ficpost: "Wishing the World into Unbeing" (gen, Buffyverse ensemble)
Title: "Wishing the World into Unbeing"
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Angel
Featured Characters: Drusilla, Darla, Oz, Tara, Faith, Giles, Dawn, Fred.
Spoilers/Timeline: S6/3.
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Joss and Mutant Enemy, not me.
Notes: For firstgold in the 2008 apocalyptothon. The prompt was, "The world ends with a whimper."
Summary: A concentration of darkness.
Words: 1000
wishing the world into unbeing
Sunset:
Tonight, the earth enters the last half of its last rotation. The last semicircle of darkness holds the last half of the world in quietude. The last sunset, like the first, engenders no awe -- then, mortals had not learned to fear the sky and now, they have forgotten to look upward. They see only the hollowness inside their breasts, only the misery of day and the loneliness of night. They weep and worship and want and never think that the ending will be like the beginning, that the world will fall back into chaos as easily as it rose.
Drusilla:
Lost in a corn maze that reaches the sky, there are two ways in and no way out. She will be a grandmother -- she can see her bouncing boy, will read him fairy stories where the monsters always win, about wolves and beasts who devour towns, destroy cities. The world will end in a rain of fire, and her grandbaby will laugh as chaos falls. And then -- there is the other way. Drusilla rips a doll's head from its body, tries to drink, but there's no blood this way, no pain, no glory, only one final, whimpery silence.
Darla:
The baby -- this worm -- nauseates her. She wants to destroy it, wants it undone, wants it gone, wishes she could reach through her uterine walls and destroy the bastard child she never desired, never meant to create, never meant to fuck into existence. Instead of redeeming Angelus she created another monster who sucks not blood but joy from her veins, a babe mewling for a mother, an abomination. A world with this creature in it is no world Darla could suffer. She curses from her guts, her howling bowels, into the void that gave rise to her son.
Oz:
His routine's the same, every time, just as the wolf's the same, every time it reaches for the surface. A flicker in his peripheral vision, transforming the world into an infrared map of dangers and prey. A sharpness under his fingernails, a sour note in the breeze. The note's the key, unlock fear and uncover hope. Hold the note. Release the fear. He lets it settle into his mind's ear before he looks at his hands, watching in fascination as prickles of fur retreat painfully under his skin. Safe, again. He closes out the world, listens to one salvific note.
Tara:
The loneliness of solitary meditation overwhelms Tara, walls her in. Even at their worst, they would do this together. Even when Willow didn't need a moment of quiet to restore her magic, they'd sit together in candlelight and hold each other through the flames. Now, this ritual is only lonely. She hates that she still misses Willow, knowing what she's become, knowing what's broken inside her. A good witch wouldn't miss her. A good witch would pray for her redemption, but Tara just prays that she'll return, that someone will come to pry her out of the lonesomeness of ending.
Fred:
Hungry. Her brain says hide but her guts, swirling nauseously, say FOOD. She's gonna puke because she's eaten too much too fast, meat, and cheese and spices that her digestion, used to weeds and mud, doesn't remember. Her body recoils, but she's starving, starving, eats and eats. Tells her body, you're in California now. No need to hide from anyone. But her body won't listen, has its own protection, huddles under the bed and closes her eyes and wishes the world away. She'll open her eyes and be alone again, dirty and running -- the girl she's meant to be.
Giles:
If he would stop thinking for a moment, this would be much easier. His body knows; he's taught it since he was a schoolboy, to hold its own, to fight offensively, to take a fall. His body could seek out vampires. It could listen to the buzz of the streets, find leads, uncover petty plots and minor demons. He could make a life here, if his brain would quieten. But it won't, and Buffy, larger than life, extraordinary, heroic, fills his vision with her half-smile and her sad eyes. Be quiet, be quiet, just go away dammit! Damn this, Rupert!
Faith:
Life on the inside's kinda like life on the outside, boiled. All the same parts: fear and love and scheming, but mushy around the corners and tasteless. You can lose your mind in this place, and women have, but Faith can't. She's got something they don't, and it's not just the strength and speed to yadda yadda. It's not the streetfights, cuz they've all got that; it's not hope, cuz she's out of that, but it's -- the certainty that this will end. That there's life beyond the bars, even if the only promise that life brings is dying young.
Dawn:
Dawn could end the world tomorrow. She keeps her hope on that, when she's hiding in the bathroom with her stolen bling, counting carets and missing Mom. She could end the world tomorrow, and no one would guess it was her. There are so many people after an apocalypse. It could be anyone, but it would be her, because she's the Key, right, she's got the solution in her veins. She knows how to end things. There could be nothing -- no algebra, no death, no big sisters. Nothing but a green swirl of Key, then -- nothing at all.
Sunrise:
And the world -- despised, ignored, neglected, hated, wished away, dreamed into a void -- is not. There was a world here, once, holy records show, and deposed tyrants will testify that yes, this world paid boon -- to all gods, and to none, to demons, and to emptiness. This world teemed with life, with despair, with little pockets of hope centered around small heroes. This world whirled through darkness and cast small shards of light into chaos, and now, this world has been disowned and wished away. It no longer spins, no longer holds a single morsel of hope.
