15: Names and Hymns - Part 1

[hawkedup.livejournal.com]

Title: 15: Names and Hymns – Part 1
Author: hawkedup

Summary: This takes place during the events of Angel: After the Fall. This is part of my “15” series in which we more deeply explore the minor characters of this and every other ‘Verse.


Rating: PG
Warnings: Implied Violence
Length: ~ 1,000 words
Disclaimer: Based on characters and situations portrayed in Buffy the Vampire Slayer created by Joss Whedon, Angel created by Joss Whedon and David Greenwalt, and Angel: After the Fall created by Joss Whedon and Brian Lynch.

Characters: Anne.

15: Names and Hymns – Part 1

by: hawkedup

 

(Enslaved by sin and bound in chains,/Beneath its dreadful tyrant sway,/

And doomed to everlasting pains,/We wretched, guilty captives lay.)

                                                                        - Hymn by Anne Steel (c. 1760)

 

A good friend once told me to start my memoirs with something unique about myself—like an obsession. She worked at the Laundromat and just happened to be the best undiscovered novelist in the country. I read everything she ever wrote.

            
I hope her manuscripts survived the fall.

            
I hope she survived the fall.

           
I planned to write a book a few years ago. I thought that if the kids here could read what I went through when I was their age, that they might be inspired to do good in some way. I knew few would voluntarily read anything, but it was a nice thought. The possibility that reading my words would somehow turn their lives around… I even started writing. But when I started relating the major turning points in my life, I realized that they were all of the supernatural variety. I put the book down and haven’t written anything since.

           
Until now.

            
So here’s my obsession: Names.

            
Names fascinate me. They always have. I just like them. Their etymology, their history, their meanings. How some of them seem to fit a face perfectly while others sound haphazard. That’s probably why I’ve had so many during my lifetime. Also, the constantly on the run thing.

            
“Change names every time you change cities,” Ricky always said. I won’t list all the names I’ve ever used here. Despite everything I’ve seen in this… place, I’m too embarrassed to list them, even in a private diary. How silly is that? But if the name “Sister Sunshine” was one of the better aliases you ever came up with… Well, that says a lot about a person.

          
Currently, and legally, my name is Anne Steele—like the hymnist. I wasn’t born Anne Steele, though, despite what my birth certificate may or may not indicate. The only reason Anne Steel even exists on paper and was able to get a job as a social worker at the East Hills Teen Center was the doings of an evil (but cute) lawyer from Wolfram & Hart who just wanted to use her and all her good works as a tax write off or something.

           
Wolfram & Hart. That is one name I definitely do not like.

            
They’re the ones behind this. I know it. I hear the rumors in the streets.

            
Anyway, I like the name Anne, and I liked the person who gave it to me. It accomplishes its primary function, which is to give a name to the person that everyone else at East Hills finds it necessary to complain to and about. It fits me well enough, too, or so I’ve been told. Sometimes, if I squint in just the right way when I look into the mirror, I can see a secure woman with a real, important purpose in life. That woman could definitely be an Anne.

            
It has such a regal sound to it. Like Anne Boleyn. It amazes me how often one of the kids brings up Anne Boleyn in casual conversation. Queen of England. Wife of Henry VIII. Mother of Queen Elizabeth I. She was smart, and royal, and a great queen, they say. They tend to leave out the part where she was executed in the Tower of London when she was twenty-nine because she hadn’t produced a male heir yet, but that’s okay.

           
It’s truly remarkable that the kids even know the name Anne Boleyn. They are not, usually, the formally educated type. They are from the streets, most grew up in broken homes, and many of them are runaways. Like me. When they me about Anne Boleyn, they mean well. That’s what really matters. In my line of work, you take what you can get. I mean, the kids just talk about her to impress me. Like I’m someone who deserves to be impressed.

            
About a week ago, something happened. Something horrible. I’ve seen friends, people I care about, some like they were my very own children, people I have dedicated my life to protecting… I’ve seen them die at the hands of vampires and demons and things I couldn’t name if I tried. I’ve seen them fed to buildings just to make a point. Some of them were…

            
But I’ve seen a lot of horrible things in my life. I did my fair share when I was younger. Plus, life in the inner city of Los Angeles, even under normal circumstances, isn’t what you’d call picturesque to begin with. But the things I’ve seen in the past few weeks…

            
No, I don’t want to write about that here. I was going to, but I have to keep this diary at least somewhat clean because it is my safe haven at the end of the day. If I had to live through the horrors of my life during the day and then write about them at night…. I’d break down. That is something I can’t let happen, no matter what. I have to stay strong.

            
These kids need me. If I break, they break, and a broken Anne can’t help them through this. Some of them still can’t even comprehend what is happening—they think that the military or their moms will come and save them. Or that they will wake up safe in their beds tomorrow and find that Los Angeles being sent to Hell was nothing but a bad dream. They have had hard lives, but none of them can comprehend what it’s like to be a slave.

            
And I see the way they look at me, like I’m going to somehow save the day. Like I’m going to set them free. But I’m not, not by a long shot. I’m not strong enough. I wish I could tell them that. I wish I could tell them that I’m just a stupid kid, too! That I’m a runaway with no home who never did anything good or brave in her life. I need saving just as much as them! But I couldn’t say that. They have hope now, in me, and I can’t deny them hope.

            
Especially false hope.

            
Dear Diary. My name is Anne, and I help people. I hope that when this is all over I’ll remember that about myself. Fight the good fight, Annie. 

Even in Hell. 

I want to write more, but it's Lights Out now. I'll write more when I get the chance.

 

Comments

[sockmonkeyhere.livejournal.com]

Anne is such a good, grounding character. I hope we see her in the AtS comics, and I hope she's portrayed the way you've shown her here. Kudos!

Love this bit:

I hope her manuscripts survived the fall.

I hope she survived the fall.

And:

I’ve seen them fed to buildings just to make a point.

That's just bone-chilling.