Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with Buffy the Vampire Slayer the show, the creators, the actors or with anyone who IS affiliated with the show in any way. I do not claim to be affiliated, so don't sue. I'm penniless, so it wouldn't do you any good. Happy now?
Author's Notes: I was in a descriptive mood when I wrote this fic, so bare with me. Still a good read, so enjoy.
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She walked alone. Traveling like an ancient nomad through uncharted lands, she kept her head low and plowed through the throngs of unidentified creatures with the confidence of familiarity. The stronger of the creatures abused the weaker, and ultimately destroyed them. Then there were the alphas of the entire clan. They were either despised or admired, yet most of the lower cretons chose to imagine the alpahas' demise. Buffy imagined kicking and punching her way through the hordes of unavoidable alphas, otherwise known as the teachers.
Students cowered at the murderous looks thrown at them by their bio teachers and uttered curses when the literature professors called their name to read their ill-written papers aloud.
Then the nomad would amble idely home, awaiting her destiny as the Slayer. Night after night she would face death, and laugh at the sight. Yet, the inner five-year-old would scream out in terror, pounding at the toddler hundredth of Buffy's brain. But as the Slayer, she had special abilities to slap the five-year-old in the face and shove her deeper within the raw, Chosen One soul.
Demons lunged at her, and missed. Each one of their clawed fingers scraping into Buffy's flesh, leaving an invisible scar. Unseen by the world, but parading inside Buffy's heart in a conga-line of torment. Watching her were the many that waited their turn to try and bring about her demise.
Each day and night, Buffy managed to return home alive. Hanging off of a cliff edge, dangling above a ravine by a piece of crimson thread, she managed. Juggling her responsibilities each day with apparent ease, she was strong.
On the outside, Buffy appeared to be a walking, talking comeback. But on the inside, she was aching. Aching for something, anything tangibly normal. Aching for a life in which she would not have to face another demon that may turn out to be her bringer of death. Aching for a life in which she could watch a sunrise without wondering if her true love was safely out of reach of the sun's spearing arms.
Aching for a life in which she would not dread every sunset, which brought the promise of another innocent's death. A death which she could have prevented. A death which happened at the fall of dusk.
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