Categories > TV > Buffy the Vampire Slayer > A Mirror of Being
Prologue: "The Clock Struck Twenty Minutes to Six"
0 reviews"We should be a mirror of being: we are God in miniature." Nietzsche. Dark.
2Cliche
A Mirror of Being
Prologue: "The Clock Struck Twenty Minutes to Six"
Written by alliterator
Thanks to babies-stole-my-dingo, my awesome beta reader!
4
Newton's Third Law states that for every force in the Universe to occur, it must have an equal force that is opposite it. This is called a symmetry principle and it is one of the fundamental laws of the Universe. It is also a fundamental law of the Multiverse.
This story is about Newton's Third Law. It is also about symmetry. But mainly, this is story is about when a person wakes up in the morning and looks in the mirror and sees a completely different person than the one that went to bed last night.
3
It is not widely known that there is more than one version of Evil. There is chaotic, ever-changing Evil, which follows no rules or boundaries or laws and there is the orderly Evil, which does follow rules - but only those it makes up.
It is most widely agreed, with those who have encountered both the chaotic Evil and orderly Evil, that order is the more effective and therefore, more evil of the two.
Which is why the little girl in the White Room in Wolfram & Hart was worried. Her name, though few knew it, was Mesekh-tet and she had been chosen to be the Senior Partners connection to their Earthly servants.
The reason she was worried was because a butterfly had flapped its wings.
Perhaps an explanation is in order. There is a question which refers to the predictability of chaos: "Does the flap of a butterfly's wings in Brazil set off a tornado in Texas?" Of course, this is a metaphorical butterfly with metaphorical wings. It doesn't have to be a butterfly, it can be anything.
A stone skipping in a pond. A woman laughing. A fight between gangs.
A dark spell. A resurrection.
In the blindingly bright White Room, where men go mad, Mesekh-tet shivered. She did not like Chaos. And the butterfly was flying.
2
Three years ago, there was no mental ward at the Sunnydale Hospital. If a patient came in, they were transferred to a place in Los Angeles if they had enough money, released to the public if they didn't. But that was before Glory. Before she dug her fingers into the heads of so many people and fed upon something most precious: sanity.
Now, there is a whole wing. After finding all of the patients wandering the streets one night (their hands cut, their clothes dirty, and what was that tower doing there, was it there before?) extra security was added. An orderly is kept at the door at all times. Most of the beds have restraints.
Matthew Price was there now. He was one of Glory's victims - one of the ones that survived the Queller, that is - and his mind is shattered. There was a time when he ran a successful business, but that time is past. His wife used to visit him everyday, until she got tired of the rantings and ravings of a madman and went home weeping and never returned.
In the still of night, Matthew feels around his bed. He had saved a paperclip, stolen from a nurse's desk, and he twists it now into unnatural shapes. He twists it around and around. It is like he is; bendable, but if you twist it out of shape too much, it will snap.
Matthew is about to snap like the paperclip. It is at that moment, that he feels something. It's not completely there yet, but he can still feel it. It's from... someplace else. And it's coming here. Matthew knows this just like he knew to go to Glory that night. Because whatever is coming, he knows what it is. It is like Glory.
It will consume this sane world and make it like him. It will shatter all it touches.
And in the dead of night, Matthew smiles as he finally breaks the paperclip.
1
They call this time Indian summer. It's that tranquil time at the beginning of autumn, right after the raging heat of summer, but before the calm winds of fall. This is a time of transition, a time where things are no longer what they were, but not what they will be yet. The caterpillars are in their cocoons, the birds are preparing to go south, and there is something in the air. It's foreboding.
Buffy Summers doesn't dream. Between her daily work as a (now former) college student and her nightly work as the Vampire Slayer, she has, at most, three hours of sleep each night. It's enough for her.
But in those three hours, she doesn't dream. Neither does she have nightmares. What she sees in those three hours is worse than nightmares - premonitions of the future, visions of the past, specters of the present. By the time she wakes up, she can understand none of them and goes about her day thinking they are nothing but the reveries of a vivid imagination that's seen - and killed - one too many nasty demons.
