The Sunnydale Syndrome 
The Sunnydale Syndrome
By Danii
Summary: A discussion about 'the Sunnydale syndrome".
 
WARNING: DARK FIC. At least, darker than I've ever
done. Kinda sick, if I may say so. Thought this one
up one night after a particularly bad night at work. 
Don't think I'm sick or crazy, please…
Rating: R…for violence, description, and language.
Disclaimer: I own no one. Don't sue. It would be
useless anyway…I work at CVS. Think "minimum wage"...
Distribution: You want this? Tell me the URL, and
it's yours! I personally want to deny writing the
damned thing...
 
And now:
 
Sunnydale-itis. SSD. The Sunnydale Syndrome. Being
fucking blind.
 
All different names for the same thing, a 'disease'
which runs rampant in our town.
 
I guess, if you broadened the definition, you could
say that everyone has a bit of it. Everyone, at one
time or another, has turned a blind eye to a part of
their world, denied its existence, so that they could
stay sane. But here, in this little town, it's almost
a plague.
 
They can't see… Well, they can see, but they can't
see everything. They only see what they think is
easiest to deal with. Buffy, the Slayer of all things
scaly and slimy, is the worst of them. So wrapped up
in the supernatural evils that she can't see the
completely human ones right in front of her face. I
mean, it's almost pathetic. 
 
I remember this one time behind the Bronze when she
was especially stupid. She'd just staked two vampires
who had been leading a young woman out of the club to
feed on her, and like a complete idiot, Buffy walked
off when they were dusted, leaving the girl alone. 
The blonde bimbo didn't even see the trio of perfectly
human hoodlums who were hiding behind the garbage
container. The ones who grabbed the girl minutes
later and beat her to death after raping her
repeatedly.
 
But I saw. I watched, and listened, as they tore into
her mind and body. And perhaps a small tear slid down
my face…or maybe not. I don't remember much about
what happened to me at the time. All I remember was
the screaming for help…the screaming no one else could
hear because of the loud music in the club. And the
moment of her death, which, like the others, has been
frozen into my mind till the day I die.
 
There are other examples. Other screw ups by the
Scoobie gang members that I've noticed. A mugging
missed by a Slayer that was too busy patrolling. A
murder overlooked by the witches during a scrying
session in order to find a monster quicker. The
people killed by ordinary human beings. 
 
All of it evil. Just as, or perhaps more, evil than
the horrors done by the scaly and slimy bunch. Then
again, that bunch is just obeying they're nature, so
which is really worse? A demon killing three people
to eat? Or a human killing another human because they
wanted some little green slips of paper that in the
end mean nothing at all? I mean, seeing this sort of
stuff, knowing it, thinking about it…it makes you
wonder why there are demons at all. Hell, as a race,
we do worse things to ourselves than anything those
bastards in the big fiery pit could ever think of.
 
But back to my point. Blindness. Blindness of mind,
of soul. The thing which allows Buffy and Willow and
Tara and Anya and Riley and Giles to sleep at night. 
 
I don't sleep at night.
 
Because I see both. I see both, I do both. I am
both. I deal in both worlds, and I will admit that
I'm not exactly sane because of it. You really can't
be a part of both without losing something. You
either have to be a normal person who deals with
normal human problems, like rape and murder and purple
dinosaurs that sing…or you're a supernatural person
who deals with demons and slime and vampires. 
Otherwise, you end up broken.
 
That's what happened to Faith, you see. She didn't go
insane and turn evil because she thought she was an
outcast. She didn't try to kill me, and succeed in
killing others, because of anything that the Scoobies,
or Wesley, did. It was because she knew about both
worlds, and she couldn't block one out. 
 
Bet you didn't know that her parents were a couple of
abusive drunks, eh? Bet you didn't know that when she
was 13, she was raped and left to die on the streets
of Boston. And that the only person who helped her,
her watcher, was brutally tortured to death in front
of her by a human. A human payed by a demon. Shit,
I'm not going to bet you, because I know I'll win. 
And it's no fun if you already know.
 
