Mad World II
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Nothing. Nothing.
Have fun. This is the sequel. I like lots and lots of reviews.
November 18, 2005 - 6:48 P.M
Buffy stare down at the body beside her. It was ironic that things ended this way. At least, she supposed it was. Eyes shut, dark tresses sprawled around the shivering shoulders, and a chest that neither rose nor fell. It was inevitable that she was dying inside if not on the out. Sometimes, every few seconds, she would hear a laboured, liquid like breath being inhaled, and a spark of hope would ignite in her chest. But then the body would tremble and quake as tremors racked it, and all would be silent again.
The silence was worst. It was a noise in itself, a heavy sort of feeling in her ears that sometimes rang, sometimes pounded. She ignored it for now.
The steering wheel in her hands seemed to control itself, only briefly relying on her as to where the car was directed. In another time, another place it would have been ridiculous for her to have even been on the roads, especially at the speed she was going, but there was nobody else on the highway, and though it was a discomforting sign of her failure, she was thankful for that.
The vehicle zoomed across asphalt with a speed that she had never quite felt before. She felt infinite, with one hand sticking strangely out the broken window and the winds fighting to take it with them, though she wouldn't let that happen.
The sky, a peculiarly mixed pattern of red and orange, just at the sunset, followed the steadily falling apart car down a twisted and turning road, holding no interest to any other of the pathetic life form that were still survived, only paying attention to them.
Buffy's mind followed the highway signs, followed the asphalt, followed the sky even, but her free hand lay cold and trembling atop the body's. She intertwined their fingers and began a whispered mantra for the comfort of her passenger and herself.
"Everything is all right. It's all okay. We're gone. We're leaving… And everything is okay. It's all okay. Everything is all right." It unexpectedly helped. She found her heart, beating at illogical levels, slowing and finding a comfortable rhythm at which to beat.
Then there was silence again. After her words, all that was left was the silence. In a frenzy of need, begging for some sound, even if it were the dying sounds of her lover, her hand that usually stay stationary on the wheel punched some random buttons on the radio head. Static. She figured so. Who would be working their deejay jobs at a time like this? After everything that happened?
Different sorts of sounds erupted from the worn speakers.
With a sigh, the Slayer continued driving, continued whispering, wondering silently to herself where exactly she was headed. Out of town, yes, as far away from Cleveland as she could get, but where was she really headed? With her counterpart lying in the marshes of despair, awake in one world, asleep in the other, and a junky Oldsmobile running on ¾ of a tank of gas, where was she headed? She drove, catching signs here and there until faintly noticing the brown, rectangle sign, still charred a bit by ash and melted plastic, reading the way towards the next National Park, just a few miles ahead.
"Somerset Mountain…" She faintly observed as the vehicle zoomed them past the sign. And suddenly, after all the many times she had passed that sign, read those words, she felt a sudden urge to go there. Explain it, she could not, but instead the Slayer relied simply on instinct, jerking the steering wheel to the right and exiting towards her newfound destination.
Her turns were sharp, distinct, but it wasn't her lack of skill that made them so. She simply loved the feeling, the speed the machine would take her. It was a silly thought, but she couldn't think of another place where she had felt so much freedom. Imagine, here she was, on the run with a dying passenger, and all her brain could make of it was freedom. Not just any passenger, though, a special delivery sort of passenger. She was taking her home. The signs directed her in all different directions, finally bringing her to the edge of Somerset Mountain. She stay seated in her car.
To her left, a broad range of valleys, dips and curves where it appeared as if only God's hands could have constructed such a beauty. Beyond that, past the crooked and rugged looking rifts, the sun dropped slowly, so slowly down below the valley where it would rest and stay for the rest of the night, for the rest of eternity it seemed. If she sat up a little and glanced downwards, another pit, though full with sharp edges and many faults, greeted her with the warm smile of the sun backing it. She smiled. Home. They would be home.
Buffy turned towards her passenger, who still lay a bit awkwardly in the seat, curled in one direction, back facing the window. She hadn't realised it, but her hand still sat perched just above the other's. Her own fingers were colder than her equal's. She wasn't gone, not yet. Buffy would have been angry if she had left without her. But she hadn't yet. Every time her partner appeared as if she were passing out, maybe floating into unconsciousness, the Slayer leaned father over in her seat, slapped more than patted her cheeks, and slid her up higher in the seat, anything to keep her awake. She wasn't leaving yet, not without her. They would go together.
Glancing over at her, Buffy was certain they were ready. Soft, steady breaths were finally erupting from the parched lips. She squeezed her hand one last time and turned back towards Somerset Mountain. A smile still cracked weakly at her face. She revved the engine, took a breath, and pressed the accelerator with every bit of strength she possessed. And as the car zoomed forward, nearing the edge of her town's personal plateau, she thought mildly of how this all began.