BtVS Double Drabble: Fragments
Title: Fragments
Fandom: BtVS
Author: badly_knitted
Characters: Angel.
Rating: PG
Written For: Challenge 339: Close Your Eyes at drabble_weekly.
Spoilers/Setting: Between the end of Season 2 and the beginning of Season 3.
Summary: Trapped in the Hell dimensions, Angel has lost all sense of self, but there’s one fragmented memory he still holds onto.
Disclaimer: I don’t own BtVS, or the characters.
A/N: Double drabble.
“Close your eyes.”
Those three words have haunted him for what feels like eternity. The voice is a woman’s, although he’s not sure how he knows that, anymore than he understands why he thinks of himself as ‘he’. Words, concepts, images flickering through what’s left of his mind after the endless aeons of torment, all are meaningless. Nothing is real except for the blistering cold and the burning agony that sears every nerve in his body.
And yet those words are always there, haunting him, and sometimes it seems, just before he follows their instruction, he glimpses a face. He can’t make out any details though, it’s no more than a pale blur of fragmented memory, but he clings to it anyway, because somehow he knows it’s important.
Besides, it’s all he has, the only thing worth holding onto. He instinctively knows it’s not of this place, it doesn’t belong here any more than the woman does. It’s something from before, reminding him that there is something other than what he’s experiencing. If there was a before, then perhaps there will be an after.
So he holds those fragments close: three words, a blurred face, and the sweetest agony imaginable.
The End
Fandom: BtVS
Author: badly_knitted
Characters: Angel.
Rating: PG
Written For: Challenge 339: Close Your Eyes at drabble_weekly.
Spoilers/Setting: Between the end of Season 2 and the beginning of Season 3.
Summary: Trapped in the Hell dimensions, Angel has lost all sense of self, but there’s one fragmented memory he still holds onto.
Disclaimer: I don’t own BtVS, or the characters.
A/N: Double drabble.
“Close your eyes.”
Those three words have haunted him for what feels like eternity. The voice is a woman’s, although he’s not sure how he knows that, anymore than he understands why he thinks of himself as ‘he’. Words, concepts, images flickering through what’s left of his mind after the endless aeons of torment, all are meaningless. Nothing is real except for the blistering cold and the burning agony that sears every nerve in his body.
And yet those words are always there, haunting him, and sometimes it seems, just before he follows their instruction, he glimpses a face. He can’t make out any details though, it’s no more than a pale blur of fragmented memory, but he clings to it anyway, because somehow he knows it’s important.
Besides, it’s all he has, the only thing worth holding onto. He instinctively knows it’s not of this place, it doesn’t belong here any more than the woman does. It’s something from before, reminding him that there is something other than what he’s experiencing. If there was a before, then perhaps there will be an after.
So he holds those fragments close: three words, a blurred face, and the sweetest agony imaginable.
The End