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Angel
Featured Characters: Drusilla, Darla, Oz, Tara, Faith, Giles, Dawn, Fred.
Spoilers/Timeline: S6/3.
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Joss and Mutant Enemy, not me.
Notes: For firstgold in the 2008 apocalyptothon. The prompt was, "The world ends with a whimper."
Summary: A concentration of darkness.
Words: 1000
wishing the world into unbeing
Sunset:
Tonight, the earth enters the last half of its last rotation. The last semicircle of darkness holds the last half of the world in quietude. The last sunset, like the first, engenders no awe -- then, mortals had not learned to fear the sky and now, they have forgotten to look upward. They see only the hollowness inside their breasts, only the misery of day and the loneliness of night. They weep and worship and want and never think that the ending will be like the beginning, that the world will fall back into chaos as easily as it rose.
Drusilla:
Lost in a corn maze that reaches the sky, there are two ways in and no way out. She will be a grandmother -- she can see her bouncing boy, will read him fairy stories where the monsters always win, about wolves and beasts who devour towns, destroy cities. The world will end in a rain of fire, and her grandbaby will laugh as chaos falls. And then -- there is the other way. Drusilla rips a doll's head from its body, tries to drink, but there's no blood this way, no pain, no glory, only one final, whimpery silence.
Darla:
The baby -- this worm -- nauseates her. She wants to destroy it, wants it undone, wants it gone, wishes she could reach through her uterine walls and destroy the bastard child she never desired, never meant to create, never meant to fuck into existence. Instead of redeeming Angelus she created another monster who sucks not blood but joy from her veins, a babe mewling for a mother, an abomination. A world with this creature in it is no world Darla could suffer. She curses from her guts, her howling bowels, into the void that gave rise to her son.
Oz:
His routine's the same, every time, just as the wolf's the same, every time it reaches for the surface. A flicker in his peripheral vision, transforming the world into an infrared map of dangers and prey. A sharpness under his fingernails, a sour note in the breeze. The note's the key, unlock fear and uncover hope. Hold the note. Release the fear. He lets it settle into his mind's ear before he looks at his hands, watching in fascination as prickles of fur retreat painfully under his skin. Safe, again. He closes out the world, listens to one salvific note.
Tara:
The loneliness of solitary meditation overwhelms Tara, walls her in. Even at their worst, they would do this together. Even when Willow didn't need a moment of quiet to restore her magic, they'd sit together in candlelight and hold each other through the flames. Now, this ritual is only lonely. She hates that she still misses Willow, knowing what she's become, knowing what's broken inside her. A good witch wouldn't miss her. A good witch would pray for her redemption, but Tara just prays that she'll return, that someone will come to pry her out of the lonesomeness of ending.
Fred:
Hungry. Her brain says hide but her guts, swirling nauseously, say FOOD. She's gonna puke because she's eaten too much too fast, meat, and cheese and spices that her digestion, used to weeds and mud, doesn't remember. Her body recoils, but she's starving, starving, eats and eats. Tells her body, you're in California now. No need to hide from anyone. But her body won't listen, has its own protection, huddles under the bed and closes her eyes and wishes the world away. She'll open her eyes and be alone again, dirty and running -- the girl she's meant to be.
Giles:
If he would stop thinking for a moment, this would be much easier. His body knows; he's taught it since he was a schoolboy, to hold its own, to fight offensively, to take a fall. His body could seek out vampires. It could listen to the buzz of the streets, find leads, uncover petty plots and minor demons. He could make a life here, if his brain would quieten. But it won't, and Buffy, larger than life, extraordinary, heroic, fills his vision with her half-smile and her sad eyes. Be quiet, be quiet, just go away dammit! Damn this, Rupert!
Faith:
Life on the inside's kinda like life on the outside, boiled. All the same parts: fear and love and scheming, but mushy around the corners and tasteless. You can lose your mind in this place, and women have, but Faith can't. She's got something they don't, and it's not just the strength and speed to yadda yadda. It's not the streetfights, cuz they've all got that; it's not hope, cuz she's out of that, but it's -- the certainty that this will end. That there's life beyond the bars, even if the only promise that life brings is dying young.
Dawn:
Dawn could end the world tomorrow. She keeps her hope on that, when she's hiding in the bathroom with her stolen bling, counting carets and missing Mom. She could end the world tomorrow, and no one would guess it was her. There are so many people after an apocalypse. It could be anyone, but it would be her, because she's the Key, right, she's got the solution in her veins. She knows how to end things. There could be nothing -- no algebra, no death, no big sisters. Nothing but a green swirl of Key, then -- nothing at all.
Sunrise:
And the world -- despised, ignored, neglected, hated, wished away, dreamed into a void -- is not. There was a world here, once, holy records show, and deposed tyrants will testify that yes, this world paid boon -- to all gods, and to none, to demons, and to emptiness. This world teemed with life, with despair, with little pockets of hope centered around small heroes. This world whirled through darkness and cast small shards of light into chaos, and now, this world has been disowned and wished away. It no longer spins, no longer holds a single morsel of hope.