This is my first attempt at writing since high school (way too many years
ago) and my first attempt at fan-fiction. Please be kind, but honest and
please review or I'll never get any better.
Thanks
-------------
6/2/02 Revised with Lanna's and Kellyne's critiques, added more physical descriptions and actions
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Part 1
Africa
Agony radiated through Spike's body, as the demon hand pressed against his chest. The grimly painted walls of the cave seemed to waver and recede. Although the demon hand was placing something inside him, the sensation he felt was that of being ripped apart . . . . torn asunder. Against his will, he cried out. Spike felt unprepared for the pain, the sheer physical sensation of his soul being returned. Fiery tentacles radiating across his body, until it seemed to consume him.
Then physical pain was overwhelmed by the mental agony. Guilt . . Compassion . . Remorse . . all flooded through him. For the first time since he'd become a vampire, Spike understood the enormity of the things he'd done. The feeding, the pain . . . the torture. Over one hundred years of death. . . . no . . murder, overwhelmed him . . . . . then nothing, blessed unconsciousness.
When Spike woke, he felt cold rough stone against his back. His body pulsed with pain as all the cuts, bruises and burns, he'd recently acquired, made their presence felt. Slowly, agonizingly he rolled over and force himself to his feet, his crystal blue eyes carefully examining the surrounding cave. He appeared to be alone. He was confused and unsure for a moment. Why was he in this cave? What happened?
Then his painful, new, soul-induced emotions and feelings sprang to life. He fell to his knees, the hard cold stone floor much less painful then the agonizing guilt and remorse that overwhelmed him. Oh God . . . . . the things he'd done.
Spike forced himself back to his feet and staggered toward the entrance of the cave. Thankfully it was night. Outside, a full moon shone down, lighting the night with unnatural clarity. The native village was silent, seemingly dead. . . .
Another wave of emotion almost overwhelmed him. Spike's body was aching with the brutal punishment it had taken during the trials. Blood trickled lazily down his arm and the burns on his chest throbbed with the rhythm of a heartbeat, the heartbeat he was without. Spike forced his body to keep moving. He focused on maintaining his precarious balance and putting one foot in front of the other. It seemed an eternity before he slumped against the ancient jeep in which he arrived. . . . .a lifetime ago or so it seemed.
As he sank onto the cracked and peeling black vinyl of the jeeps driver's seat, Spike questioned the sanity of what he'd done. Resting his head against the steering wheel he tried to get hold of his emotions, his feelings . . . . . . his sense of self. What to do? A part of him wanted to die. Just sit here until morning when the rising sun would turn him to dust, ending the pain . . .and . . . the guilt.
Just . . give . . up. . . . .
A rebellious spark deep inside Spike, flickered to life. Rebellion was a feeling he knew well and was comfortable with Amid the sea of new and painful thought and emotions, he was grateful for it . . . . welcomed it. NO. He would not, NOT give up. He would not throw away this chance, this painfully earned gift . . . or curse. He'd fought for this soul and he'd be dammed it if killed him.
Spike reached down to the reconnect the ignition wires that would start the jeep, the engine coughed then sputtered to life. The jeep lurched forward as he accelerated away from the silent village. Speed gave the vehicle a bone jarring rhythm, since it lacked shock-absorbers. However, Spike felt the need for speed. He needed to get far away from the village, far away from the cave, far away from his thoughts and emotions.
But, his thoughts and emotions could not be left behind. Spike clenched his hands fiercely into fists around the steering wheel. He understood so much. He understood Buffy's rejection of his soulless love. He understood Angels brooding. So much was painfully clear.
The African landscape flew by, a blurry shadow around the edges of the road illuminated by the jeep's headlights. What he'd done in the past, was done, it was over and could not be changed. Spike forced his hands to relax their grip on the steering wheel. The dead could not be brought back to life and crimes could not be wiped away. There was no true restitution for his actions.
Spike pondered, the future. It would have to be different of course. He'd have to change the way he lived and the way he treated others. Just looking ahead was overwhelming, without even contemplating his sins in of the past. The jeep jerked to the right as it hit a particularly big pothole, causing his bruised side to hit the door painfully.
He shook his head. No! He refuse to be the brooding poncy bastard that Angel was. The past could not be undone. His actions, what he'd done when soulless could crush and ruin him or he could accept. He could accept what had been. He could accept what he'd done and use it to change, change himself and his tomorrows.
