Woohoo for all the awesome reviews. (: Totally made me write quicker. (I even wrote some of this before school. Yeah, I'm that dedicated.)

I haven't started a new chapter yet because I'm totally lost one what to do. So, when you get down to the bottom, I'll give some, like, examples and you tell me what I must do, and I'll do the opposite.

Anyway, there's a LSD trip in this entry. And I've never actually done drugs nor had a trip (shocking, I know), so if this is totally wrong, blame it on hellmouth-ish LSD. Good excuse? I think so.

Basics: Buffy died. Came back. Life basically sucks for Dawn right now. Spike's still sleeping with Buffy. Destructiveness and all. Dawn knows the sex stuff and is totally pissed about it. She's pretty deep in shit also. She's cutting, doing drugs, and maybe having sex. Maybe some more graphic things in the future. Tara left Willow.
Basically season 6 plot, but ya know…not.

(there is also some naughty language in here, so just beware if you'r not into it)


Chapter 4

Dawn woke up feeling dizzy and as if she was floating. But, that's all she was really doing anyway, right? Floating above the mediocrity that was life and hovering away until she reached the good part about life: death. That's all she ever really wanted. It's what she was made to do. But, sadly, she wasn't. And she was now lying on her bed, a little headache forming in her thick, fake skull.

And then her little headache spread into a big one, when she realized that her bed was not where she fell asleep at. The only thing is that she couldn't remember. The last thing she remembered was dancing and then Spike leaving. Maybe Buffy carried her to her room. Or maybe she just magically floated to her room.

But chances are that wasn't how it happened. And Spike probably carried her. And was probably shocked when he saw her room. She smirked at that though. Good, he deserved to be thrown for a loop.

She decided that she needed to get changed and slowly peeled her pants off. When she did so, she saw cakey blood that stained the inside of the cloth. It also stained the color of her skin, so now her skin was tainted pink. She smiled as she remembered her old favorite color: Tickle me pink. It almost looked tickle me pink, except it was made with blood. She bet that when she was younger she wouldn't think that her favorite color would be created with her lifeline itself.

Putting on a black tank top that barely hit the top of her bellybutton and a pair of baggy, gray sweatpants; she headed downstairs in search for a glass of water. She was feeling quite parched. Lately all she had been was being thirsty. But wanting more than just liquid. More than water. More than anything she could ever get.

The kitchen was a mess. Pots and pans were everywhere, a box of cereal was open and all of its bits was scattered across the floor, and even the kitchen table was shattered on the floor, the legs detached and broken.

"Looks like Buffy and Spike's sexcapades attacks again" she bitterly thought and inside she cursed and screamed. Because she wanted Spike first and she was the one who thought he "wasn't that icky". And sometimes it wasn't fair sometimes. And it just wasn't fucking fair.

But who would want someone so fucked up?

Her first instinct was to clean all of it up, but she was too pissed to, so she just made a path through all the rubble and got a glass of water. She then went over to the couch and sat in the dark, slowly sipping on her water.

It was still dark outside, she noticed. And it would be a long time before the two would wake up. Even when they did wake up, she didn't want to be around. The brunette was tired of hearing lies and tired of saying them, also. So, she got up off the couch and went into her room. Going to the old, mahogany chest that was in front of her bed, she kneeled on the floor and ran her hands on the backside of the bottom trim. Her fingers ran into a bag that was duck taped on the side. Grabbing it, she went out her window, her arms grabbing on to the drainpipe as she pulled herself to the nook of the roof. She grabbed the bag, opened it up and reached inside to the pill. She put it on her tongue and let is slowly dissolve. Times like these caused for drastic measures.

Her high was unreal this time. Psychedelic trip. Everything was bright. All the colors brilliant. It looked like she never seen the world before. Everything looked new. And like it should be. Her body felt all tingly and it almost seemed as if her skin was humming. She looked down at her pants, and it seemed that she could see each fiber in them. And the fibber looked like it was breathing. In and out. In and out. She matched her breath with her pants breathing.

The sun was rising and the colors were beautiful. All reds and yellows and oranges. The sky looked like it was on fire. A burning haven just for her. For where the bad kids go. Because you don't go to heaven where the angels fly. You get to burn. Forever.

And maybe she liked that better. Actually be something that Buffy has never been. A devil. Maybe they'll even use her special blood. Make her bleed and open the sky and let all the satans and demons and hellish creatures to come out into the world.

That actually didn't sound like a bad idea.

She took a pocket knife that was secretly hidden on the roof and struck her left hand that was already damaged. She made a long cut, again, parallel with her suicide vein. Then she cut her right arm doing the same thing. And she held her arms out like she was flying, letting the blood slowly flow down her arm and on the roof and ground below.

"Gotta get clean. Open world. Hell on earth. My hell. Gotta get clean" she muttered to herself. And then the blood stopped flowing, like it so often does. And she was empty.

But suddenly, the sky parted. And the colors were swirling together. She could see her blood float into the air mixing with the fire in the sky. It looked hot. And it looked like home. Because she was all about being a part of something. So she took a running start and then jumped off the roof, her arms straight out. And even though she was so weak, she could feel the wind beneath her arms. And she finally felt free. And it felt good.

And she felt good.


Okay, so basically, Dawn just flew off the roof. And I swear I don't know where to go from here. Because there are many different ways.
a) spike finds her and sees all the cuts and freaks.
b) she falls off the roof and just wakes up on the ground and just goes back inside
c) she wakes up on the roof, and the whole falling thing was just a dream
d) all of the above Naw. Anything else.

Sorry if I ruined it or something, but a story is only as good as its plot line. And, I don't know, I don't have any good muses.

So if any of ya'll want to be my muse, aim me over at fistxtoface. Because that'd be cool.
Ah, I'm talkign to a dead choir. Oh well.
Hope you enjoyed this.
(: