By fracturedheart
disclaimer: Buffy belongs to Mutant Enemy, Fox, and Joss Whedon. None belongs to me.
summary: Dawn contemplates her life.
She slipped - void of her feelings, into a bottomless pit of nothing. Nothing. What does that really mean, she asks herself. Is it dying? Is it stopping?
Is it being?
Is it waiting there, just existing? She thinks that she knows. Somewhere, deep inside her, she knows. She knows what that 'nothing' is. She knows the deep feeling of the nothingness, and how it's always buried inside of her. Always. There are times when she feels like it's almost gone, like the burden of that fateful night was taken away, when there was laughter and fun and family, but its all gone. Into the nothingness.
She's fallen. She's broken and she's dead inside. She doesn't just know it, or think it. She feels it. Deep inside there's that nagging feeling. She's always been broken, always been departed. Separated from herself. The last time she cut herself she used an old razor. Lying so innocently and conveniently next to the sink. She cut herself. A small thin line; so neat, so beautiful. Then the red. The crimson. The intoxicating allure of the blood. It all spread and spread and right then she felt so free. Like she was flying higher into the sky and that was all that mattered then. She felt such solace. Such peace.
Buffy took away that peace.
So now it's gone and Dawn feels hollow.
Perhaps this is the nothingness. Because it's always there. It's there and it never stops.
Yes, Dawn decides. This is nothing.