Buffy Drabbles
A bunch of Buffy-centric drabbles I've done for the fan 100:
Oh, and by the way, I'm not Joss, so please, don't sue me. Thanks! :)
1. Beginnings
Buffy took a moment to take in her surroundings. It was a nice school: wide front lawn, Spanish tile, kinda 90210-ish. Bright, sunny campus. Which would make sense in a town called “Sunnydale”.
She started up the steps towards the school.
It seemed like a good place. People seemed happy, normal. No one with scales or horns, no screaming or running in horror, no violence and death. Nope, just regular, ordinary kids getting ready to start a regular, ordinary day at their regular, ordinary school.
If the day could just keep up like this, things might actually work out alright.
7. Weeks
It was strange, how the minutes dragged on, second by painful second, while the days all seemed to run together. The only reason Buffy knew what day it was, was her job at the Doublemeat. She had to know, otherwise she might come in by mistake on her day off, and God knows she didn’t want to spend any more time at the Doublemeat than was absolutely necessary. Unfortunately, that necessary time seemed to be increasing, as Buffy took on extra shifts to pay the bills. She always kept one day free, though, so she would be forced to know what day it was, to reassure her that weeks were passing by, that she wasn't frozen in time..
8.Months
“So, I heard your class is going to Spain for the grad trip,” Buffy said, while passing the orange juice to her sister at breakfast. “Sounds like fun.”
Dawn shrugged. “I’m not going.”
“What? Why not? I thought you wanted to go to Spain. It’s like, the one country in Europe you haven’t visited yet.”
“Well, yeah, but the trip’s in May,” Dawn replied, as if that explained everything.
“Oh,” Buffy seemed to accept this answer. Then her brow furrowed. “So?”
“So, you might need me, y’know, to help stop the apocalypse.”
“There’s an apocalypse coming in May?” Buffy was suddenly alarmed. “Since when? Why did nobody tell me?”
“Cause there isn’t one. Not yet, anyways.”
Buffy just looked at Dawn quizzically. Her younger sister sighed.
“Haven’t you ever noticed? Bad things always happen in May.”
Buffy waved her hand dismissively. “Pfft, nah, last year…” she paused, remembering last year. “Well, that one time…” she trailed off again.
Dawn folder her arms and raised an eyebrow.
“Okay, so apocalypses always come up in May,” Buffy admitted. She puzzled over this a minute. “I wonder why that is?”
“I dunno,” Dawn answered, stabbing at her pancakes. “April showers?”
12. Yellow
Love is blind, that’s the saying. Buffy never would have thought she’s agree with it; she’d never shown romantic interest in anyone less than certifiably hunky. But one very hunky love interest had a tendency to go all ugly and scary when he got worked up, and presto - blind Buffy. Blind to the wrinkled skin, to the fangs, to the yellow eyes. None of it mattered. Underneath, it was still Angel. Whenever she looked into his eyes, whether they happened to be brown or yellow, she could see his soul. And that was what she loved.
18. White
Buffy stood in front of her closet, thinking. It was the Apocalypse again, and a really bad one. For the first time in years, the first time since Sunnydale sank into the earth, Buffy thought she might be killed in battle. So when she started to get dressed, she froze. What do you wear to die?
She used to know. She used to do this all the time: get dressed knowing that any day could be her last. It was no big deal. Now, all of a sudden it seemed important that she be dressed... appropriately.
So Buffy stood in front of her closet, weighing her options. Then, clarity. Those times before, it was just a coincidence, but Buffy decided that from now on it would be a tradition. She pulled a skirt and a blouse from their hangers and started putting them on.
Whenever Buffy died, she wore white.
19. Colourless
The flowers caught Buffy's eye as soon as she walked through the door. A bright splash of colour, it brightened her mood just to look at them. Her mother's suitor obviously knew what he was doing. At least one of the Summers women was making good in the love department.
Buffy called to her mother, wanting to hear her take on this latest development. No one answered. Maybe she wasn't home?
She was in the living room - why hadn't she answered? Something wasn't right. Her mom was lying on the couch, eyes open, but blank and staring; her skin pale and drained, colourless.
28. Birth
Warmth. Peace. Bliss.
Suddenly, she was pulled out, into a place that was cold and dirty. She didn't know how to breath; she learned soon enough, but the space in between breathing and not knowing how was a scary time, and seemed to draw out forever.
As soon as Buffy started breathing again, she realized there was not enough air. She was trapped. She clawed at the ceiling above her, the lid, through the funeral-pink satin lining; she tore at the wood, splinters digging in under her nails, slicing her skin. The earth poured in, and Buffy thought it would drown her alive, but she fought against it. Buffy clawed her way out of the ground, and when she broke through, finally, it was even colder than before, and open, and frightening. She had ot learn how to breath again, the cold air piercing her lungs.
They say that being born is the most traumatic thing that will ever happen to you; that's why no one remembers it. Buffy wished that was true for her.
