Title: Helpless
Author: Stolen Childe
Disclaimer: It doesn't belong to me.
Warnings: Character death
Rating: PG
Spoilers: NFA
Feedback: Yes please!
Author's Notes: Well, this was rather unexpected. I was washing my hands and the first few lines came to me. I originally thought it was about Spike then realized that it was actually about someone else. It's short.
XXXXXXXXXX
He runs, careening full tilt into nothing. Invisible solid nothing. He bangs fist against the wall, screams, shouts and cries. The skin on his knuckles split dirt mingling with blood but he can't stop. He has to get through. He kicks out, lashes out, tears and rends, his fingernails ripping free from the quick. He had to break through, get inside, and help do something. But all he can do is pound kick, scream and cry. It doesn't help, it never helps, and he never helps, because it never works.
Moving away again he runs, all his strength and force behind the movement, but again, it doesn't help. Falling to his knees, blood running from his blistered, ruined knuckles down dirty forearms, sweat clinging to the skin, tears clinging to the sweat, trails made in the dirt and crusty blood, the combination painting his face black. He looks like death, he fells like death, and he is death, because he can't help.
Beyond the wall, he sees the writhing; the fighting the desperateness of it all and he can do nothing. Always nothing. Ever since the early days. He failed, because he always fails. It never changes and now it will forever remain the same. The wall is there, invisible, solid and nothing and he can't get through.
In memoriam
Wesley Wyndham-Pryce
1966-2004
Beloved friend and brother.
The End