Our House

by Puca Dentata

.....what if

((--From Devon's journal, July 1--))

I was digging through my backpack, and found this notebook.

I use it for writing lyrics in. I'm gonna keep saying "use" instead of "used". Though if it is all as bad as everyone seems to think it is, then we're fucked.

But I need to have something to do before that happens. Hence me writing all this shit down. Everyone is a zombie right now and I have no desire to talk to them while they're like this. I'm sure that they have no desire to talk to me either.

When Oz started pounding on my door this afternoon I was about to start in with a real bitch fest, 'cause Oz *knows* better than to be bugging me before one in the afternoon.

But Jesus, I never said a thing I planned to, because he was breathing real hard-like, and his eyes were showing the whites. And it's *so* not good to see someone you know as long as I have known Oz, and suddenly see a side that you didn't know existed.

He grabbed me by the shoulders, hard, and shook me. And that was even freakier, because Oz doesn't do that sort of thing either.

He just said "Get your things", and pushed my towards my room. Then started throwing some of his belongings into a duffel bag.

I was just standing there, and watching this, and wondering what the hell was up. I asked him if the world was ending or something, making a joke, and he just turned and gave me this LOOK that had my feet moving to get a backpack.

He only said "Yeah", and I shit you not, I was running to grab my things suddenly.

I don't even think there is a word to describe the tone of voice he used. And if there is, I never want to meet the person that came up with it.

I only stopped once, when I realized that he wasn't wearing a rust-red t-shirt.

Blood. In his hair, too. And streaked remnants covering his arms. Flecks on his face.

We were probably only there for twenty minutes, but it felt like longer. Oz was pouring off this fear-vibe, and tearing around the apartment like the building was on fire. The paranoia was setting my teeth on edge. I can now say I know what it feels like to have the hair on your nape try to rise up and run away, screaming.

I still hadn't asked him at this point what we were preparing to run from, because I was scared everything coming out of his mouth would be tinged with that tone again.

So we left the apartment, and Oz was leading at a full-out run. I had to work to keep up, and frankly, at that point I was so scared that I didn't want him outta my sight anyways. Like, if I was suddenly alone, the fucking boogeyman or whatever he was running from would just up and eat me.

And when he went and just tossed his duffel over the railing and then swung himself over like in some 'cops and robber' chase, I actually did yell out at him to wait.

He did. I think that he must have been away in his mind somewhere. Don't think he realized how scary he was, and how badly he was affecting me because of it, until I said something. Another Oz first, because he's always in my head. He seems to know what I am feeling even when I'm confused by it.

But he kinda seemed to snap out of it a bit and we walked--not ran--the rest of the way to his van.

Soon as I stepped outside I started to look around. I guess I was expecting at that point that the front yard would be running amok with aliens, or *something* at least. But to my eyes it all looked the same. Well, it was earlier than I was used to, but besides that nothing.

It was really, really quite though. Like all the birds and dogs-- and even the grass--were frozen. Reticent interlude with us stuck in the center. Freeze framed in apprehension, perhaps.

Oz's van was there, and that old librarian guy, Giles, was in it. He wasn't looking so hot himself. Least I could define his look. Grim.

I slid the back door open, and saw that I had company. There was Xander and Willow's new girl, Tara.

Now, that was the scariest. I would've thought Hell had to freeze over before I would see the likes of *her* in Oz's van.

And Ha Ha Ha---wasn't that the wrong clich to use? 'Cause guess what, darling? Hell didn't freeze over, it just opened *up*, and we were getting the hell outta Dodge as the saying goes.

It smelled. It smelled horrible in the van, in a way I couldn't define. Everyone was tinged with that rusty color.

I tossed my stuff into the back, on top of everybody else's, and heard a muffled voice cussing me out. I realized there was somebody under a blanket there, hidden away.

Vampire, said Oz. Then he was around the other side of the van and in the driver's seat.

And we were off. Woo-hoo.

As I write this, the sun is going down. No one has said much at all during this ride so far. With the situation and the odd way the setting sun is painting the scenery we pass, it's all too easy to pretend this is some film from the eighties. It has that quality to it. Wish it was "The Never-Ending Story" instead of this Freddy bullshit or whatever's going down.

No one's really said to me what is going on, besides Giles mentioning earlier the bit about Hell opening up.

I dunno if I want the damn details right now anyways.

We're all just looking out the windows. Only sound is when Giles tells Oz to take a left or a right. I wish someone would suggest some music. I would, but it seems kinda cheap to listen to Pink Floyd or such when everyone is thinking about death and creepy-crawlies from the underworld.

