broken_road
The lonely road you chose to travel on,
It must seem awfully long,
Innocence all gone -
It must be wrong
To hide your lovely face away...
I felt like I had been travelling for months. Years even. And in a way I suppose I had; it'd taken me years to get to the point where I could think - really think, not self-deluding-nearly-becoming-a-rapist think - that there was a shot, just a shot, of being Buffy's. So though I'd been travelling for about 12 hours, I suppose my journey had been a lot longer.
What a load of pretentious bollocks. Next thing you know I'd be brooding in a corner and singing "Mandy" when I thought no one was listening.
I leaned against the window of the aeroplane, looking out into the rain-streaked darkness. We were descending now, so the windows were getting wet. I'd managed to time this well, leaving the States and arriving in Rome in darkness. I tell you, it took some planning. Planning that had made me itch with anxiety and frustration. I just wanted to go.
I never thought I'd have this opportunity again. Buffy and I'd already had the big farewell. Meaningful looks, fire, fighting, glorious death on my part... It was sort of anticlimactic to be coming back now. Particularly since one of her ex boyfriends had previously returned from the dead, though at least I had the advantage on him of not being completely mental when I'd done so. Yeah, I hadn't been to hell, though Angel was certain I must've been. 'Fraid not, Captain Cardboard. I wasn't in heaven, mind, but I wasn't in a fiery pit. Guess having a soul did count for something. Also got me wondering where my soul had been all the time I was carousing and generally being an evil creature of the night. Was it where I'd ended up, which was Purgatory, I suppose? And if so, why couldn't I remember?
I'd make a bloody awful philosopher. I found it better not to worry about it too much. I'd been dead, then I'd been a ghost, and now I was solid. An hour after I'd become a real boy again (time elapsed due to, I admit, shagging Harmony in the stationery cupboard, but who'd hold that against me?) I'd left Wolfram and Hart, hopefully for good. And now...
The plane landed, wheels bouncing on the runway, interrupting my train of thought. I was in Rome, the Eternal City, the kind of place I'd dreamed about coming when I was still William and would read Keats and wish I could write anything half as good as he did.
"Something effulgent," I whispered to myself as I got off the plane. The air hostess looked at me, puzzled.
"What was that, sir?" she asked, in charmingly accented English.
"Nothing, love. Great flight," I said, dropping a wink at her.
I passed through passport control with my fake papers - Rufus Gibbon-Wright being my new name; I wish I'd noticed that before I paid the weasel who make up the passport for me - and, not having any luggage, was soon out into the rainy Italian night.
It must seem awfully long,
Innocence all gone -
It must be wrong
To hide your lovely face away...
I felt like I had been travelling for months. Years even. And in a way I suppose I had; it'd taken me years to get to the point where I could think - really think, not self-deluding-nearly-becoming-a-rapist think - that there was a shot, just a shot, of being Buffy's. So though I'd been travelling for about 12 hours, I suppose my journey had been a lot longer.
What a load of pretentious bollocks. Next thing you know I'd be brooding in a corner and singing "Mandy" when I thought no one was listening.
I leaned against the window of the aeroplane, looking out into the rain-streaked darkness. We were descending now, so the windows were getting wet. I'd managed to time this well, leaving the States and arriving in Rome in darkness. I tell you, it took some planning. Planning that had made me itch with anxiety and frustration. I just wanted to go.
I never thought I'd have this opportunity again. Buffy and I'd already had the big farewell. Meaningful looks, fire, fighting, glorious death on my part... It was sort of anticlimactic to be coming back now. Particularly since one of her ex boyfriends had previously returned from the dead, though at least I had the advantage on him of not being completely mental when I'd done so. Yeah, I hadn't been to hell, though Angel was certain I must've been. 'Fraid not, Captain Cardboard. I wasn't in heaven, mind, but I wasn't in a fiery pit. Guess having a soul did count for something. Also got me wondering where my soul had been all the time I was carousing and generally being an evil creature of the night. Was it where I'd ended up, which was Purgatory, I suppose? And if so, why couldn't I remember?
I'd make a bloody awful philosopher. I found it better not to worry about it too much. I'd been dead, then I'd been a ghost, and now I was solid. An hour after I'd become a real boy again (time elapsed due to, I admit, shagging Harmony in the stationery cupboard, but who'd hold that against me?) I'd left Wolfram and Hart, hopefully for good. And now...
The plane landed, wheels bouncing on the runway, interrupting my train of thought. I was in Rome, the Eternal City, the kind of place I'd dreamed about coming when I was still William and would read Keats and wish I could write anything half as good as he did.
"Something effulgent," I whispered to myself as I got off the plane. The air hostess looked at me, puzzled.
"What was that, sir?" she asked, in charmingly accented English.
"Nothing, love. Great flight," I said, dropping a wink at her.
I passed through passport control with my fake papers - Rufus Gibbon-Wright being my new name; I wish I'd noticed that before I paid the weasel who make up the passport for me - and, not having any luggage, was soon out into the rainy Italian night.