Drabbles 100: Musings on Mortality
Title Musings on Mortality
Author Bruttimabuoni
Rating PG
Word Count 300
Prompt 100: Dead Like Me/The Grudge/Bones
Characters/Pairing (if any): Angel, Spike/Buffy implied
A/N: Triple drabble (tribble?) for all three prompts
The longer I live undead, the more I think about life and what it means to be deceased.
I am dead. I always have been. The living Liam is so distant, such a mirage. How can that thug, that imbecile drunken profligate, be me? Even Angelus feels closer. Him, I understand. And I can never break free of his thoughts. Liam is truly dead: I can’t revive him.
Angel, though. Is Angel alive? I think, I move, I feed, I love. I even procreated one time. Isn’t that life?
No. Because life ends. Death is forever.
These are graveside thoughts.
~~~~
Spike was dead too of course. But somehow it didn’t hinder him. He got the soul. He got the girl, in the end. Even his death-life was full of vitality. And of course he got the Live-Die, the Shanshu. He lives, and he‘s still Spike.
I watch him now, weeping by the grave. He is aged. I could kill him gently. No one need know. Think of the eulogy, thick with platitudes and sickening smugness. The end of a life lived to the full: wild, beloved and happy.
Even had I a heartbeat, would they say the same of me?
~~~~
The thing about being dead is that you don’t die. Which is supposed to be the great deal. Immortality attracts those who will never achieve it. Shallow idiots. They know nothing.
They should sit and think deeply about what it means to live as dead, uncontrollably eternal, constantly grieving. They go on, into the unknown. Is it nothingness? Is it paradise? Those left instead know the emptiness of continual loss. My son is gone. My friends left me, through bloody wounds, demons, and the creeping cruelties of natural decline.
Now Buffy too is becoming bones. Dead, but not like me.
~~~~
Author Bruttimabuoni
Rating PG
Word Count 300
Prompt 100: Dead Like Me/The Grudge/Bones
Characters/Pairing (if any): Angel, Spike/Buffy implied
A/N: Triple drabble (tribble?) for all three prompts
The longer I live undead, the more I think about life and what it means to be deceased.
I am dead. I always have been. The living Liam is so distant, such a mirage. How can that thug, that imbecile drunken profligate, be me? Even Angelus feels closer. Him, I understand. And I can never break free of his thoughts. Liam is truly dead: I can’t revive him.
Angel, though. Is Angel alive? I think, I move, I feed, I love. I even procreated one time. Isn’t that life?
No. Because life ends. Death is forever.
These are graveside thoughts.
~~~~
Spike was dead too of course. But somehow it didn’t hinder him. He got the soul. He got the girl, in the end. Even his death-life was full of vitality. And of course he got the Live-Die, the Shanshu. He lives, and he‘s still Spike.
I watch him now, weeping by the grave. He is aged. I could kill him gently. No one need know. Think of the eulogy, thick with platitudes and sickening smugness. The end of a life lived to the full: wild, beloved and happy.
Even had I a heartbeat, would they say the same of me?
~~~~
The thing about being dead is that you don’t die. Which is supposed to be the great deal. Immortality attracts those who will never achieve it. Shallow idiots. They know nothing.
They should sit and think deeply about what it means to live as dead, uncontrollably eternal, constantly grieving. They go on, into the unknown. Is it nothingness? Is it paradise? Those left instead know the emptiness of continual loss. My son is gone. My friends left me, through bloody wounds, demons, and the creeping cruelties of natural decline.
Now Buffy too is becoming bones. Dead, but not like me.
~~~~