As Spike continued to think the jeep careened recklessly over the rough unpaved road.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Please review
(shameless plea for opinions and praise)
Thanks
-------------
6/2/02 Revised with Lanna's and Kellyne's critiques, added more physical descriptions and actions
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Part 1
Africa
Agony radiated through Spike's body, as the demon hand pressed against his chest. The grimly painted walls of the cave seemed to waver and recede. Although the demon hand was placing something inside him, the sensation he felt was that of being ripped apart . . . . torn asunder. Against his will, he cried out. Spike felt unprepared for the pain, the sheer physical sensation of his soul being returned. Fiery tentacles radiating across his body, until it seemed to consume him.
Then physical pain was overwhelmed by the mental agony. Guilt . . Compassion . . Remorse . . all flooded through him. For the first time since he'd become a vampire, Spike understood the enormity of the things he'd done. The feeding, the pain . . . the torture. Over one hundred years of death. . . . no . . murder, overwhelmed him . . . . . then nothing, blessed unconsciousness.
When Spike woke, he felt cold rough stone against his back. His body pulsed with pain as all the cuts, bruises and burns, he'd recently acquired, made their presence felt. Slowly, agonizingly he rolled over and force himself to his feet, his crystal blue eyes carefully examining the surrounding cave. He appeared to be alone. He was confused and unsure for a moment. Why was he in this cave? What happened?
Then his painful, new, soul-induced emotions and feelings sprang to life. He fell to his knees, the hard cold stone floor much less painful then the agonizing guilt and remorse that overwhelmed him. Oh God . . . . . the things he'd done.
Spike forced himself back to his feet and staggered toward the entrance of the cave. Thankfully it was night. Outside, a full moon shone down, lighting the night with unnatural clarity. The native village was silent, seemingly dead. . . .
Another wave of emotion almost overwhelmed him. Spike's body was aching with the brutal punishment it had taken during the trials. Blood trickled lazily down his arm and the burns on his chest throbbed with the rhythm of a heartbeat, the heartbeat he was without. Spike forced his body to keep moving. He focused on maintaining his precarious balance and putting one foot in front of the other. It seemed an eternity before he slumped against the ancient jeep in which he arrived. . . . .a lifetime ago or so it seemed.
As he sank onto the cracked and peeling black vinyl of the jeeps driver's seat, Spike questioned the sanity of what he'd done. Resting his head against the steering wheel he tried to get hold of his emotions, his feelings . . . . . . his sense of self. What to do? A part of him wanted to die. Just sit here until morning when the rising sun would turn him to dust, ending the pain . . .and . . . the guilt.
Just . . give . . up. . . . .
A rebellious spark deep inside Spike, flickered to life. Rebellion was a feeling he knew well and was comfortable with Amid the sea of new and painful thought and emotions, he was grateful for it . . . . welcomed it. NO. He would not, NOT give up. He would not throw away this chance, this painfully earned gift . . . or curse. He'd fought for this soul and he'd be dammed it if killed him.
Spike reached down to the reconnect the ignition wires that would start the jeep, the engine coughed then sputtered to life. The jeep lurched forward as he accelerated away from the silent village. Speed gave the vehicle a bone jarring rhythm, since it lacked shock-absorbers. However, Spike felt the need for speed. He needed to get far away from the village, far away from the cave, far away from his thoughts and emotions.
But, his thoughts and emotions could not be left behind. Spike clenched his hands fiercely into fists around the steering wheel. He understood so much. He understood Buffy's rejection of his soulless love. He understood Angels brooding. So much was painfully clear.
The African landscape flew by, a blurry shadow around the edges of the road illuminated by the jeep's headlights. What he'd done in the past, was done, it was over and could not be changed. Spike forced his hands to relax their grip on the steering wheel. The dead could not be brought back to life and crimes could not be wiped away. There was no true restitution for his actions.
Spike pondered, the future. It would have to be different of course. He'd have to change the way he lived and the way he treated others. Just looking ahead was overwhelming, without even contemplating his sins in of the past. The jeep jerked to the right as it hit a particularly big pothole, causing his bruised side to hit the door painfully.
He shook his head. No! He refuse to be the brooding poncy bastard that Angel was. The past could not be undone. His actions, what he'd done when soulless could crush and ruin him or he could accept. He could accept what had been. He could accept what he'd done and use it to change, change himself and his tomorrows.
As Spike continued to think the jeep careened recklessly over the rough unpaved road.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Please review
(shameless plea for opinions and praise)