drabble (Oz, post BtVS S7)
He sat at the edge of the crater, his legs dangling over the edge, staring at the void below him. This hadn't been his home in a long time, yet his body remembered the Hellmouth.
He lay back on the dry earth, expanding his senses and reached out for what was no longer there. The hum of the Hellmouth was gone. The area was a vast nothingness.
He had always been appreciative of stillness, silence--before his turning, before his first journey to Tibet--yet now all he could sense, all he could feel, was himself. His heart throbbing against the earth. His breath whispering from his lungs. His rushing blood the only water for miles.
Alone. More alone than he'd ever been or ever would be again. More alone than he imagined he'd be in death. Like an ocean abyss, he could drown in these empty depths. In this void, he thrummed with life, all signs of his existence creating an unbearable noise, pounding in his ears.
Oz rose from the ground, looked once more into the deep, then turned and walked away. This place would not take him with it.
He lay back on the dry earth, expanding his senses and reached out for what was no longer there. The hum of the Hellmouth was gone. The area was a vast nothingness.
He had always been appreciative of stillness, silence--before his turning, before his first journey to Tibet--yet now all he could sense, all he could feel, was himself. His heart throbbing against the earth. His breath whispering from his lungs. His rushing blood the only water for miles.
Alone. More alone than he'd ever been or ever would be again. More alone than he imagined he'd be in death. Like an ocean abyss, he could drown in these empty depths. In this void, he thrummed with life, all signs of his existence creating an unbearable noise, pounding in his ears.
Oz rose from the ground, looked once more into the deep, then turned and walked away. This place would not take him with it.