Joyce Summers was away on a bussiness trip that night. Buffy was alone in
the dark house. She felt so alone, she had wandered the halls aimlessly,
thinking. Thinking of a way to make it all better. Right now Buffy was
curled up on the couch, her knees tucked up on her chest and her arms wrapped
around them. She cried into them, warm tears streaming down her pretty face,
a few renegade tears found their way into her quivering mouth and she tasted
the salty water along her tongue. She looked into the darkness surrounding
her. Darkness enveloped her body, no trace of light reached her. Buffy just
didn't see the reason in turning on the lights. She'd lived in the dark for
half of her life, and she'd hated it.

All the Darkness held were terrible things, things lurking behind bushes,
things flying in the wind, and things sounding in your ears. Things that a
child's sub-conciouse turns into monsters under the bed, or in the closet.
Buffy was in charge of killing these things, these terrible things.

Buffy stood and walked into the kitchen. She wanted to call Willow, she
*needed* to call Willow. If nothing, just to hear her voice again, to know
that she was still here. Buffy felt so guilty about what she'd done to
Willow, somehow that one guy Willow loved (Xander), didn't love her, but
loved Buffy. Willow had been one of the first people Buffy had saved at
Sunnydale, or that she'd barely saved. Buffy wanted to call Willow and
appologize, just apologize for everything. She found herself holding the
cordless phone and standing next to the counter. Buffy started to poke in
the numbers for Willow's house. She was rewarded with a busy signal, the
sound echoed in Buffy ear as she pushed the OFF button and she set the phone
down. Something glinted in the corner of her eye. Buffy turned her head to
it. The moonlight had glinted off of a silver object on the end of the
counter. Buffy wearily stepped towards it.

There sat a knife, not a butter knife, not a butcher knife, but a small handy
little sharp knife that Buffy often used to peel apples. Buffy reached for
the small object slowly picked up the wooden handle. It was recently
cleaned, but had been forgotton to be put away. Buffy traced the edges of
her wrist with the tip of the sharp little knife. Buffy didn't want to hurt
anyone ever again. She didn't want to cost her friends any more pain. And
she didn't want her mother to be disapointed again. Buffy stationed the
knife at the middle of her wrist and shoved it in, a chill ran through her
body, but was quickly replaced by a peircing pain in her wrist. Bufy sliced
it the rest of the way and switched hands, doing the same to her other wrist.
Buffy watched the crimson red blood pour out of the wounds and she wiped
away her tears with a blood stained wrist. She had lost feeling in her hand
and moved to a chair as a wave of diziness spread over her. Buffy's stomach
danced in her neck as she started to cry again. "Now", Buffy thought, "The
next Slayer can do some good, and I can do no more harm, never again can I
hurt someone I love"

"Never Again", Buffy softly whispered her last words as she slipped out of
the consiouse world, never to return, never again.