A while back Tara piped up. "I f-feel so bad....those people passing us. They are heading into the center of it, and they have no idea. No i-idea."

And of course we all started to watch each car or truck as it whipped by. Thinking that would be the last time they ever went to Sunnydale--or anywhere for that matter.

I didn't want to think about that lovely concept, so I started to dig through my stuff. I was in such a hurry I'm still not sure what exactly I grabbed.

Found this notebook. Figured I would write some of this down. Try to get it out and read it tomorrow when my thoughts aren't muddy like they are now. If they aren't muddy like they are now, that is.

And when this all works out--because I know it will--I'll tear the paper out and once again it'll be just a lyric book. Because it will be OK. Yeah.

I wonder why Willow and Buffy and the rest aren't in here with us?

**********

The van pulled into the rest area a little past midnight.

After easing into a space between two semi trucks, there was nothing left to do for the escapees except to try and get some sleep.

While they all knew they wouldn't be sleeping, they still accepted the challenge, pushing and prodding at the various bags and bundles in hopes of forcing them into a more comfortable shape.

There wasn't much room, and even if they had wanted to be free of any human contact, the effort would have been fruitless. An elbow touched a foot, a shoulder touched a hip, hair brushed at a hand. In that way, they formed a ring of sorts--or rather a snake--that wound through the van.

It wasn't comforting in the slightest, but it reminded them they were still alive.

And they ached.

And they waited.

And they thought.

Giles thought of the Slayer he could not save. All he could do at the end was stand and watch her splattered blood pull the sky down and Hell open. Then gather the young people, whose countenances had dwindled to that of tiny children in his eyes. Scoop them up and try to run away. Pocket them away to a safe place while his charge, his pretend-daughter, his *Buffy* lay cracked and smudged into the ground, along the ridges of a demon's teeth.

And Xander thought of all three of them. All three names, all three women, all three loves. Buffy and Willow And Anya. And the sentence "Three is a number of great power" rolled and crashed in his mind. Who had said that? Probably Willow, sweet Willow with her flyaway hair and crumpled dresses who always saved him a swing at recess.

One saved him a swing, one saved his life, one saved his sense of manhood. And they all paid for it, didn't they?

And Spike was not in the van, no he wasn't. He was out wandering the rest area, listening to the sounds of traffic and the heartbeats of those within each vehicle he passed. He stopped briefly at each one, gazing in at the passengers. His thoughts were strangely empty for once, and he let himself snuggle down into the hollow, echoing core afforded by that lack of feeling. Probably shock, but possibly not, but the humans were dead, so he was dead, and ain't that just fucking dandy?

And Oz, he thought not of the day with its toll. Instead, he tried to remember all the films he had ever seen involving camels.

It hurt less, you see.

While Tara did the opposite, and let herself drop into the center of the memories, rather than force them away. Not that she hadn't tried to do so, it was just that she wasn't ready to cry yet. Not yet. Not when she wasn't sure what exactly she was crying about. There was so very, very much. If she went over her actual memories, she didn't have imagine the look on her Love's face as she died. She had been turned away at that moment, and thankfully so. So she thought of demons. All that she had seen that day. Rainbow colors, melt in your mouth, not in your hand and then she was crying, trying to hold the tears back, gagging on the God-awful bleakness filling her head.

And Devon was simply confused, and listened to the not-quite silence of the van with wide eyes, trying to divine what he could learn from it about his companion's day.

But it didn't tell him anything.

Just that it had hurt.

**********

((--From Devon's journal, July 4--))

God, I'm tired.

We've been driving East. We have barely stopped. Just long enough to eat and take a piss when someone needs too.

It sucks when we go into a restaurant to eat. I know we all look like criminals. All guilty, not meeting the eyes of the waitress who takes our order.

I wonder if anyone else wants to just stand up and shout, "Run! They'll be here soon! You'll all die if you don't do something!"

Oh yeah, like they can do a goddamn thing. Let them have their week or month or even half a year of peace and ignorance. They'd just think we were looney anyways. Kick us out before we got our food.

Can't have that.

Xander wanted to know why we didn't take a flight away to some place where they couldn't find us.

Giles didn't look at him when he said "They'll find us. Doesn't matter."

Poor excuse, if you ask me.

Anyways...Flights out the country are banned. The news says it's due to some strike covering all the different companies, or some such shit.

Like I believe that. I think Big Brother is behind it in demon form.

