Title: The Crow and the Pitcher
Author: freak-pudding
Disclaimer: Buffy: The Vampire Slayer and all associated articles
are the sole property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. No copyright
infringement intended.
Summary: Clara Clara sweet girl sweet wonderful girl where are you?
Post- Intervention
Author's Note: See previous chapters.
Chapter Three: Pace Tua
He drifted in and out of oblivion for a long, long time. Memories, thoughts, dreams, and wakefulness blended together on the periphery of his awareness until he couldn't remember which was back and which was up.
He tried remembering, remembering as far back as he could but the farthest he could get was Clara. She had been tall and young and very, very pretty the first time he saw her. He had wrapped himself in the folds of Mother's skirts, refusing to come out and meet the pretty stranger.
"Come now William haven't you any manners? This is Clara she's a good girl good girl she'll take care of you instead of Nanny now isn't that nice of her? Come out William come out and let Clara get a good look at you."
"I want Nanny!"
He had sobbed for weeks and weeks and hours at finding Nanny was gone. She'd been seized in a fit of cholera late at night and was dead by the next morning. Mr. Foss had gathered up sweet Nanny and taken her out in a pretty pine box while Mother rocked in her chair and he played with his tin soldiers at the fire.
"That's alright Mrs. Bennett that's just fine I expect he'll warm to me warm right up to me and everything will be good as pie around here in no time."
"Yes yes you're right William go play by the hearth don't go in the fire William play in the fire."
No, no, no, that was wrong that wasn't right at all. Mother had always told him to stay away from the fire stay out of the fire don't go near it at all. But he was a risk-taker yes indeed he was and he liked the fire liked it so much that he'd bathed in it been baptized in it felt the fires of demonic resurrection swell around him and beat his body until it was black.
There was fire on him now fire in a ring around his right arm. He tried to wiggle his fingers flex his wrist clench the muscles in his forearm but it came to him quite suddenly too suddenly in fact that he couldn't wiggle his fingers or flex his wrist or clench the muscles in his forearm because he didn't have any of those things.
White-hot panic seized him as he tried to flail his arm back and forth. There was a funny prickly feeling just below his shoulder, a fire and a feeling of friction like something being dragged back and forth. He wanted to scream and shake and tell them no no you can't don't you dare you can't take my arm can't take my arm I need it I can't live without my arm a man needs his arm to write and punch and fight and play pool and read and be a man.
But the dragging continued and he felt it bite the bone bite the something hard so hard he thought he'd die from the pain. Something tickled the back of his eyeballs and his chest seized up in funny little fits and he realized that he was crying.
Crying because they were taking his arm. Those sonsofbitches why were they doing that didn't they know he needed his arm? He felt the grind of something sharp on his bone, and that's when he realized that he'd only felt the dragging and the grinding and the pulling and he'd only felt his chest seize hadn't heard the sobs hadn't heard the tears.
Oh god Clara oh god they've taken my arm and my ears and can't they see that I need those things? Man's gotta talk and laugh and be able to listen and sing and why aren't you answering me pretty Clara? Can't you hear me don't you see me? Clara please Clara make them stop make the bastards stop they're taking my arm I need my arm and my ears and they can't take those things and oh god it hurts why won't they stop?