She told me all that. She told me that a few days
after we slept together. Yes, little miss Faith
learned early on that not every evil has a pair of
fangs. It made me feel a strange kinship with her. 
And I, being myself, listened attentively, holding her
in the right moments, hugging her close. Being a good
friend…being understanding. Lord knows I have the
experience necessary. Yet, after she switched sides,
I could only think one thing.
 
Stupid.
 
She could have been okay. She could have stayed with
us. She could have done what I did…deal with it
creatively. But, unlike myself, who has a lot of
practice at this point, she was sloppy. 
 
I mean, she killed in front of a witness. And her
blasé attitude? Didn't help her at all. I mean, when
you see a dead person, you have to pretend that it's a
novelty. A horrible, horrible novelty. Something you
never want to see again.
 
And when you kill, you can't do it with such an easily
identifiable weapon. I mean, please? A stake? Her
body disposal sucked as well. You're supposed to take
the body with you and get rid of it. You don't leave
it lying around a dumpster for any dumb cop to find. 
I mean, I know Sunnydale cops are inept, but they
aren't that bad. You have to at least dump it into a
body of water…or chop it up and burn it. Or a million
better ways to get rid of evidence.
 
Trust me, I know. I've tried most of them, and come
up with a few that would surprise people. Burning,
trashing, strategic placement of the body in demon
hunting ground. But mostly I just bury the body in
one of the hundred or so empty graves in Sunnydale. I
mean, nobody ever looks there. And I don't want
anyone finding my toys.
 
My most recent one is squirming at the moment, her
green eyes wide and frightened as she watches me
calmly write this down in a little notebook. But
while I enjoy the fear in the eyes, I feel my own gaze
fall down to sweep across her body, which is barely
concealed by a small tight black dress. Just the kind
I like. Easy to rip, and so much fun to use in the
game.
 
She's a pretty one, with long brown hair that falls in
waves over her face. But that beauty is starting to
fade with her terror. I don't mind. That's okay. I
don't look at their faces anyway. I'm usually
concerned with…lower parts. The heart, the
kidneys…such fun they are. All the different organs
within a person are interesting. So many colors and
shapes, even though the red is the one I see the most.
 
 
I look forward to seeing if hers are more interesting
than the last toy I played with, who is now hidden in
the grave of Ms. Laura Higland, who I believe got
staked a couple of weeks ago. Or was that months ago?
 I can never remember…There are a lot of things I
don't remember…and too many things I do. But I don't
need to remember where my old toy is. I don't like
old toys. I like new toys. New, living, breathing,
moving, screaming toys. Toys that play back.
 
But I do remember one thing.
 
How to cut out each bit without killing the toy.
 
And I begin.
 
But just as I am about to pull my newest plaything
from the girl's chest, I hear the phone ring. Sighing
tiredly at my interrupted play, I pick it up, vowing
to clean the blood off before it hardens into an icky
mess on my phone.
 
"Yes?"
 
"Oh," comes the voice from the other end. Giddy,
joyful. Bright and cheery. God, is she one dumb,
blind little bitch, "I was just wondering if you
wanted to go on patrol tonight…you seemed pretty
anxious about it the other night…"
 
That was because the other night, I had nothing to do,
and I thought a little pain might be fun. Nothing
like blinding aches all over your body to get you
pumped. But right now, you're interrupting my game…
 
"No, Buffs…think I'll stay in tonight…I'm feeling a
little tired." Yeah, tired of playing the idiot. 
Tired of dealing with a moron like you.
 
"All right then," she answers, trying to sound
disappointed even though I'm sure she's happy I'm not
going. Now, she'll be able to neck with that piece of
cardboard she calls a boyfriend.
 
"All right then." I repeat with a sigh, "See ya later,
Buffster…"
 
"See ya at the Magic Box, Xander…"
 
The End.
 
Send all feedback to HuffPuff1228@yahoo.com
I wasn't in the best mood when I wrote this. Can you
tell? This is probably the nastiest thing I've ever
written...