TITLE: "To Wither, To Die" (1/1)
AUTHOR: irevi
EMAIL: irevi@hotmail.com
DISTRIBUTION: If you want it, ask.
RATING: PG
PAIRING: Dru/Spike, sort of... set post-Crush
SPOILERS: Slightly for "Crush" and "Fool For Love"
FEEDBACK: Yes! Love reviews. Reeeeeview.
SUMMARY: When there's nothing left, Dru reflects on Spike.
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My Angel was so angry at me for not remembering the boy. I had buried him, in the ground with the worms that wriggled and turned the earth, the previous night, and then I had gone to hunt. Pretty schoolgirls in their neat little dresses with long dark hair that swayed and moved. Like worms. Empty heads filled with sweet visions and sweet blood. They looked so lost, laid out in a line on the road.
And then I found a daisy on the side of the road. It was so white, and pure. It made my eyes hurt, to look at the yellow center and then the white petals, it made my eyes burn and sting, like thorns. Thorns on roses. Roses are spiteful flowers, thorned, prick and bleed to make them blood red. Never liked roses. But the daisy was so pretty, so I picked it, and I could hear the moon cry, because it died. I could hear it, the little shriveling of the petals and the yellow.
So sad... But so beautiful. A beautiful death.
I stayed with the withered daisy until the moon started to hide, and the stars faded so that I couldn't listen to them sing any longer. I went and hid in an old lady's house. So kind she was to invite me in. Her blood was thin, and I could hear a last star laugh before I went to the dark.
When I came home again, Grandmother was in a terrible rage, because there was blood. Blood, red sticky blood all over the Parisian rugs, and it was delightful. The smell of it, and of a new death in the house, and the darkness. The sky whispered to me how the maid had been ripped open, like a baguette at a dinner before the hosts would be drained dry. A pretty sight. Schoolgirls and baguettes and blood wine beautiful. Effulgent. Darla was furious, and Daddy was roaring something awful in the next room, and there wasn't a poker next to the fireplace, because it was in the corner, all bloody and lovely. And then my Angel shouted something, and the boy was thrown out of the room, covered in dirt. Filthy. Wormy.
He smelled of blood, and earth, and he was my darling boy. Daddy whipped him for eating the maid, and flogged me for forgetting. And he didn't listen to me when I told him about how the sky told me to stay with the daisy, and the old lady whose blood was so thin and rich in my mouth still. Dark and watery and fast, like the Seine when we saw it. And I cleaned him up, and he was my William. And then my Spike.
But now, he's gone to her. Both of my darling boys have gone all to her, and the moon swears that they won't return, because the Slayer holds them. Even my Spike, the sweet boy I put in the ground, has withered and died, and a Spike who loves the Slayer reborn. The stars cry for me again, and I pick every daisy I see. Pick its petals, and listen to its death.
AUTHOR: irevi
EMAIL: irevi@hotmail.com
DISTRIBUTION: If you want it, ask.
RATING: PG
PAIRING: Dru/Spike, sort of... set post-Crush
SPOILERS: Slightly for "Crush" and "Fool For Love"
FEEDBACK: Yes! Love reviews. Reeeeeview.
SUMMARY: When there's nothing left, Dru reflects on Spike.
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=--=-=-=-=-=-=-=
My Angel was so angry at me for not remembering the boy. I had buried him, in the ground with the worms that wriggled and turned the earth, the previous night, and then I had gone to hunt. Pretty schoolgirls in their neat little dresses with long dark hair that swayed and moved. Like worms. Empty heads filled with sweet visions and sweet blood. They looked so lost, laid out in a line on the road.
And then I found a daisy on the side of the road. It was so white, and pure. It made my eyes hurt, to look at the yellow center and then the white petals, it made my eyes burn and sting, like thorns. Thorns on roses. Roses are spiteful flowers, thorned, prick and bleed to make them blood red. Never liked roses. But the daisy was so pretty, so I picked it, and I could hear the moon cry, because it died. I could hear it, the little shriveling of the petals and the yellow.
So sad... But so beautiful. A beautiful death.
I stayed with the withered daisy until the moon started to hide, and the stars faded so that I couldn't listen to them sing any longer. I went and hid in an old lady's house. So kind she was to invite me in. Her blood was thin, and I could hear a last star laugh before I went to the dark.
When I came home again, Grandmother was in a terrible rage, because there was blood. Blood, red sticky blood all over the Parisian rugs, and it was delightful. The smell of it, and of a new death in the house, and the darkness. The sky whispered to me how the maid had been ripped open, like a baguette at a dinner before the hosts would be drained dry. A pretty sight. Schoolgirls and baguettes and blood wine beautiful. Effulgent. Darla was furious, and Daddy was roaring something awful in the next room, and there wasn't a poker next to the fireplace, because it was in the corner, all bloody and lovely. And then my Angel shouted something, and the boy was thrown out of the room, covered in dirt. Filthy. Wormy.
He smelled of blood, and earth, and he was my darling boy. Daddy whipped him for eating the maid, and flogged me for forgetting. And he didn't listen to me when I told him about how the sky told me to stay with the daisy, and the old lady whose blood was so thin and rich in my mouth still. Dark and watery and fast, like the Seine when we saw it. And I cleaned him up, and he was my William. And then my Spike.
But now, he's gone to her. Both of my darling boys have gone all to her, and the moon swears that they won't return, because the Slayer holds them. Even my Spike, the sweet boy I put in the ground, has withered and died, and a Spike who loves the Slayer reborn. The stars cry for me again, and I pick every daisy I see. Pick its petals, and listen to its death.