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gen_storyteller2007-02-21 03:14 pm
shinodabear.livejournal.com) wrote in gen_storyteller2007-02-21 03:14 pm
Entry tags:
Ficlet: Perchance, Lindsey
Perchance
Summary: Dying, he realizes, is a lot like dreaming.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 278
Disclaimer: If, say, the Fourth of July was in fact a British holiday and America was run by the Natives, then I would be the owner of these creatures existing in the Buffyverse.
Dying, he realizes, is a lot like dreaming. Only, when you dream you don’t have the slightest idea that you’re dead. When you die, you’re pretty much guaranteed that there’s no waking up. He’s died enough times to recognize the feeling. How many times had he seen his own heart beating in the hands of a giant? The gun was a welcome change, as welcome as one would like to stare Death in the face. He’d expected something like it. The only difference was that, instead of the useless green karaoke machine pulling the trigger, it would have been Angel. It was always Angel. There on the street corner, hiding behind a newspaper. Driving past him in one of his fancy cars, probably going off to help the hopelessly delusional. In his own dreams, the ones where he was living.
Dying without Angel, he realizes, is a lot like disappointment. It’s like not getting that shiny red bicycle for Christmas. Not getting the promotion that you knew you deserved. Like being stood up at your own wedding. It leaves him feeling bitter and rejected, cast aside like he never really mattered. That’s what stings the most. He knew he mattered. It didn’t make a difference which side he played for. There were events that he was involved with that were pivotal to Angel’s growth as a Champion. He had a purpose there. Without him, Angel would have been nothing. Couldn’t the vampire see that? And couldn’t he see that sending the lackey to kill him was the worst mistake Angel could have made?
After all, you can wake yourself up from a dream, which is just like dying.
Summary: Dying, he realizes, is a lot like dreaming.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 278
Disclaimer: If, say, the Fourth of July was in fact a British holiday and America was run by the Natives, then I would be the owner of these creatures existing in the Buffyverse.
Dying, he realizes, is a lot like dreaming. Only, when you dream you don’t have the slightest idea that you’re dead. When you die, you’re pretty much guaranteed that there’s no waking up. He’s died enough times to recognize the feeling. How many times had he seen his own heart beating in the hands of a giant? The gun was a welcome change, as welcome as one would like to stare Death in the face. He’d expected something like it. The only difference was that, instead of the useless green karaoke machine pulling the trigger, it would have been Angel. It was always Angel. There on the street corner, hiding behind a newspaper. Driving past him in one of his fancy cars, probably going off to help the hopelessly delusional. In his own dreams, the ones where he was living.
Dying without Angel, he realizes, is a lot like disappointment. It’s like not getting that shiny red bicycle for Christmas. Not getting the promotion that you knew you deserved. Like being stood up at your own wedding. It leaves him feeling bitter and rejected, cast aside like he never really mattered. That’s what stings the most. He knew he mattered. It didn’t make a difference which side he played for. There were events that he was involved with that were pivotal to Angel’s growth as a Champion. He had a purpose there. Without him, Angel would have been nothing. Couldn’t the vampire see that? And couldn’t he see that sending the lackey to kill him was the worst mistake Angel could have made?
After all, you can wake yourself up from a dream, which is just like dying.