Life of My Light
by:
blue
rated:
pg, so far
Author's Note: I hope
to make this story into a long series. It's sort of like a summer project
and hopefully I'll have the last part written and completed before the new
season premieres. Hm, this fic is something myself and a web friend
contemplated some time ago before the whole Pylea arc happened the way it
did. We were just having fun with some ideas and speculating. You
want to know more? Well, you'll just have to wait and read.
:) The lyrics may seem out of place but let me know if so. I'm all
about revisions.
Disclaimer: The Darla
and Angel characters belong to Joss Whedon, the Kuzuis and FOX. No
copyright infringement is intended. The following lyrics are from the
"Drops of Jupiter" album performed by Train and "Hey Pretty" from the "Haunted"
album by Poe.
Distribution: Just ask
me. Send me an e-mail.
Summary: Darla thinks
and thinks and eventually takes that big step.
Spoilers: The Darla
arc in season 2 of ANGEL, especially in regards to Epiphany.
No! Not like that, lol. :)
Category: Angst, Inner
Reflection and Analysis
Dedication: This is
for the Darla lovers out there or anyone that respects the character and
her long history.
Thanks to: You know who you
are.
Feedback:
Love it. Bring it on.
"Hey, pretty. Don't you want to take a ride with me to
my world?"
The sun is calling me down that long stretch
of hallway . . . it's calling my name.
Calling me by my real name that I've
conveniently forgotten over the years . . . until now.
No . . .
No, it's calling her by that name.
I've lived a total of five lives, like a cat
minus the other four. At least I can say that for now, anyway.
Maybe I should name my first bodily existence on this earth "Da" then the
second "Dar", the third "Darl" and the fourth, which was the so called new and
improved, "Darla".
But it'd probably make more sense to start in
the opposite direction. Darla began to fall apart at the seams
since she began and ended up with no letters to her name.
How fitting and convenient (laughs to herself
just a little) but what do I call myself now?
I need a shower to wash off all this stuff I
can't name. The problem is that in order to take one I'd either have to
sneak my way into a fresh and clean one (which probably means a sure ticket to
some carnage and I really don't trust myself), or stand under that ever flowing
and probably contaminated water "shower" I see in the corner of this "room," if
you could call it that.
Well, I am a vampire now so does it
matter? Why should it?
If you are wondering why in the world I'm
saying all of this then you are not alone. I don't know what in the world
I'm doing here or what I'm saying. My mind is lost and wanders ever so
often, but it's still mine isn't it? And for some awfully strange reason
that's a comforting feeling.
There goes that little mouse again taking his
daily trip into the hallway. I guess the sun calls its name as
well. I don't know why I haven't killed it yet. In fact spilled mouse
blood sounds like a treat right now but . . . I don't want to do that.
The last thing I need is another reminder of
my past . . . and him. No, it's her past and him. I'm not
her anymore either.
It's either new and improved or just nothing
. . . and I have to choose.
Yes, I have to.
I have nothing left but myself. No
power, no love, and no energy to do what most highly regarded vampires usually
love to do: play games. I'm a Darla without a true face or even a
mask. There was never a Darla like I am now or are turning out to be.
I'm currently Darla version number five (I
guess that's the right number), yet ironically I don't think her name is Darla
or any configuration of that name anymore. I mean after all, there is
only so far you can go after using the last letter in the name Darla.
What's in a name? What's in a new name
for someone that's been reborn four and nearly five times and still counting?
I sit up but then . . . lay back down again
staring at the sun's dancing life before me.
I remember the peaceful sunshine and how some
of my former selves hated it, but for some reason while looking at it from a
distance it had become a distant friend, but even more so like a distant
relative. She's someone that's been with me and in my blood all of these
years, and whenever she wants decides to haunt me with her presence.
She's been doing this ever since I took up shop here calling my name, wanting
me to dance with her again. She beckons me with feelings that are
distinctly familiar yet soothing.
Day in and day out I'm literally hypnotized
by her or thoughts of her.
Will I burn up alive and fade into ash if we
dance?
I don't know who or what to trust anymore.
I guess that's because she's trying to remind
me of who and what I used to be, how I used to be, yes . . .
a little girl that loved the sun.
with drops of jupiter in her hair
she acts like summer and
walks like rain
reminds me that there's
time to change
since the return from
her stay on the moon
she listens like spring
and she talks like june
tell me did you sail across the sun
did you make it to the
milky way to see the lights all faded
and that heaven is
overrated
tell me, did you fall
for a shooting star
one without a permanent
scar
and did you miss me
while you were looking at yourself out there
That's all I ever did was dance in the sun
again and again and again.
But when my life turned on me at such a young
age, I turned away from life, the sun, and in turn the moon's darkness embraced
and welcomed me. I never knew the moon, but I was willing to give it a
try since maybe there in his world there would be no more betrayal, no more
taking advantage of, and yes, I could start anew.
I meant she could start anew . . . as a newly
created and personified image named Darla.
(Darla takes a long pause.)