But sometimes there are premonitions which stand out, which are different than the rest. Events so momentous, so life changing - for hers or for others - that they become larger and stick out in her sleep.
One is happening now:
Nighttime. The cold stillness of the night makes the skin of Buffy's arms tingle. Something's out there. Something's coming for her. But what? She can't see up ahead, but she can see what's behind her. The road she has already taken.
Lights turn on and she can suddenly see something. The road ahead of her is blocked... with bodies. She can make out dozens of bodies lined up, their blood making the road underneath slick. She walks forward to look at their faces. Willow. Xander. Giles. Dawn. Every single one of her friends and family are there, their frozen faces glaring at her, their eyes cold marbles.
"Have some respect for the dead, luv," a voice says. Buffy looks through the bodies until she recognizes where the voice comes from; Spike, who's lying on his side, blood dribbling from his mouth and nose. "Why don't you leave us be? Why can't you let us go?"
"What are you talking about?" Buffy says.
"You know," Spike says. His arm suddenly moves and she sees he's gripping a wooden stake. "If you're here, that means it's won. So why won't you leave?"
"I don't know what you are talking about," Buffy says.
"Of course you don't, pet," Spike says. He motions to her with the stake. "You know, while you're here, you could do me a favor. For old times sake."
"What?" Buffy asks.
"End it, please," Spike says. "Don't you think I've gone on long enough? Just end it." He holds up the stake.
Buffy slowly takes the stake from his blood-slick hand. Panic courses through her body as she grips it and out of reflex, she thrusts it forward.
"Thanks, luv," Spike says, "Knew I could count on you." His body slowly turns to dust in front of her eyes.
And in the cool night of an Indian summer, Buffy wakes in a cold sweat.
0
I dreamed a dream next Tuesday
Week beneath the apple tree;
I thought my eyes were big pork-pies,
And my nose was Stilton cheese.
The clock struck twenty minutes to six
When a frog sat on my knee;
I asked him to lend me eighteen pence,
But he borrowed a shilling of me.
- a children's rhyme
Prologue: "The Clock Struck Twenty Minutes to Six"
Written by alliterator
Thanks to babies-stole-my-dingo, my awesome beta reader!
4
Newton's Third Law states that for every force in the Universe to occur, it must have an equal force that is opposite it. This is called a symmetry principle and it is one of the fundamental laws of the Universe. It is also a fundamental law of the Multiverse.
This story is about Newton's Third Law. It is also about symmetry. But mainly, this is story is about when a person wakes up in the morning and looks in the mirror and sees a completely different person than the one that went to bed last night.
3
It is not widely known that there is more than one version of Evil. There is chaotic, ever-changing Evil, which follows no rules or boundaries or laws and there is the orderly Evil, which does follow rules - but only those it makes up.
It is most widely agreed, with those who have encountered both the chaotic Evil and orderly Evil, that order is the more effective and therefore, more evil of the two.
Which is why the little girl in the White Room in Wolfram & Hart was worried. Her name, though few knew it, was Mesekh-tet and she had been chosen to be the Senior Partners connection to their Earthly servants.
The reason she was worried was because a butterfly had flapped its wings.
Perhaps an explanation is in order. There is a question which refers to the predictability of chaos: "Does the flap of a butterfly's wings in Brazil set off a tornado in Texas?" Of course, this is a metaphorical butterfly with metaphorical wings. It doesn't have to be a butterfly, it can be anything.
A stone skipping in a pond. A woman laughing. A fight between gangs.
A dark spell. A resurrection.
In the blindingly bright White Room, where men go mad, Mesekh-tet shivered. She did not like Chaos. And the butterfly was flying.
2
Three years ago, there was no mental ward at the Sunnydale Hospital. If a patient came in, they were transferred to a place in Los Angeles if they had enough money, released to the public if they didn't. But that was before Glory. Before she dug her fingers into the heads of so many people and fed upon something most precious: sanity.