Xander agrees. Says he bets the demons are working in tandem with the government. With all the governments. Infiltration at the highest level. Either because of threats or promises--or both--to those in "charge". That way, they can do it at there own pace, and not worry about some other country freaking out and sending a bomb over here. I mean, if I was a demon *I* wouldn't want my fun over so soon either.

And as soon as the demons, vamps, evil warlocks/witches and other assorted Uglies have it all laid out just right--Wham!

Ashes, ashes, we all fall down.

((--later--))

We just passed through whatever passes for a city in Wyoming. I don't know the name, I woke up when Xander started to shake me. To see the fireworks.

I thought about asking where we were, but didn't. Realized I didn't want to know. Just one more population that will be gone soon.

Oz was driving. It's been either him or Giles the entire way. I would have offered, but I think they want too. Need to. When one isn't driving, he sleeps. The only time I've seen either of their faces is during our short food breaks. And when one isn't driving, just sitting there, he gets fidgety. Well, Oz does. Giles just sits there in the passenger seat. But you can tell he needs something to do to get his mind off...well, his mind, I guess.

So we let them do the driving.

But when the fireworks began to go off, Oz pulled the van over to the side of the road and turned the ignition off. At first I though it was for a piss, because he got out. But he just stood there looking up at the sky. I thought Giles would say something, but he did the same. Got out and went around the van to watch. The rest of us didn't say anything, but we knew.

If it was the last time we were ever going to see fireworks in our lives, we should. Even if it hurt. Especially if it hurt.

So we all got out. Xander on the ground with Tara, Oz and Giles leaning against the side of the van. I climbed up on top, along with the vampire, Spike. Cars whizzed by, whipping our hair and shaking the van in their wake. Grit thrown into our hair and faces.

No one said anything, as usual, but it was nice. They were probably doing the same as I was. Remembering.

For me, remembering back to when I was a kid, running down the block with neighbor kids and sparklers. The time I nearly took my ear off lighting a bottle rocket in my hand. I wanted to feel the power of it when it took off. Like trying to grab a star, kinda. When I was older, copping a feel off a girl under a blanket while rainbow explosions like these went off over us.

We waited until the last roar died down, and the haze of burnt gunpowder was clearing from the lights near the launch site.

Still silent, we climbed back in and Giles took the wheel. Continuing the escape.

I wish I knew where the hell we were going. Once again, though, I don't even know if I care.

**********

"Are you ever going to tell me about it?"

Xander and Oz turned to Devon, looking blankly at him.

With Xander it was with a glazing of disdain. As if to say, "I have seen things, and won't show you those sights like some sort of tourist guide."

And Oz, he just looked tired. He shook his head. "Not yet. I don't know if ever."

They both went back to what they had been doing. Looking for smooth rocks to skip on the lake's surface. They had stopped for lunch at a scenic spot, choosing to brave the mosquitoes and ants rather than face other people.

Devon sighed, and after a moment of watching the two young men, also began to look for rocks.

They passed an hour this way, each trying to outdo the other, until Tara wandered down to the water's edge to tell them it was time to leave.

Devon was the last to leave, telling the others he would be back at the van in ten minutes or so.

He waited until he was sure they were out of earshot, and promptly burst into tears.

**********

((--From Devon's journal, July 6--))

I knew about Oz. Being a werewolf, that is.

When he first told me, I thought he was just shitting with me. He said it like he was telling me he had a mole in the shape of Florida on his ankle. Straightforward, everyday, anticlimactic to the extreme.

But he was like, "No, dude, I'm serious. I'm a werewolf. WEREWOLF. Grrr...arrrggg...y'know."

I decided to play along with him. Thought this was some new, fun Oz-game. He did that, told silly stories that tended to have a moral about how Oz should fuck Devon, or Devon should fuck oz.

So I played along, and waited for him to jump me and start nibbling at an earlobe, complete with ridiculous, completely endearing growling sound effects. Something like that.

"So why are you telling me this, Oz? I mean, isn't that something that you would want to keep a secret? Aren't you *scared* I will think you're a freak?"

He just shrugged, and pretended (or so I thought at the time) to take the question seriously. No jumping and nibbling.

"Freak? Naw, you already think that. I'm telling you 'cause I need to. For one, three nights a month I won't be around. For another, you need to be in the know, in case something ever happens that could lead to me being out loose. Safety is our number one pride, you know?"

Well, we did have sex then. I forgot about the talk we had until a couple weeks later when it was a full moon. Oz told me to meet him at the library.

