divorces had flown by. Xander and Anya lowered into the ground by his hand.
Willow killed during the battle. Wesley by a rouge demon. Gunn by a stray bullet. Darla and
Dru by Angel's hand. Joyce during an earthquake. Oz by a silver bullet. And Cordelia drowned.
All dead but him.
Not wanting her to see the end coming, he closed her eyes. And, as he placed his hands on the
side of her head, he couldn't help but wish that it had been different.
He twisted his hands, letting his eyes fill with tears as the grinding of neckbones turned
into a snap. Buffy's head fell lifeless to the stained pillow.
"Buffy, I love you." His voice was filled with sorrow. He pulled her hair back and then
reached for the spike lying by the bedside table. The twisted iron was rusted and stained with
blood from hundreds of victims over the years. And with a thrust of his wrist, he drove it
though her heart.
They would find the body of Buffy Summers, greatest Vampire Slayer of all time, with a spike
though the heart. Find that she hadn't died by Glory's hands. And they would credit her death
to the last remaining member of the Slayer's gang.
Spike, killer of three Slayers, destroyer of Angelus, Childe of Dru and last of the line of
Aurelius.
~End~