Oh, and by the way, I'm not Joss, so please, don't sue me. Thanks! :)
1. Beginnings
Buffy took a moment to take in her surroundings. It was a nice school: wide front lawn, Spanish tile, kinda 90210-ish. Bright, sunny campus. Which would make sense in a town called “Sunnydale”.
She started up the steps towards the school.
It seemed like a good place. People seemed happy, normal. No one with scales or horns, no screaming or running in horror, no violence and death. Nope, just regular, ordinary kids getting ready to start a regular, ordinary day at their regular, ordinary school.
If the day could just keep up like this, things might actually work out alright.
7. Weeks
It was strange, how the minutes dragged on, second by painful second, while the days all seemed to run together. The only reason Buffy knew what day it was, was her job at the Doublemeat. She had to know, otherwise she might come in by mistake on her day off, and God knows she didn’t want to spend any more time at the Doublemeat than was absolutely necessary. Unfortunately, that necessary time seemed to be increasing, as Buffy took on extra shifts to pay the bills. She always kept one day free, though, so she would be forced to know what day it was, to reassure her that weeks were passing by, that she wasn't frozen in time..
8.Months
“So, I heard your class is going to Spain for the grad trip,” Buffy said, while passing the orange juice to her sister at breakfast. “Sounds like fun.”
Dawn shrugged. “I’m not going.”
“What? Why not? I thought you wanted to go to Spain. It’s like, the one country in Europe you haven’t visited yet.”
“Well, yeah, but the trip’s in May,” Dawn replied, as if that explained everything.
“Oh,” Buffy seemed to accept this answer. Then her brow furrowed. “So?”
“So, you might need me, y’know, to help stop the apocalypse.”
“There’s an apocalypse coming in May?” Buffy was suddenly alarmed. “Since when? Why did nobody tell me?”
“Cause there isn’t one. Not yet, anyways.”
Buffy just looked at Dawn quizzically. Her younger sister sighed.
“Haven’t you ever noticed? Bad things always happen in May.”
Buffy waved her hand dismissively. “Pfft, nah, last year…” she paused, remembering last year. “Well, that one time…” she trailed off again.
Dawn folder her arms and raised an eyebrow.
“Okay, so apocalypses always come up in May,” Buffy admitted. She puzzled over this a minute. “I wonder why that is?”
“I dunno,” Dawn answered, stabbing at her pancakes. “April showers?”
12. Yellow
Love is blind, that’s the saying. Buffy never would have thought she’s agree with it; she’d never shown romantic interest in anyone less than certifiably hunky. But one very hunky love interest had a tendency to go all ugly and scary when he got worked up, and presto - blind Buffy. Blind to the wrinkled skin, to the fangs, to the yellow eyes. None of it mattered. Underneath, it was still Angel. Whenever she looked into his eyes, whether they happened to be brown or yellow, she could see his soul. And that was what she loved.
18. White
Buffy stood in front of her closet, thinking. It was the Apocalypse again, and a really bad one. For the first time in years, the first time since Sunnydale sank into the earth, Buffy thought she might be killed in battle. So when she started to get dressed, she froze. What do you wear to die?
She used to know. She used to do this all the time: get dressed knowing that any day could be her last. It was no big deal. Now, all of a sudden it seemed important that she be dressed... appropriately.
So Buffy stood in front of her closet, weighing her options. Then, clarity. Those times before, it was just a coincidence, but Buffy decided that from now on it would be a tradition. She pulled a skirt and a blouse from their hangers and started putting them on.
Whenever Buffy died, she wore white.
19. Colourless
The flowers caught Buffy's eye as soon as she walked through the door. A bright splash of colour, it brightened her mood just to look at them. Her mother's suitor obviously knew what he was doing. At least one of the Summers women was making good in the love department.
Buffy called to her mother, wanting to hear her take on this latest development. No one answered. Maybe she wasn't home?
She was in the living room - why hadn't she answered? Something wasn't right. Her mom was lying on the couch, eyes open, but blank and staring; her skin pale and drained, colourless.
28. Birth
Warmth. Peace. Bliss.
Suddenly, she was pulled out, into a place that was cold and dirty. She didn't know how to breath; she learned soon enough, but the space in between breathing and not knowing how was a scary time, and seemed to draw out forever.
As soon as Buffy started breathing again, she realized there was not enough air. She was trapped. She clawed at the ceiling above her, the lid, through the funeral-pink satin lining; she tore at the wood, splinters digging in under her nails, slicing her skin. The earth poured in, and Buffy thought it would drown her alive, but she fought against it. Buffy clawed her way out of the ground, and when she broke through, finally, it was even colder than before, and open, and frightening. She had ot learn how to breath again, the cold air piercing her lungs.
They say that being born is the most traumatic thing that will ever happen to you; that's why no one remembers it. Buffy wished that was true for her.