Title: And The Sun Still Rises
Author: Israfel
Spoilers: Partial from seasons 5 and 6
Summary: What it's like from Dawn's eyes.
Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all related characters are property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy.
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My heart's been torn from it's cold socket and I'll wallow here in the darkness. My life in a bottle, my soul in the burning ember of a cigarette, I'll stare at the floor in an attempt to remember all that we were.
It was supposed to last forever. I had built a protective bubble around us all, expecting it to shield us from the bitter reality and evils that surrounded us. An eternal kingdom smashed like a fragile crystal ball in the hands of a toddler. I had placed my hopes and dreams and expectations on such a high pedestal of perfection, thinking that the world would strive to to good as we did once they saw. Such grand heights, though, only make the fall that much more spectacularly devastating. "The higher you are, the further you fall," as they say. So it goes.
Love is also like that fragile crystal ball to the residents of this town as well. It's only takes a little push to send things tumbling down on them. Willow and Tara...Anya and Xander...Spike and Buffy...all of them can be broken so easily when it comes to love. But my love is made out of much sterner stuff. My love has survived everything that could possibly be thrown at it, and it still goes on living. And it still will. It has survived death, rebirth, hatred, deceit, and even refusal. Because they need me. Because each of them needs a little love in their life. And because I need a little love in mine.
Keep in mind I am no angel myself. Blood has stained my hands, more than any other through my indirect murders. I can feel the darkness surrounding me. All the time, even with the room flooded with light it's still there. It's like an aura touching me, some ever present dark film on top of my skin that I know no amount of soap and water will ever wash away.
They blame me at times. At others they thank me. But that doesn't matter. Because I have to keep on living. For me. Buffy doesn't understand that yet. Even after this long time far from Paradise, she still believes that she has to live for us. Each day is for someone else. We've all been surviving for so long that we've forgotten what it's like to live. But we're starting to remember now. But she never can. So she lives each day for me otherwise she'd let herself find away back to the Light. And I'm glad. It's selfish, I know, but I'd rather her be miserable here than go back to...back to Heaven. There, I said it, are you happy now? Heaven. And at least she'll be alive to despise this existence.
Unfortunately, she has no idea how lucky she is to be allowed to live at all. I don't think anyone does, even if we try to understand. However, I understand far better than most mortals on this planet do. What do I have to look forward to when I die? Either everything I've ever experienced on this plane of existence being erased so that my energy can go back to whence it came from, or that all that I had been in my previous existence was this body now and when I die that's it. So what am I supposed to do with this gift? I live. I deal with it one day at a time, make plans for the future, reminisce about the past, and wish to make changes in events that happened long ago. In essence, I act like I'm supposed to. As a human.
But is it enough? No. It's never enough. I want so much more than they have planned. I'll always want more than what I have. It's the human ideal to always possess more. And I want more. But another part of humanity, a more subtle part that well all gather quickly from a a young age, if that we all play our parts in life. With each person it's a different role we play, and most of the time we don't even realize the little nuances that change in our relationships to other people. So we lie to each other and ourselves. To keep in line with their image of us. So it goes.
I wonder sometimes if we have to lie to each other to be more honest with each other. It may seem contradictory, but it equals out. The tension forces us to speak our minds at the end. And we learn more about ourselves and each other. But some lies are necessary for survival. That's why my love has survived. It's what I have to do to face them and him every day. I have to hide my true feelings and lie.
It hurts. It hurts worse than most people can imagine. How can someone continue to go on when their heart has been ripped from their chest? I managed to swallow my tears whenever I heard him say he loved her. Whenever she rejected him. But time heals old wounds, although that doesn't make the hurt ever totally go away. The funny thing was, I always expected that it would hurt so much worse when she told me that they were sleeping together. I wasn't stupid. I knew something had been going on for quite some time, and I had suspected it as much...but I always thought that when she said the words I would cry and finally be able to tell her it wasn't some silly schoolgirl crush I had held once on him. That it developed into far more.
I was in love with Spike.
It surprised me that I didn't cry. Not a drop was shed from my eyes. I still loved him after I had seen what he had done with Anya...and heard of what he did with Buffy. You can tell that you really love someone when you want them to be happy with someone else even though you really want to take a very solid brick and throw it at their head. Very, very hard.