Now, there is a whole wing. After finding all of the patients wandering the streets one night (their hands cut, their clothes dirty, and what was that tower doing there, was it there before?) extra security was added. An orderly is kept at the door at all times. Most of the beds have restraints.
Matthew Price was there now. He was one of Glory's victims - one of the ones that survived the Queller, that is - and his mind is shattered. There was a time when he ran a successful business, but that time is past. His wife used to visit him everyday, until she got tired of the rantings and ravings of a madman and went home weeping and never returned.
In the still of night, Matthew feels around his bed. He had saved a paperclip, stolen from a nurse's desk, and he twists it now into unnatural shapes. He twists it around and around. It is like he is; bendable, but if you twist it out of shape too much, it will snap.
Matthew is about to snap like the paperclip. It is at that moment, that he feels something. It's not completely there yet, but he can still feel it. It's from... someplace else. And it's coming here. Matthew knows this just like he knew to go to Glory that night. Because whatever is coming, he knows what it is. It is like Glory.
It will consume this sane world and make it like him. It will shatter all it touches.
And in the dead of night, Matthew smiles as he finally breaks the paperclip.
1
They call this time Indian summer. It's that tranquil time at the beginning of autumn, right after the raging heat of summer, but before the calm winds of fall. This is a time of transition, a time where things are no longer what they were, but not what they will be yet. The caterpillars are in their cocoons, the birds are preparing to go south, and there is something in the air. It's foreboding.
Buffy Summers doesn't dream. Between her daily work as a (now former) college student and her nightly work as the Vampire Slayer, she has, at most, three hours of sleep each night. It's enough for her.
But in those three hours, she doesn't dream. Neither does she have nightmares. What she sees in those three hours is worse than nightmares - premonitions of the future, visions of the past, specters of the present. By the time she wakes up, she can understand none of them and goes about her day thinking they are nothing but the reveries of a vivid imagination that's seen - and killed - one too many nasty demons.
But sometimes there are premonitions which stand out, which are different than the rest. Events so momentous, so life changing - for hers or for others - that they become larger and stick out in her sleep.
One is happening now:
Nighttime. The cold stillness of the night makes the skin of Buffy's arms tingle. Something's out there. Something's coming for her. But what? She can't see up ahead, but she can see what's behind her. The road she has already taken.
Lights turn on and she can suddenly see something. The road ahead of her is blocked... with bodies. She can make out dozens of bodies lined up, their blood making the road underneath slick. She walks forward to look at their faces. Willow. Xander. Giles. Dawn. Every single one of her friends and family are there, their frozen faces glaring at her, their eyes cold marbles.
"Have some respect for the dead, luv," a voice says. Buffy looks through the bodies until she recognizes where the voice comes from; Spike, who's lying on his side, blood dribbling from his mouth and nose. "Why don't you leave us be? Why can't you let us go?"
"What are you talking about?" Buffy says.
"You know," Spike says. His arm suddenly moves and she sees he's gripping a wooden stake. "If you're here, that means it's won. So why won't you leave?"
"I don't know what you are talking about," Buffy says.
"Of course you don't, pet," Spike says. He motions to her with the stake. "You know, while you're here, you could do me a favor. For old times sake."
"What?" Buffy asks.
"End it, please," Spike says. "Don't you think I've gone on long enough? Just end it." He holds up the stake.
Buffy slowly takes the stake from his blood-slick hand. Panic courses through her body as she grips it and out of reflex, she thrusts it forward.
"Thanks, luv," Spike says, "Knew I could count on you." His body slowly turns to dust in front of her eyes.
And in the cool night of an Indian summer, Buffy wakes in a cold sweat.
0
I dreamed a dream next Tuesday
Week beneath the apple tree;
I thought my eyes were big pork-pies,
And my nose was Stilton cheese.
The clock struck twenty minutes to six
When a frog sat on my knee;
I asked him to lend me eighteen pence,
But he borrowed a shilling of me.
- a children's rhyme
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