Fic: Four Ghosts of Christmas Past...
Title: Four Ghosts of Christmas Past and One Ghost of Christmas Future
Author: xlivvielockex
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 5 x 100 (500 words total)
Prompt: Ghost at btvsats_love
Characters/Pairing (if any) Angel
A/N: Thank you to boy_named_susie for being her super cool betaing self
1737
He sat on the floor with his treasure surrounding him: fruits, nuts, candied goodies. His mother watched from her chair by the fire, stomach swollen and heavy with what he hoped and prayed would be a brother. His father was gone on business, but his gift was a practical set of tools that was quickly put aside. He reached for the last present, unwrapping it with the gutso and joy of a child on Christmas. Inside laid sheets of drawing papers and pots of paints. He looked to his mother with a dumbfounded expression.
“What your father doesn’t know, Liam.”
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1863
She was laid out on the bed like a feast fit for a king. Drunk from too much wine and celebration, she would be a masterpiece for her husband or lover to find come morning. Her skin was flushed like bright, juicy apples. He could feel the blood, the life, pulsing just below the surface of her naked body. He would open her up like a present, pulling out garlands of wet, hot innards. Playing with each of her marvelous crevices and then making a few more of his own to explore.
Darla had given him the perfect Christmas gift.
--------------------------------------------------------
1980
He watched the people scurrying around like the vermin he was so used to feeding on. Their arms were filled with packages, their faces stretched to a breaking point with happiness. The music reached into every alley from the storefronts and passersby, and he could not get it out of his head. He found himself humming along, wishing he could be like all the others, free to dance in the holiday and not hide in the shadows. This present, this curse, this soul - it wanted to touch, to join in the festivities.
Angel’s present to the world was to resist.
---------------------------------------------------------
2001
His son was cradled in her arms, away from the enormous tree and all the twinkling lights. When he got too close, he tried to reach for them, to put them into his tiny mouth. He smiled at the thought of it, as he soaked in the sounds of his friends, his family, gathered around to open presents, all of them full from dinner and slightly drunk from too much rum laced eggnog.
The picture locked in his mind of Cordelia, his best friend, holding the son he thought he would never have, would be a gift to treasure forever.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
2015
He wasn’t sure if today was the right day. He couldn’t be sure of anything anymore. He didn’t have a tree, and the presents he had carried with him for all these years were beginning to look their age. The wrapping was faded and peeling, the edges of the presents peeking out, taunting him because they would never be opened, never see their owners. They were addressed to those who’d given their lives for his fool’s mission, for a prophecy that still hadn’t come to fruition.
So many behind him. So many stretched before him. All he had was ghosts.
Author: xlivvielockex
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 5 x 100 (500 words total)
Prompt: Ghost at btvsats_love
Characters/Pairing (if any) Angel
A/N: Thank you to boy_named_susie for being her super cool betaing self
1737
He sat on the floor with his treasure surrounding him: fruits, nuts, candied goodies. His mother watched from her chair by the fire, stomach swollen and heavy with what he hoped and prayed would be a brother. His father was gone on business, but his gift was a practical set of tools that was quickly put aside. He reached for the last present, unwrapping it with the gutso and joy of a child on Christmas. Inside laid sheets of drawing papers and pots of paints. He looked to his mother with a dumbfounded expression.
“What your father doesn’t know, Liam.”
-------------------------------------------------------------
1863
She was laid out on the bed like a feast fit for a king. Drunk from too much wine and celebration, she would be a masterpiece for her husband or lover to find come morning. Her skin was flushed like bright, juicy apples. He could feel the blood, the life, pulsing just below the surface of her naked body. He would open her up like a present, pulling out garlands of wet, hot innards. Playing with each of her marvelous crevices and then making a few more of his own to explore.
Darla had given him the perfect Christmas gift.
--------------------------------------------------------
1980
He watched the people scurrying around like the vermin he was so used to feeding on. Their arms were filled with packages, their faces stretched to a breaking point with happiness. The music reached into every alley from the storefronts and passersby, and he could not get it out of his head. He found himself humming along, wishing he could be like all the others, free to dance in the holiday and not hide in the shadows. This present, this curse, this soul - it wanted to touch, to join in the festivities.
Angel’s present to the world was to resist.
---------------------------------------------------------
2001
His son was cradled in her arms, away from the enormous tree and all the twinkling lights. When he got too close, he tried to reach for them, to put them into his tiny mouth. He smiled at the thought of it, as he soaked in the sounds of his friends, his family, gathered around to open presents, all of them full from dinner and slightly drunk from too much rum laced eggnog.
The picture locked in his mind of Cordelia, his best friend, holding the son he thought he would never have, would be a gift to treasure forever.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
2015
He wasn’t sure if today was the right day. He couldn’t be sure of anything anymore. He didn’t have a tree, and the presents he had carried with him for all these years were beginning to look their age. The wrapping was faded and peeling, the edges of the presents peeking out, taunting him because they would never be opened, never see their owners. They were addressed to those who’d given their lives for his fool’s mission, for a prophecy that still hadn’t come to fruition.
So many behind him. So many stretched before him. All he had was ghosts.