Purpose
(A Faith Lehane fic)
Emptiness.
She wonders how she can be full of something that is the complete opposite of fullness. But what can possibly be the alternative when life itself has no meaning or value. It's inevitable to feel empty, but thankfully it's also inconsistent. She knows it is. She trusts that knowledge. To her it's a ray of hope; her only condolence. Perhaps the loud noise of guilt screaming its chorus line over and over again in her head leaves little space for sanity, despite the massive void of loneliness. But a faint and distinguished voice repeatedly crawls its way up to illuminate that shimmer of light, that ray of hope, whenever the pain of memories is intolerably severe. The voice of reason. The voice of experienced wisdom. The voice of Angel.
She lifts her wet head up and gazes into the reflection of her big brown eyes through the cracked mirror of her prison cell. The water is streaming unevenly through the faucet. The cheap pink soap is vanishing rapidly as she scrubs her hands with it in persistent vigor. Droplets of blood are falling from her injured forehead into the old and stained sink. She crunches her jaws in conscious repression, silencing the urge to attack her attackers the next time she gets a chance. Yet that voice of reason rises up against the deafening tone of rage and fills the dark and scary hollowness of her tormented psyche with its warm and compassionate advice. The voice of Angel telling her that facing her fears and feeling the pain is her way to redemption. She trusts his wisdom, for he is the one who saw the troubled behind the troublesome. He is the one who looks at all souls with the eyes of unconditional mercy. He is the one who reached out and offered a hand when she was spiraling down a bottomless pit. He is her angel.
She washes her face, her hair, her arms and legs, subconsciously hoping that body hygiene could magically wash away the pain. Not the pain of her excruciating injuries, but the pain she has caused to everyone she has crossed roads with that is beyond unbearable. Her emotions have been completely burnt out, turned into ashes. She cannot even bring herself to cry. Two years have passed. Countless days turning into nights, and just as many nights turning into days. People outside living, growing, learning, achieving. No one is interested or even slightly concerned about her existence. No one wants to be. The heavily guarded walls and thick steel bars keep her away from sight and thought. She's a phantom of the past. A slayer, a player, a friend, a nemesis. A traveler of extremes, a yo-yo of emotions. A worthless burden dumped into Wasteland.
She hears the nightly symphony of the alarm going off, guards hollering, steel doors slamming, squeaky fumbling of keys in big locks. Cell block lights go out. All is dark. All is silent. All but her mind. As she lays her head to sleep, she can't help but replay the horror movie of her life. Haunted by her own memories, she realizes that she has forgiven everyone she knows, except the one person who has hurt her the most: Herself. Appalled by all the evil she had willingly tapped into, she struggles to attune herself to that hopeful channel of positivity. That voice of angelic friendliness of a reformed horrendously violent vampire. Angel.
Imprisoned by her own corrupted personality, neither walls nor armed guards are standing in her way to escape. Only her conscious and brave decision to slay the demons within and tame those wild impulses she has. That is the real reason for giving herself in to the authorities and committing herself to paying the price for her crimes. She is determined to evolve, yearning to retrieve whatever ounce of integrity she once had. Redeeming herself and gaining faith. That is her mission. That is her purpose.