This place lies within [The depths of my dreams ]
["It's a woman thing. I sense it. I feel it. Plus, last week she said there was a void and something was missing."
| Tadpole]
There is heat on her skin and the sun in her eyes as she tilts her face up. The pure white light obliterates everything and makes her squeeze her eyes shut. In contrast the dirt is cool beneath her hands, black soil damp with retained moisture. She has a tray full of bulbs next to her, daffodils she thinks and she’s planting them in the ground one by one. A smile curves her lips as she watches a green shoot come through the soil, sprouting quickly and blooming bright yellow petals. Around her the city is moving but she’s not paying it any mind. She’s gardening, preparing her flowers for what’s to come so they can grow strong and thrive. She can see a hammock swinging out of the corner of her eye and she thinks when she’s done, she’ll take a nap.
“That’s quite good, Buffy. I had my doubts, you know but as usual you’ve proven them thoroughly without ground.”
She soaks up the compliment from Giles the way the flowers soak up the water she sprinkles on them. She’s still tending her garden when there’s a fat, wet drop on her shoulder. She looks up at the sky again but the sun is still high in the sky and the heat has turned blistering.
“Now you’ve gone and done it. Ruined your new dress.”
The voice belongs to Renee who is standing off to the side, her throat ripped open. The edges of her wound are drying in the sun, blood turning brown. Buffy looks down again amid a shower of fat, wet drops. Renee is right. The white, Donna Reed style dress is ruined but it’s not rain that’s pouring all over her. It’s blood.
“You’ve got to watch the flowers, Buffy!” Giles scolds and she looks down to find they’re all dead. They’ve bloomed, struggled and died. She shakes her head because this is wrong. This is all wrong and she’s scrabbling in the soil that’s gone warm and rancid. She feels it before she sees it, slick, wet, wrapping around her wrist and she thinks it’s just a root but she pulls and it pulls back.
“Giles! It’s got me!”
“Hmmm, I’ll have to consult my books, Buffy.”
“Renee?” she squeaks a bit as she’s pulled closer to the soil, threatening to go under.
But Renee is silent, her body sprawled across the corner of the garden and it’s still raining blood.
***
Buffy sits up with a start, breath caught in her throat. Her chest heaves and the sheet sticks to her body with cold sweat.
“Blood. It was raining blood and I was wearing white.”
| Tadpole]
There is heat on her skin and the sun in her eyes as she tilts her face up. The pure white light obliterates everything and makes her squeeze her eyes shut. In contrast the dirt is cool beneath her hands, black soil damp with retained moisture. She has a tray full of bulbs next to her, daffodils she thinks and she’s planting them in the ground one by one. A smile curves her lips as she watches a green shoot come through the soil, sprouting quickly and blooming bright yellow petals. Around her the city is moving but she’s not paying it any mind. She’s gardening, preparing her flowers for what’s to come so they can grow strong and thrive. She can see a hammock swinging out of the corner of her eye and she thinks when she’s done, she’ll take a nap.
“That’s quite good, Buffy. I had my doubts, you know but as usual you’ve proven them thoroughly without ground.”
She soaks up the compliment from Giles the way the flowers soak up the water she sprinkles on them. She’s still tending her garden when there’s a fat, wet drop on her shoulder. She looks up at the sky again but the sun is still high in the sky and the heat has turned blistering.
“Now you’ve gone and done it. Ruined your new dress.”
The voice belongs to Renee who is standing off to the side, her throat ripped open. The edges of her wound are drying in the sun, blood turning brown. Buffy looks down again amid a shower of fat, wet drops. Renee is right. The white, Donna Reed style dress is ruined but it’s not rain that’s pouring all over her. It’s blood.
“You’ve got to watch the flowers, Buffy!” Giles scolds and she looks down to find they’re all dead. They’ve bloomed, struggled and died. She shakes her head because this is wrong. This is all wrong and she’s scrabbling in the soil that’s gone warm and rancid. She feels it before she sees it, slick, wet, wrapping around her wrist and she thinks it’s just a root but she pulls and it pulls back.
“Giles! It’s got me!”
“Hmmm, I’ll have to consult my books, Buffy.”
“Renee?” she squeaks a bit as she’s pulled closer to the soil, threatening to go under.
But Renee is silent, her body sprawled across the corner of the garden and it’s still raining blood.
***
Buffy sits up with a start, breath caught in her throat. Her chest heaves and the sheet sticks to her body with cold sweat.
“Blood. It was raining blood and I was wearing white.”