Categories > TV > Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Thoughts on being the Slayer
0 reviewsTad bit morbid thoughts on what it means to be the Slayer.
0Unrated
TITLE: Thoughts on being a Slayer, by a Slayer.
DISCLAIMER: Not mine.
DISTRIBUTION: Want. Take. Have. Keep my email addy on it, and I'll be happy.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Angsty.
FEEDBACK: Like sex, air and chocolate. you know the rest.
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It is worth it, believe it or not. You risk your life night after night, and not being about to tell anyone because you might endanger them, just for the pleasure of a young, tragic, and not very quick death. You're probably thinking I'm crazy. Maybe I am. Dealing with what I see every night is bound to loosen a few screws.
The thing is, it makes you special. Strength, agility, killer fashion sense, all for the picking. Your life means something. When dawn is breaking and you finally slip into bed while various cuts and bruises try to heal, you know that by giving your life to the cause, risking your neck so others go untouched; you saved someone. It's like a drug. An all natural high that lifts you past the negative. So your grades are slipping, and you aren't quite as close to your parents as you used to be, you saved someone from dying. You prevented them from falling victim to the inate fear of being stalked as prey. In the big scheme of things, you count. Without you, many other souls would be joining each other in the afterlife.
Yes, one day, you will die. You will be young. People will hear second hand accounts of your fate, sugared for general consumption. Wild dogs, gangs high on PCP, tragic accident with a BBQ fork. The story will be passed along with the other tidbits of daily yammer. People will "tsk tsk, so young, so tragic." And you? You will rest. Finally. You will look young and pure, lying pale in a coffin, cold and alone. It won't be the many that will look upon your lifeless shell, and say, "She saved lives. She saved the world, a lot."
No, they will be pondering what a sweet young girl was doing in such a secluded part of down, at night, without anyone to protect her. They won't mention, or even know why you were there, the good you did. They don't know. You will. You knew that even though you were terribly outnumbered, that you were destined to do this, the world would be a better place.
The job has its high points. You will never feel the paralyzing pain of arthritis, the heart breaking sorrow of looking in the mirror to find the girl you were gone and replaced by someone else. Someone you didn't like the looks of. You won't have to hide graying hair under layers of hair dye or coax vision from cataract filmed over eyes.
No, you will still be lying there, sleeping, waiting for Judgment Day. You are the Chosen One. By death you were called, by death you will be replaced. You are always relied on, always feared and respected. You are the one making the streets safer for those who choose to keep the streets safe. You will never be forgotten, you will never be lost.
You are the Slayer.
Buffy Anne Summers
DISCLAIMER: Not mine.
DISTRIBUTION: Want. Take. Have. Keep my email addy on it, and I'll be happy.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Angsty.
FEEDBACK: Like sex, air and chocolate. you know the rest.
+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +
It is worth it, believe it or not. You risk your life night after night, and not being about to tell anyone because you might endanger them, just for the pleasure of a young, tragic, and not very quick death. You're probably thinking I'm crazy. Maybe I am. Dealing with what I see every night is bound to loosen a few screws.
The thing is, it makes you special. Strength, agility, killer fashion sense, all for the picking. Your life means something. When dawn is breaking and you finally slip into bed while various cuts and bruises try to heal, you know that by giving your life to the cause, risking your neck so others go untouched; you saved someone. It's like a drug. An all natural high that lifts you past the negative. So your grades are slipping, and you aren't quite as close to your parents as you used to be, you saved someone from dying. You prevented them from falling victim to the inate fear of being stalked as prey. In the big scheme of things, you count. Without you, many other souls would be joining each other in the afterlife.
Yes, one day, you will die. You will be young. People will hear second hand accounts of your fate, sugared for general consumption. Wild dogs, gangs high on PCP, tragic accident with a BBQ fork. The story will be passed along with the other tidbits of daily yammer. People will "tsk tsk, so young, so tragic." And you? You will rest. Finally. You will look young and pure, lying pale in a coffin, cold and alone. It won't be the many that will look upon your lifeless shell, and say, "She saved lives. She saved the world, a lot."
No, they will be pondering what a sweet young girl was doing in such a secluded part of down, at night, without anyone to protect her. They won't mention, or even know why you were there, the good you did. They don't know. You will. You knew that even though you were terribly outnumbered, that you were destined to do this, the world would be a better place.
The job has its high points. You will never feel the paralyzing pain of arthritis, the heart breaking sorrow of looking in the mirror to find the girl you were gone and replaced by someone else. Someone you didn't like the looks of. You won't have to hide graying hair under layers of hair dye or coax vision from cataract filmed over eyes.
No, you will still be lying there, sleeping, waiting for Judgment Day. You are the Chosen One. By death you were called, by death you will be replaced. You are always relied on, always feared and respected. You are the one making the streets safer for those who choose to keep the streets safe. You will never be forgotten, you will never be lost.
You are the Slayer.
Buffy Anne Summers
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