I don't even know who I am anymore. This place is killing me. Sunnydale is killing me. The beings here are killing me. And one day I'm going to die. Whether it's by demon or vampire or a human with a gun, I'm going to die one of these day. It may not be today, it may not be tomorrow, but it's going to happen sooner or later. And God forgive me for saying this, but I'm wishing it was sooner.
I don't think that I am "evil," but I don't think I am "good" either. I seem to corrupt everyone and everything I come into contact with, bringing out the worst qualities in them. Even Spike can see the darkness in me, although he's the only one willing to admit it. But he touched me, and I touched him. I've corrupted him.
Three months I had him to myself. In those three months he belonged solely to me, and I was the center of his world. But what was I to him? A friend? A sister? ...Or something more?
Each moment we spent together was another another drop into the bottle I consider my soul. Those moments were taken from granted, and now I try to recall them for the sake of memories and find that it is hard to do. I want that closeness back, the kind of closeness where you could simply be watching teusday night reruns side by side and not have to say a word to the one beside you becuse all that mattered in the world was being together. Just...there. With someone you loved. As time goes on, though, those moments are rarer and rarer, which makes them all the more precious to me. Because I'm not going to see him again for a long, long time.
Yet even when we recognize the signs, we do not act upon them. Or perhaps we only instigate them all the quicker in our fear of the unknown. I meant to tell him what I did, make no mistake about that. No declarations of love plagued my mind. "Was it worth it?" I asked. His response? Nothing. He didn't know. I don't think anyone knows if what they do is worth it. Was it worth it for me to steal? Was it worth it for Willow to quit magic? Was it worth it for Buffy to jump off the tower instead of me?
The jury is still out on those. Please try again later.
So what's the point if those of us who are living it don't even know why we're causing so much pain to each other? What's the point of my writing this down, something that only my eyes will ever see? Psychiatrists say it's theraputic. Bullshit. It doesn't help me think. It doesn't make my thoughts clearer or help me get any insight into my own mind. So why do I do it? Everything doesn't have to have a point to it, sometimes we do things just because. Not because they are right or wrong, but because. So after a year of not writing, I'm writing because. And I'm trying to get on with my life. It's not about getting over love or trying to get on with life, it's about living. Because, as a very wise person I know dearly once said, "The hardest thing in this world is to live in it."
And this morning I woke up to find that someone had poured my entire life into a bottle.
-Dawn Summers
Author: Israfel
Spoilers: Partial from seasons 5 and 6
Summary: What it's like from Dawn's eyes.
Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all related characters are property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------
My heart's been torn from it's cold socket and I'll wallow here in the darkness. My life in a bottle, my soul in the burning ember of a cigarette, I'll stare at the floor in an attempt to remember all that we were.
It was supposed to last forever. I had built a protective bubble around us all, expecting it to shield us from the bitter reality and evils that surrounded us. An eternal kingdom smashed like a fragile crystal ball in the hands of a toddler. I had placed my hopes and dreams and expectations on such a high pedestal of perfection, thinking that the world would strive to to good as we did once they saw. Such grand heights, though, only make the fall that much more spectacularly devastating. "The higher you are, the further you fall," as they say. So it goes.
Love is also like that fragile crystal ball to the residents of this town as well. It's only takes a little push to send things tumbling down on them. Willow and Tara...Anya and Xander...Spike and Buffy...all of them can be broken so easily when it comes to love. But my love is made out of much sterner stuff. My love has survived everything that could possibly be thrown at it, and it still goes on living. And it still will. It has survived death, rebirth, hatred, deceit, and even refusal. Because they need me. Because each of them needs a little love in their life. And because I need a little love in mine.
Keep in mind I am no angel myself. Blood has stained my hands, more than any other through my indirect murders. I can feel the darkness surrounding me. All the time, even with the room flooded with light it's still there. It's like an aura touching me, some ever present dark film on top of my skin that I know no amount of soap and water will ever wash away.
They blame me at times. At others they thank me. But that doesn't matter. Because I have to keep on living. For me. Buffy doesn't understand that yet. Even after this long time far from Paradise, she still believes that she has to live for us. Each day is for someone else. We've all been surviving for so long that we've forgotten what it's like to live. But we're starting to remember now. But she never can. So she lives each day for me otherwise she'd let herself find away back to the Light. And I'm glad. It's selfish, I know, but I'd rather her be miserable here than go back to...back to Heaven. There, I said it, are you happy now? Heaven. And at least she'll be alive to despise this existence.
