Waiting for Sunrise

Disclaimer: Characters and Premise are borrowed from the show "Buffy, the Vampire Slayer."

So alone. I can't go to her, she asked me to stay away. I could never do ought by what she asked.

The others wouldn't have me.

I went to him, to her watcher, her father in all but name. He only confirmed what they say. I'm evil, I deserve torment, nothing else, no comfort no peace.

It's hard to argue with that, I know what I am. Still I'd hoped, prayed, that I'd suffered enough. That I'd been released from Hell because I'd been tortured enough, because the Powers that Be were giving me the chance to do something worthwhile with my life.

I try not to listen to them, but they're the only voices I hear, the only ones who will even speak with me. They fill the silence that those I once considered friends left behind them. I know they're not real, can't possibly be real. They're dead, I should know, I killed them. Their blood coats my hands, so much blood. So many ghosts, so many lives ruined because of me. They remind me of that, that those I killed were only the foremost of my victims. That I did all I could to make each death a stone thrown into a pool, spreading ripples of pain and misery far beyond my direct influcence.

All my life, I've done nothing but cause pain and misery. I remember, once long ago, when I was truly young, I used to hope. Like I told Dru, we all want to be good. I wanted to see pride in my father's eyes, I wanted to be good enough, just once. I wanted him to love me, but I was never worth his love, always a disappointment.

What I told Dru was only the truth, as I saw it. We all want to be good, at first anyway, but that changes with time. Year in, year out being told or shown how worthless you are, it wears your soul thin. By the time I was in my teens I'd given up, why strive for something I'd never receive? It was easier just to be what they said I was. Easier to just take pleasure where I could, any pleasure I could find, no matter how hollow. At least it granted me a few moments when I could forget my life.

If Darla hadn't taken me when she did I doubt I'd have had a soul left for her to steal. I was already so very dead inside. When she changed me she took my last lingering regrets over what I was, took the moral restraints that had prevented me from lashing out at a world I suddenly found that I hated.

Before Darla changed me I hated only myself, for failing, always failing. For being what Marget, what my hallusination called me, "A drunken, whoring, lay-about and a terrible disappointment to my parents."

Darla changed that, vampirism took my hatred and turned it outward. The gypsies made me back into what I'd been before, only with a century and a half of murders and other horrors to regret in addition to my own worthlessness.

When Whistler came he gave me back the hope I'd lost as a child, the hope that I could do good, but it was a lie.

In trying to be what I was not I only brought disaster on those who I had learned to care for. When I returned I held to that hope despite all evidence that it was false, despite the hatred and fear I could see written in they're eyes. I clung to the forgiveness Buffy could still offer me, and ignored that it was tainted with her own foolish guilt. She did nothing wrong, yet still she felt guilt because I forced her to hurt me, that was why she forgave me, not because I deserved it. The ghosts won't let me hide behind lie and false hope, they remind me what I was, what is real, and that my comforts are only illusions. Pretty lights and pictures that I used to hide from the darkness that fills me. They remind me that hope is only that, and not real at all.

But it's so tempting, more addicting than any drug, hope. But not real. The ghosts tell me nothing I don't already know. I've succeeded at nothing but evil in my entire, unnaturally long, life. Why should now be any different just because some demon who must be color blind tells me so. Whistler just walks up to me one night and tells me I can be someone, someone to be counted. What did he know about me anyway? He didn't know about the loop-hole in my curse, that was for certain. Why should I believe he knew me, knew what I was capable of, better than my own father.

They tell me what I am, that my father was right. It's funny, my own words to Dru keep echoing in my head. A lie for her, she was only a misunderstood girl who'd done nothing wrong, but truth when applied to me. Devil child, cursed in God's sight, my very existance an affront to the world. If not for Darla's interfearence I'd undoubtedly died young and unmourned, have left this world before I had the opportunity to do real harm.

I told Dru to fulfill God's plan, to be evil, but I was wrong, God doesn't want us to be evil, mistakes like me are only meant to die. I was taught suicide is a sin, but not for me. I'm only fulfilling God's plan, dying before I can do more damage, like I should have done so long ago.

They're right, Jenny's right, I'm not strong, not a fighter. I've always taken the easy way out, the path of least resistance. I know how to escape my pain, how long before I give in? How long before Buffy pays for my wakness again?

Only one other way to end this, it's a sin, worse than murder, even a murderer can be absolved of his crimes. I'm different though, already dead in truth, animated only by a demon and stolen blood. The light of the sun burns away the darkness. The sun which gives life to all that's natural, that belongs in this world, will burn me to ash. The world wants me gone, sunrise is proof of that.

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