TITLE: HOW ABOUT YOU
SUMMARY: A bunch of ficlets about pain. This gets into the mind of selected BtVS characters in their own, private, most pain-filled moments and what they thought about during them.
PART ONE: LOSING FAITH
It was excruciating.
She had everything. And I was left with nothing.
I wanted to kill her. To rip her smiley, blonde fucking head off and stick it in a paper shredder, but only after hours of torture from my own, blood covered hands, torture like stapling her eyelids shut and giving her a Michaelangelo by cutting off her ear. Or Van Gogh, whoever the hell it was.
I wanted her to feel every single ounce of pain that I'd felt ever since I'd met her. From the first time I saw her I hated her. Wanted to grind that stupid, perfect face into dust and to step in it with my heavy, black boot after.
I remember that she had been with her little posse. The werewolf, who was actually pretty cool and had stayed off my case. The redhead and Xander, who was fun to screw with for a while but who needs to look up the defenition of a one night stand.
I remember when I'd met her mom. She'd been really sweet, nice, and... loving. It was almost sick how much she loved her kid. And Buffy loved her back. They were the perfect, blonde, pretty, sweet and...lovable pair. I could see them in those fucking mother daughter outfits, skipping through a fucking graveyard, Buffy with a stake in her hand, and Joyce with a "be careful, honey" as she staked every vamp, clean and easy on her way, never losing the spring in her step.
More than I wanted to kill Buffy, I wanted the whole damn world to stop. I wanted people to die. To feel pain in their slow, gory, excruciating deaths. I wanted to kill everyone, or even just to watch them all be killed. I wanted to see the pain, the sheer horror on their faces as they got eaten alive, buried alive, slashed into a million pieces alive, just fucking ALIVE so they could scream and cry for someone to help them, only to find that they were completely alone in this world, whether they deserved it or not.
Lastly, I wanted myself to die. After I'd killed off everyone else, that is. I wanted to just lie down, curl up on a warm, soft bed with clean, white, linen sheets and a down comforter and down pillows and to sleep. Just sleep. Never wake up. I didn't need to feel any pain while I died, because I've felt enough while I was alive.
Then I'd leave the world, and so would everyone and everything else, and we'd all dissolve into nothing, because that'd be all that was left.
But I had to die last. And I had to die laughing, holding my pretty knife close to my chest, the blood of the world rusting on it, and die slowly, softly, fading away. My lips would curl up into a smile as I would slowly deteriorate into nothing, and I'd let everything go, never feeling any guilt for selling the world. Or, in my case, letting it die, myself along with.
SUMMARY: A bunch of ficlets about pain. This gets into the mind of selected BtVS characters in their own, private, most pain-filled moments and what they thought about during them.
PART ONE: LOSING FAITH
It was excruciating.
She had everything. And I was left with nothing.
I wanted to kill her. To rip her smiley, blonde fucking head off and stick it in a paper shredder, but only after hours of torture from my own, blood covered hands, torture like stapling her eyelids shut and giving her a Michaelangelo by cutting off her ear. Or Van Gogh, whoever the hell it was.
I wanted her to feel every single ounce of pain that I'd felt ever since I'd met her. From the first time I saw her I hated her. Wanted to grind that stupid, perfect face into dust and to step in it with my heavy, black boot after.
I remember that she had been with her little posse. The werewolf, who was actually pretty cool and had stayed off my case. The redhead and Xander, who was fun to screw with for a while but who needs to look up the defenition of a one night stand.
I remember when I'd met her mom. She'd been really sweet, nice, and... loving. It was almost sick how much she loved her kid. And Buffy loved her back. They were the perfect, blonde, pretty, sweet and...lovable pair. I could see them in those fucking mother daughter outfits, skipping through a fucking graveyard, Buffy with a stake in her hand, and Joyce with a "be careful, honey" as she staked every vamp, clean and easy on her way, never losing the spring in her step.
More than I wanted to kill Buffy, I wanted the whole damn world to stop. I wanted people to die. To feel pain in their slow, gory, excruciating deaths. I wanted to kill everyone, or even just to watch them all be killed. I wanted to see the pain, the sheer horror on their faces as they got eaten alive, buried alive, slashed into a million pieces alive, just fucking ALIVE so they could scream and cry for someone to help them, only to find that they were completely alone in this world, whether they deserved it or not.
Lastly, I wanted myself to die. After I'd killed off everyone else, that is. I wanted to just lie down, curl up on a warm, soft bed with clean, white, linen sheets and a down comforter and down pillows and to sleep. Just sleep. Never wake up. I didn't need to feel any pain while I died, because I've felt enough while I was alive.
Then I'd leave the world, and so would everyone and everything else, and we'd all dissolve into nothing, because that'd be all that was left.
But I had to die last. And I had to die laughing, holding my pretty knife close to my chest, the blood of the world rusting on it, and die slowly, softly, fading away. My lips would curl up into a smile as I would slowly deteriorate into nothing, and I'd let everything go, never feeling any guilt for selling the world. Or, in my case, letting it die, myself along with.