The room was cluttered. Debris scattered the floor. Sunnydale had collapsed. Days had gone by, no light penetrated the dark cave like room. A crumpled figure moaned. It slowly rose. The battered and brused body was unclothed, flinching with every movement. As it hobbled around the unlit room it stumbled over pillars. It began to crawl up the spiral stairs, gasping for breath. Reaching the outside, moonlight spread across it's face. Spike.
Stuck inside the great crater that was once Sunnydale. He looked up and let the light warm him, the wind whisteled. Spike began to climb the wall of dibris, not knowing why. Not knowing, why he was there, why he wasn't in his crypt. Suddenly memories flashed through his mind. . ."I love you." Buffy had said. His heart warmed before he realized he had died, yet again. She didn't love him, he was heroic. He continued to climb, stumbling falling down the steep edges again.
He finally reached the surface, a road. He followed it with his eyes, seeing it disapear into the horizon. Spike dared not to look back, see what had really become of his town. Afraid to see what he thought to be true. He could handle his death, but could he handle other's? His muscles ached and his breath wheazed.
He colapsed onto the ground, lifting his head slightly. He gazed ahead. Afraid to look back.
He had to keep moving, but he had no strength. His head turned, to look to the side. Flowers stood there, thousands of flowers. A table stood off to the side of the road. It was covered in a red, silk tablecloth. Pictures were arranged on it. Small children, old couples, pets.
Spike rose from the ground, walking toward the table. Slowly he pulled the tablecloth off the table. The pictures fell. He winced, realizing these were the fallen people, the ones who had also died in the destruction. He wraped himself in the cloth, shivering slightly.
Spike spun his head away from the pictures, trying to tear the grusome thoughts from his head. Taking a quick glance to the pictures he looked for a picture of anyone he knew. His head tore from them once again, afraid to see what he thought to be true.
He began to walk, the cloth dragging behind him. Pictures still caught inside the tangles. He looked back. Pulling the cloth to disentangle the pictures, he saw the crater, just visible in the clouded light. He glanced at the pictures, pulling the cloth from underneath them.
A white gown caught his eye. A bride standing next to her groom. He studdied the picture for a moment, not meaning to. Anya, standing next to Xander. Not a bride, a would-be bride. A would be groom.
His face fell, a single tear coming from his eyes. Suddenly he pulled his head up. A stern look upon it. He began walking forward, the picure slid off the cloth. He could hear it clank as the frame hit the cement road. He walked onward, following the road, into the horizon.
Stuck inside the great crater that was once Sunnydale. He looked up and let the light warm him, the wind whisteled. Spike began to climb the wall of dibris, not knowing why. Not knowing, why he was there, why he wasn't in his crypt. Suddenly memories flashed through his mind. . ."I love you." Buffy had said. His heart warmed before he realized he had died, yet again. She didn't love him, he was heroic. He continued to climb, stumbling falling down the steep edges again.
He finally reached the surface, a road. He followed it with his eyes, seeing it disapear into the horizon. Spike dared not to look back, see what had really become of his town. Afraid to see what he thought to be true. He could handle his death, but could he handle other's? His muscles ached and his breath wheazed.
He colapsed onto the ground, lifting his head slightly. He gazed ahead. Afraid to look back.
He had to keep moving, but he had no strength. His head turned, to look to the side. Flowers stood there, thousands of flowers. A table stood off to the side of the road. It was covered in a red, silk tablecloth. Pictures were arranged on it. Small children, old couples, pets.
Spike rose from the ground, walking toward the table. Slowly he pulled the tablecloth off the table. The pictures fell. He winced, realizing these were the fallen people, the ones who had also died in the destruction. He wraped himself in the cloth, shivering slightly.
Spike spun his head away from the pictures, trying to tear the grusome thoughts from his head. Taking a quick glance to the pictures he looked for a picture of anyone he knew. His head tore from them once again, afraid to see what he thought to be true.
He began to walk, the cloth dragging behind him. Pictures still caught inside the tangles. He looked back. Pulling the cloth to disentangle the pictures, he saw the crater, just visible in the clouded light. He glanced at the pictures, pulling the cloth from underneath them.
A white gown caught his eye. A bride standing next to her groom. He studdied the picture for a moment, not meaning to. Anya, standing next to Xander. Not a bride, a would-be bride. A would be groom.
His face fell, a single tear coming from his eyes. Suddenly he pulled his head up. A stern look upon it. He began walking forward, the picure slid off the cloth. He could hear it clank as the frame hit the cement road. He walked onward, following the road, into the horizon.