Title: Snatches of Reality
Category: angst, surreal
Summary: Let’s just say….there is always a price…
Spoilers: none- unless you don’t know who Dru is
Disclaimer: The characters in the Angelverse were created by Joss Whedon & David Greenwalt. No infringement is intended, no profit is made.
Notes: If you actually want to know what is going on here, wait until I have figured it out first… or let me know?
Feedback:Very useful tool, I could probably use it , or I may just tuck it in a draw.
She blinked. When she opens her eyes he is there, just standing watching her. She should have been worried. He shouldn’t have been able to be here. So she should be worried, but she wasn’t. She just stared, as the faint moonlight flickered across the room. The curtains fluttered and she shivered slightly at the rush of cool air
She looks down at the smooth black leather of his shoes, his favourites. She can’t look at his face, meet his eye. Not yet anyway. She swallows and he speaks, voice barely disturbing the night air. But it’s enough and startled her gaze jumps to his face. The pretty maids have left their rows. He speaks quietly in his deep reassuring timbre, but still she had no idea what he was talking about. None. He reminded her of Druscilla now, the forever child.
The world is going to go topsy turvy. He giggled, it was strange he’d never giggled before… Before he had…
Her mind shied away from that thought and she looked at him, properly this time, staring at him as she moved, slowly pushing back the blankets covering her fragile body. She crept forward on the bed only half listening to his fading litany. Nothing will make sense, nothing as it was, everything as it should have been. Dead, alive we will be what we will, when it is done. Done…
She just needed to touch him, to reach out. He would calm then she knew. She could stop him from speaking, stop him from thinking. Just stop. She stopped. About an inch from where his face was. Bewitched.Nothing is ever going to be the same. She felt his breath whisper across her face.
“What. What are you trying to tell me?” Her voice sounds unnaturally loud and she winces, however much this happens she can never get used to it.
She blinks. He is gone.
She looks around the empty room and sighs. She’d think it was a dream but she can still smell him here, like roses. That too will fade, always does. Like the heady copper smell of blood and the ligering haze of ashes coming from this same room. Nobody had believed she had wanted to stay in here not after…
She had though, and he visited her, no-one knew. He would come but he couldn’t tell her anything. Not really. It always came out jumbled, she never got it. She never understood anything at all until it was too late…
It should be painful to have him come back. Almost every night. But it’s not, she can’t even pretend that it is. She likes seeing him, even briefly. Everytime he leaves she contemplates going with him. She can’t though, not now at least. Maybe later. She tells herself that everytime. It doesn’t work. It does hold back the pain for a while though.
She associates these midnight visits to dreams, wonderful dreams. They aren’t. Not really, but she shies from the word hallucination and dreads the other possibility.
The other one made everything real, the blood and pain. She had never understood what he had been trying to tell her that night, not until she had come home to her room. Until it was too late…
So she calls them dreams for the same reason she never visits the graveyard or goes to school or even out of her room. She doesn’t speak but for when he is here, doesn’t eat, doesn’t move and waits for him to come.
If she doesn’t blink then it isn’t real. Nothing is real…
FIN? Not quite…