I don't really remember much about whoever
her name was. My conscience tries to respect her memory by forcing me
to remember these memories of her life with very close friends, family, and yes,
again, the sun. I guess they all loved her. Faintly, I can feel her
moving through the air in those nice beautiful long dresses, laughing, playing
little games with her friends, and all along feeling that ever-consuming
feeling of sunshine prickling her skin.
But I'm not her. I'm just not, at least
not anymore.
I need to work on version number five here
and move towards something different.
Blood bottles smelling of a combination of
blood and booze litter the floor. Yeah, I guess you can still say I'm
working on acquiring that ultimate and glorious high. I don't kill people
anymore because, well, that requires interaction of the most boring kind.
(yawns and laughs a little to herself)
Hmmm, have I in turn created a substitute?
Blood and alcohol traded in for the sun's
addicting love? Maybe that sun has more of an effect on me than I
thought.
The blood-alcohol concoction gives me a heady
rush indeed and makes me feel so powerful and real that I could do just about
anything. I could be self-content, and still make it through another full
day of contemplation without thinking about the past or him.
aka "Drowning my Sorrows"
I swear I must be cracking myself up in more
ways than one.
I'm never in the sunlight's reach now, but I
watch it dance before me nonstop for hours everyday in that long hallway.
I don't want to pass just yet mind you. My time is still precious,
I think. I watch her flicker from a distance and from time to time I hear
her calling me by that name again and again. Funny, sometimes it uses
Angel's voice, beckoning me to:
"Just try a little harder Darla."
"I believe in you."
"Dance with me, Darla."
Did he really say those things? Or
maybe I just wish he did. I've lived so many lives that I can't even tell
my past from my past.
Angel's my fire.
Even now he burns and consumes me like
fire. I don't think I need to explain why.
That's pretty self-explanatory.
(Darla winks.)
And even though he's so far away right now I
can still feel his flickers of flames dancing on my skin, especially now.
After that night and for every night thereafter, I place his ring on the
counter top and stare at it when the sun in down.
Yes, sunlight and flames go hand in hand,
something I desperately want to forget, I think.
Yet the sun has a strange way of reminding me
of what I want in life.
But right now, for a short moment, I'm
seriously contemplating ending it all at that altar of fire and sun, him and my
past rolling into one again and again and again bursting into flames and ash.
It'll be like Hell.
(a little laugh)
"Dance with me, Darla."
And yes, in a strange way all of these
thoughts of mine (yes, they are mine) are eerily some kind of wonderful.
Maybe the sun won't hurt me and burn me up
alive. Angel did it once . . . literally. Will the sun do it to me
also?
Then again I can't help but think I'm
hallucinating all of this, that I'm losing my mind as I lay here in this
abandoned building shut off from the world and what Angel loves by choice and
not. I spend my entire days like this. Everyday I get up at around
sunrise and from a distance watch the sunlight rise ever so slowly up the
windowless windowpanes that illuminate the ever-stretching hallway far ahead of
me. All day I lie across this ratty couch, and just stare out at the
light flickering and dancing on the decaying walls and floors like we used to
dance together.
Like Angel used to dance with me.
Oh, that day.
I prefer not to think of it, yet at the same
time I can't stop thinking about it. How can I? I've been shaped by
the being that spent most of her time thinking and distressing over "flame"
boy, and I'm not the strong vamp I was before. And as a human the second
time around, I'm left with the constant reminder of that gullible and tragic
girl not so long ago.
I'm irrevocably changed not for better or for
worse. No, not really.
I'm just here, don't know why, with so many
questions about myself, my situations, lives, etcetera and on and on and on.
Yes, everyday I lay upon this couch and like
I said before, I contemplate the true death, the one that would put an end to
any more Darlas or whoever she was. Please let there also be no more
flames that like to lick yet not stay, and no more dancing suns.
Yet, I can't take my eyes away from those
dancing images in front of me or my past . . . or him.
I should just suck it all up and get on with
my so very interesting life.
Yeah, that's the plan, at least for today
that is.
Tomorrow is just a question mark as it always
is.
Who knows what it holds for me?
Would you believe me if I told you she was
named after the sun? Her true name was Noor—ironically meaning "God's
Light" in some foreign language I can barely remember; yet her friends and
family called her Nora since it was more Anglo sounding.
tell me did the wind sweep you off your feet
did you finally get the
chance to dance along the light of day
and head back to the
milky way
and tell me, did venus
blow your mind
was it everything you
wanted to find
and did you miss me
while you were looking at yourself out there
Yeah, sure, sun . . . I'll give you another
try.
I'll trust you one more time.
I get up slowly yet I hesitate at first, and
then walk and walk and walk . . .
I'm almost there at the first sunbeam.
I can feel its heat radiating on to me and my skin tingles with fear and
curiosity.
But before I touch it, I put on Angel's ring
for some inexplicable reason and just when I'm practically bathed in sunlight,
yearning for more and brimming with silent excitement, the door to my humble
"abode" surprisingly opens and it is the one and only Lindsey McDonald.
