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open_on_sunday
2 drabbles, both Spike and both angsty. No warnings.
No rest for the wicked.
They tell him repeatedly how evil he is. They should know. Words of accusation, of hurt, pain and torment whirl around him, suffusing the air. Others whisper sweet nastinesses in his ear. They anger quickly, tell him what he already knows; he’ll never be good or pure enough—never be what she needs.
Curling tightly, knees against his chest, hands covering his ears in a vain attempt to block them out, his eyes close. Rocking gently he hums a soft, sweet lullaby trying to not see the twisted, bitter face of the woman who used to sing it to him.
Sleep my love.
He didn’t know why he came each night. Knew she wasn’t really there beneath the blanket of sod and earth. And yet here he was, just as he’d been every night since they’d laid her here, just as he undoubtedly would be every night hereafter.
His fingers lightly trailed the cold stone to its base; such a little thing, a nothing, really, to mark the life of one so vibrant. He stretched out on the damp pre-dawn ground, hand gently caressing the soft grass above her resting place. His deep rich voice hushed as he sang her gently to sleep.
open_on_sunday2 drabbles, both Spike and both angsty. No warnings.
No rest for the wicked.
They tell him repeatedly how evil he is. They should know. Words of accusation, of hurt, pain and torment whirl around him, suffusing the air. Others whisper sweet nastinesses in his ear. They anger quickly, tell him what he already knows; he’ll never be good or pure enough—never be what she needs.
Curling tightly, knees against his chest, hands covering his ears in a vain attempt to block them out, his eyes close. Rocking gently he hums a soft, sweet lullaby trying to not see the twisted, bitter face of the woman who used to sing it to him.
Sleep my love.
He didn’t know why he came each night. Knew she wasn’t really there beneath the blanket of sod and earth. And yet here he was, just as he’d been every night since they’d laid her here, just as he undoubtedly would be every night hereafter.
His fingers lightly trailed the cold stone to its base; such a little thing, a nothing, really, to mark the life of one so vibrant. He stretched out on the damp pre-dawn ground, hand gently caressing the soft grass above her resting place. His deep rich voice hushed as he sang her gently to sleep.
