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| a.connor a.doyle a.lindsey a.oz a.spike a.wesley a.xander a.other three.somes het.fic character.study |
| Title: Contemplation Author: Jaded Cherub Pairing: Angel/Spike implied Rating: PG-13 Setting: Apocolyptic future You forget the important things and remember the useless. Life's funny that way. A nail scratches down black enamel,his lover's idea, watching as the polish slowly peels away before fluttering into oblivion. There's a weird scratch on the nail now so what choice do you have but to peel off the rest of the polish? And then maybe you'll notice another crack and peel that one too. Can't entertain yourself with short brittle nails anymore so pull out a cigarette just for something to do. Just to feel paper sliding through your fingers, just to watch the brightness of the flame as it moves in the wind, just to feel the smoke filling your mouth with its bitter acidic taste that never leaves no matter how much you brush your teeth. Breath in. Breathe out. Once upon a time in a stillness like this you would have been able to hear your heart beating, you would be able to put your hand and feel the thrumming of the powerful organ where as now all you feel is skin. The ashes flicker and you suddenly get a flash back of Poland, of being about 5 miles away from one of the camps and watching as the black and white ash fell around you, fell around you and covered the landscape like a mockery of snow. Watch as the children laugh and twirl in it in their innocence not realizing that the reason it wasn't cold was because it has once been flesh. Over two centuries of slavery, abuse, rape, wars, pain and wonder why the fuck you're still here. Why the fuck you still care if the world ends tomorrow or not because as much as you can fight the darkness, the demons, the "bad" guys, you realize the end of the world will happen because of human actions. Because of the hate, vengeance, jealous, envy and desire that fills them all. A warning with every theory, a boom and mushroom cloud later and the next time look in a mirror see Death himself only without the pale horse. The warning did no good, no one paid attention to it. Go back home in an expensive car to a sprawling mansion with a large yawn, this is why those people will be killed. The risk was there that this would happen but money and notoriety called louder than fear. Pull into a driveway, sleep on Egyptian cotton sheets and pray to a God that hadn't been considered before the pen made its marks on the paper- that he has pity on the soul. A pale hand wraps around your wrist raises the cigarette to their lips and meet your brown gaze with his crisp blue eyes. Eyes that you fight for, eyes you would die for, and suddenly you remember why you give a fuck. Because if you can do something to ensure looking into those eyes for even one more day, or night, then you will. The End. |