Flash challenge: mortality rate
Boy, this took me to an unexpectedly sad place...
Title: Mortality Rate
Rating: PG
Words: 250
Character: Xander
Prompt: The Prom flash challenge 'the lowest mortality rate of any graduating class in Sunnydale history'
A/N: all credit to buffy.wikia.com for the student list!
Not getting Class Clown isn’t an omen. No, seriously, Xander. We’re not going to freak out about this. The rest of your life isn’t necessarily going to suck this bad.
But he is pissed. He’s not paying attention. He’s not feeling the Prom Love.
The awards go on forever.
Till Jonathan says (and you can hear the capital letters), “The Lowest Mortality Rate of Any Graduating Class In Sunnydale History.”
And it’s the truth. The class cheers. It’s relief: they made it through. Buffy’s smiling. There’s a shiny sparkly prize. Xander is truly, truly pleased. Buffy is the greatest - about damn time they said thank you.
But he’s floating high on a cloud of disappointment and clarity. And he thinks, if you were once Theresa Klusmeyer or Cameron Walker, you aren’t here to cheer her. Nor Chris Boal or Emily Djiemanowicz or Gage Petronzi or Kevin Benedict.
Andrew Hoelich is gone. No Dave Kirby collecting ‘Most likely to live in a darkened room with only his laptop for company’. Sheila Martini, class rebel no more. Jack O’Toole has knifed his last guy (which, okay, has its upside).
No Jesse McNally here either. That stings, still. Of course it does.
It adds up to one hell of a lot of dead people. Just in the one class. Sunnydale's been here for a century. Who's winning, really?
Looking round the party room, at Willow, Buffy, Oz, Anya, Harmony, Cordelia, Larry, Holden, Jonathan - Xander can’t help but wonder how many of them will get out of Sunnydale alive.
***
Title: Mortality Rate
Rating: PG
Words: 250
Character: Xander
Prompt: The Prom flash challenge 'the lowest mortality rate of any graduating class in Sunnydale history'
A/N: all credit to buffy.wikia.com for the student list!
Not getting Class Clown isn’t an omen. No, seriously, Xander. We’re not going to freak out about this. The rest of your life isn’t necessarily going to suck this bad.
But he is pissed. He’s not paying attention. He’s not feeling the Prom Love.
The awards go on forever.
Till Jonathan says (and you can hear the capital letters), “The Lowest Mortality Rate of Any Graduating Class In Sunnydale History.”
And it’s the truth. The class cheers. It’s relief: they made it through. Buffy’s smiling. There’s a shiny sparkly prize. Xander is truly, truly pleased. Buffy is the greatest - about damn time they said thank you.
But he’s floating high on a cloud of disappointment and clarity. And he thinks, if you were once Theresa Klusmeyer or Cameron Walker, you aren’t here to cheer her. Nor Chris Boal or Emily Djiemanowicz or Gage Petronzi or Kevin Benedict.
Andrew Hoelich is gone. No Dave Kirby collecting ‘Most likely to live in a darkened room with only his laptop for company’. Sheila Martini, class rebel no more. Jack O’Toole has knifed his last guy (which, okay, has its upside).
No Jesse McNally here either. That stings, still. Of course it does.
It adds up to one hell of a lot of dead people. Just in the one class. Sunnydale's been here for a century. Who's winning, really?
Looking round the party room, at Willow, Buffy, Oz, Anya, Harmony, Cordelia, Larry, Holden, Jonathan - Xander can’t help but wonder how many of them will get out of Sunnydale alive.
***