TITLE: The End
AUTHOR: Spwaddict
E-MAIL: brackish60518@yahoo.com
SUMMARY: Musings of the one no one thought would end it.
RATING: PG
SPOILERS: "Grave"
PAIRING: Willow/Xander
DISCLAIMER: Joss is god to all that is 'Buffy', and I am but a loyal
servant to his biddings.
NOTES: What do you get when you have an evil Willow, a broken hearted
savior, and a girl drinking far too much caffine with a worn out tape of
"Grave"? That's right; A Broken-Hearted-Willow-Tape-With-Caffine!
FEEDBACK: Oh, you know I live on it.
"To read, makes our speaking English good!"
Death.
We have been taught that everything about it is putrid. It is grotesque. Something you never speak of. Never see. Never accept.
I accept death.
It happens almost as much as birth. One is born; three must die. I don't consider it murder; I consider it birth. Making room for the more deserving and innocent. Deserving. Innocent. Those words have been lost on me long ago. They hold no meaning; no significance. They thought of me as those things. For such long years, I was always the one they looked at for strength. Not the super hero. Not the Father.
Now, when I am the essence of strength. When I am truly able to speak truth and guidance to them. When I am capable of actual power, they turn from me. They cower in fear from me like children. This deserving innocent.
Nothing is innocent anymore. I wonder if it ever really was. If there was ever any good in this world. If there lives were anything but miserable. I don't think mine was. I know theirs wasn't. I know about the tears, the pain, and the betrayal. I've felt all the same things. I am the same as them, no better or worse, and they judge me. Judge me for the death that would have happened on its own accord. They, who have done nothing but wrong in this world.
But nothing they do madders. They knew someday it would happen. Whether by my hands or not, this is not of significance. Whether by my power, or a faceless demon, they knew that the day would come when they couldn't fight it off.
The only thing that made any difference in this world was us. The power of our support to her. When that diminished slowly, you realize that it wasn't important enough to keep the suffering alive. It isn't worth the pain in everyone's mind. Their battered souls, and broken spirits, that only I can feel to such intensity. It is blinding, and I can barely see in front of me as I end it. But I know it will be better now, because I'm ending it. No more pain, suffering, torment, anguish, affliction, tears, fear, grief. No more friends.
Now, all I see is Him.
He is in front of me now, and expecting what? Expecting to forget about the world? Does he expect for me to just forget the fact that I finally see why there were so many in the past that tried to accomplish what I will do today? I have nothing left for me. I have no love, no life, no hope.
He is nothing. Pathetic, as he always was. I vaguely remember the endless days together, talking and laughing. The false allusion that we had something that no one else did. We had love.
We had nothing. We were fake, illusory, nothing but plastic wrapping. He was feeble, pitifully crying on my shoulder about the pain in his life. He had so much pain, confusion, bruises, and scars that never heal. We both do. So, here he stands trying to stop me from ending his suffering. Ending the World.
He won't give up. He never does, as stubborn as always, never learning, never understanding. He always sees the world as he wants. He tries to stay in control even when he so obviously isn't. I used to know that about him. Look on that with admiration. Love.
No. I was as weak as him. The shy little girl following him around like a puppy, pathetically laughing at his jokes. Wasted endless nights on the telephone. Wasted emotions. Emotions that do not exist. Caring. Compassion. Love.
He thinks he loves me.
Bastard.
Shut up.
Never loved me.
No love.
I love.
Don't love.
Shut up.
Bastard.
No one could love me.
He loves me.
"To read, makes our speaking English good!"
Death.
We have been taught that everything about it is putrid. It is grotesque. Something you never speak of. Never see. Never accept.
I accept death.
It happens almost as much as birth. One is born; three must die. I don't consider it murder; I consider it birth. Making room for the more deserving and innocent. Deserving. Innocent. Those words have been lost on me long ago. They hold no meaning; no significance. They thought of me as those things. For such long years, I was always the one they looked at for strength. Not the super hero. Not the Father.
Now, when I am the essence of strength. When I am truly able to speak truth and guidance to them. When I am capable of actual power, they turn from me. They cower in fear from me like children. This deserving innocent.
Nothing is innocent anymore. I wonder if it ever really was. If there was ever any good in this world. If there lives were anything but miserable. I don't think mine was. I know theirs wasn't. I know about the tears, the pain, and the betrayal. I've felt all the same things. I am the same as them, no better or worse, and they judge me. Judge me for the death that would have happened on its own accord. They, who have done nothing but wrong in this world.
But nothing they do madders. They knew someday it would happen. Whether by my hands or not, this is not of significance. Whether by my power, or a faceless demon, they knew that the day would come when they couldn't fight it off.
The only thing that made any difference in this world was us. The power of our support to her. When that diminished slowly, you realize that it wasn't important enough to keep the suffering alive. It isn't worth the pain in everyone's mind. Their battered souls, and broken spirits, that only I can feel to such intensity. It is blinding, and I can barely see in front of me as I end it. But I know it will be better now, because I'm ending it. No more pain, suffering, torment, anguish, affliction, tears, fear, grief. No more friends.
Now, all I see is Him.
He is in front of me now, and expecting what? Expecting to forget about the world? Does he expect for me to just forget the fact that I finally see why there were so many in the past that tried to accomplish what I will do today? I have nothing left for me. I have no love, no life, no hope.
He is nothing. Pathetic, as he always was. I vaguely remember the endless days together, talking and laughing. The false allusion that we had something that no one else did. We had love.
We had nothing. We were fake, illusory, nothing but plastic wrapping. He was feeble, pitifully crying on my shoulder about the pain in his life. He had so much pain, confusion, bruises, and scars that never heal. We both do. So, here he stands trying to stop me from ending his suffering. Ending the World.
He won't give up. He never does, as stubborn as always, never learning, never understanding. He always sees the world as he wants. He tries to stay in control even when he so obviously isn't. I used to know that about him. Look on that with admiration. Love.
No. I was as weak as him. The shy little girl following him around like a puppy, pathetically laughing at his jokes. Wasted endless nights on the telephone. Wasted emotions. Emotions that do not exist. Caring. Compassion. Love.
He thinks he loves me.
Bastard.
Shut up.
Never loved me.
No love.
I love.
Don't love.
Shut up.
Bastard.
No one could love me.
He loves me.