Unfortunately, she has no idea how lucky she is to be allowed to live at all. I don't think anyone does, even if we try to understand. However, I understand far better than most mortals on this planet do. What do I have to look forward to when I die? Either everything I've ever experienced on this plane of existence being erased so that my energy can go back to whence it came from, or that all that I had been in my previous existence was this body now and when I die that's it. So what am I supposed to do with this gift? I live. I deal with it one day at a time, make plans for the future, reminisce about the past, and wish to make changes in events that happened long ago. In essence, I act like I'm supposed to. As a human.
But is it enough? No. It's never enough. I want so much more than they have planned. I'll always want more than what I have. It's the human ideal to always possess more. And I want more. But another part of humanity, a more subtle part that well all gather quickly from a a young age, if that we all play our parts in life. With each person it's a different role we play, and most of the time we don't even realize the little nuances that change in our relationships to other people. So we lie to each other and ourselves. To keep in line with their image of us. So it goes.
I wonder sometimes if we have to lie to each other to be more honest with each other. It may seem contradictory, but it equals out. The tension forces us to speak our minds at the end. And we learn more about ourselves and each other. But some lies are necessary for survival. That's why my love has survived. It's what I have to do to face them and him every day. I have to hide my true feelings and lie.
It hurts. It hurts worse than most people can imagine. How can someone continue to go on when their heart has been ripped from their chest? I managed to swallow my tears whenever I heard him say he loved her. Whenever she rejected him. But time heals old wounds, although that doesn't make the hurt ever totally go away. The funny thing was, I always expected that it would hurt so much worse when she told me that they were sleeping together. I wasn't stupid. I knew something had been going on for quite some time, and I had suspected it as much...but I always thought that when she said the words I would cry and finally be able to tell her it wasn't some silly schoolgirl crush I had held once on him. That it developed into far more.
I was in love with Spike.
It surprised me that I didn't cry. Not a drop was shed from my eyes. I still loved him after I had seen what he had done with Anya...and heard of what he did with Buffy. You can tell that you really love someone when you want them to be happy with someone else even though you really want to take a very solid brick and throw it at their head. Very, very hard.
I don't even know who I am anymore. This place is killing me. Sunnydale is killing me. The beings here are killing me. And one day I'm going to die. Whether it's by demon or vampire or a human with a gun, I'm going to die one of these day. It may not be today, it may not be tomorrow, but it's going to happen sooner or later. And God forgive me for saying this, but I'm wishing it was sooner.
I don't think that I am "evil," but I don't think I am "good" either. I seem to corrupt everyone and everything I come into contact with, bringing out the worst qualities in them. Even Spike can see the darkness in me, although he's the only one willing to admit it. But he touched me, and I touched him. I've corrupted him.
Three months I had him to myself. In those three months he belonged solely to me, and I was the center of his world. But what was I to him? A friend? A sister? ...Or something more?
Each moment we spent together was another another drop into the bottle I consider my soul. Those moments were taken from granted, and now I try to recall them for the sake of memories and find that it is hard to do. I want that closeness back, the kind of closeness where you could simply be watching teusday night reruns side by side and not have to say a word to the one beside you becuse all that mattered in the world was being together. Just...there. With someone you loved. As time goes on, though, those moments are rarer and rarer, which makes them all the more precious to me. Because I'm not going to see him again for a long, long time.
Yet even when we recognize the signs, we do not act upon them. Or perhaps we only instigate them all the quicker in our fear of the unknown. I meant to tell him what I did, make no mistake about that. No declarations of love plagued my mind. "Was it worth it?" I asked. His response? Nothing. He didn't know. I don't think anyone knows if what they do is worth it. Was it worth it for me to steal? Was it worth it for Willow to quit magic? Was it worth it for Buffy to jump off the tower instead of me?
The jury is still out on those. Please try again later.
So what's the point if those of us who are living it don't even know why we're causing so much pain to each other? What's the point of my writing this down, something that only my eyes will ever see? Psychiatrists say it's theraputic. Bullshit. It doesn't help me think. It doesn't make my thoughts clearer or help me get any insight into my own mind. So why do I do it? Everything doesn't have to have a point to it, sometimes we do things just because. Not because they are right or wrong, but because. So after a year of not writing, I'm writing because. And I'm trying to get on with my life. It's not about getting over love or trying to get on with life, it's about living. Because, as a very wise person I know dearly once said, "The hardest thing in this world is to live in it."
And this morning I woke up to find that someone had poured my entire life into a bottle.
-Dawn Summers