Joined: 13 Dec 2010
|Posted: Sun Jun 12, 2011 6:55 pm Post subject: NOT OVER AND OVER
|OBVIOUSLY, my first stab at this fic writing thing.
Not Over and Over
The pain of his wide back walking away with no say between them, into time stretching out forever without, wasn't the shock. He didn't diminish, he didn't get smaller. He filled out, bigger, wider and more in the increasing darkness, filling up dread and helpless calm into an emptiness or a loneliness that solidified love shared. Not over and over always the same moment. The quiet looming of him, barely big enough to hold the shameless clawing of hysteria in each nerve cell to both run and grip, were ripped apart in rivulets of plasma and sparking crazy, which never did find the path together to make things like lungs, and voice, shriek the planet into that black, looming smudge of everything and full stop.
The backdrop of fuzzy normal stunk in smears of every kind of death, the immedicacy of the continual wail of sirens growing insistent and finally desperate; stoaccato shouts, and twisting screeches of humans and metal; growling roars of monsters and sucking flame, the strobing stabs of light licking at fire and wildly pointing to "now," "this," "here" " look," "lear" burning into the boring drone of a continual rhythmic loop of puzzle pieces, endlessly jiggling in a box of black and round or up in red rage, melting brick, shrinking metal, arm or hands, finger sticks, pieces of face in billows of smoke and consuming circles of fire, vowel mouths, and blocks of shape that were far away and forever the same.
Buffy realized just then, for the first time really--she would die seeing him go with a good-bye all said and not in "not over and over." Her life was a slayer's life. Another one and another one would follow, like that stream of water tapped from some well that got created to fill the sad little fire hose before angels knew their wings would always be bloody, the drips, falling to the earth in grand gesture to spit, splatter, and hiss to reveal the mess, the destroyed, the damaged and dead. And Angel would always be there to see that. Without her. She saw in his cowardice he knew that her love was forever; and his knowing that meant his love could only mean he was sorry each and every now he stayed. Not over and over. The shock she knew this all in the thought of her short life and long death was her love child to him; she was his one and just another one was his.