Now, I'm a kinky Son-of-a-Bitch, but a cage in the library with the librarian watching is a little much for even me.

Yeah, I do have a one track mind, even though the track has been a little off kilter this past week or so.

Anyways, Oz went in the cage, and I started to follow, but Giles beat me too it. Locked the door and Oz started to undress behind this sheet hung up in the corner.

Then we just stood there for a few minutes. Twiddling our fucking thumbs, waiting for hell knows what. I mean, I should have remembered our werewolf chat earlier, but I didn't.

Until there were these nasty-ass *ripping* sounds emerging from behind the sheet. Then I remembered in a hurry.

Oz was making these whining noises, and when he reached out to clutch the sheet for balance, it was torn down.

And I was faced with my best friend....well, melting is as good a word for it as any. Or snapping. Both at the same time, though I know that is a bit of an oxymoron.

And there was this smell, suddenly...like...hell, I don't know what the fuck like. I can't do it justice. I've tried, but some things aren't meant to be wrapped up into lyrics. Some things are too real and untouchable. Some things refused to be cheapened by capture.

Like sex without anything sexual to it. Like sweat, but sharper and grittier and more tangible. Dissolved humanity, manifest wolf.

I dunno. It was exactly what someone turning into a werewolf is like.

The point is, before this...event, Shakespearian tragedy shit, whatever...I knew there was more to this world than our science books led us to believe.

I later asked Oz what other things were out there, but he wouldn't say.

So I began to enact a little game, looking at people in the crowd when I played at the Bronze. Trying to guess if any were less than--or more than--human. 'Cause I figured if there are fucking werewolves frolicking around, there must be vampires and crap. Maybe even fairies. That would be cool, you know? Tinkerbell in Sunnydale. Check *that* shit out!

But I was still surprised when earlier today Spike (The Vampire!) told me about how Buffy Summers was the Slayer. Isn't that title just to die for? It is oh, oh, so Dungeons and Dragons.

I mean, the girl was tiny. And peppy. A peppy messiah of carnage and protection? In a halter top and platform shoes?

Uh-huh.

Almost as hard to believe as the idea of demons taking over the world through a portal.

Spike is the only one without the look I have come to call "Post-Hellmouth-Opening-Syndrome" stamped all over his being. He seems more pissed than anything else. I mean, without us he is fucked. Because of this chip device that renders him harmless.

If other vamps and demons get ahold of him, they'll kill him quick as can be. Prune away the weaker members of the herd. No handouts and pity to be found at their hands.

I dunno. Buffy is gone with the rest. The one I keep coming back to is Willow, though. I only care because Oz must care. I still don't know the details of what happened during the "battle" to keep the Hellmouth closed, but I know that Oz was there.

I'll ask him about it later, when we're more settled and not roaming around like some road show advertising gloom and doom.

One last thing, though.

A couple days after I saw Oz turn, I asked him if he was at all worried how I would take his supernatural announcement.

"Nope."

"What do you mean?" I'm not a fucking mind reader, and even though I know my boy damn well, those four words are common ones for me. My little verbal enigma boy, Oz is.

"I knew you wouldn't. Just like you know I wouldn't have freaked. Even if you told me you were turning into Cyndi Lauper."

Yeah, that is our friendship in a few sentences. Take it as you will. I do.

**********

...a dawn

((--From Devon's journal, July 7--))

So I'm shallow.

Is that really so bad?

I take it that most people think I'm a dolt because of that fact. I'm smart enough. I never gave a fuck about math, science, current events and such...but I read. Oz and the band are probably the only people who know about this little fact. The rest of the world sees the way I act, the way I cuss, the way I dress and assumes that I'm an imbecile.

Fuck 'em, I say.

So I like material goods, and don't prance around spouting Deep Thoughts. Big deal. To quote the illustrious Tori Amos, what's so amazing about really Deep Thoughts?

It's weird to think that all the famous people like Tori will be gone soon.

They're so untouchable, surreal, ya know? I have to admit it *is* kinda neat to think of some slimy 12 foot long salamander gnawing on Tom Hanks, though. Run, Forrest, run!

Bad taste, I know, I know.

I've never been the "save the world" type. I've never really given a damn except for my own welfare and that of those I care about. How's that for shallow?

I always thought that if the world were going to end, so be it. Long as it went downhill after I died. Let our children's children deal. I'd be worm food by then, who cares?

I might care if there were benefits to be reaped, I suppose. But don't give me any of that 'job well done' or 'for the greater good' bullshit. Kids? Me? Shit, I'm too selfish to ever consider that as a feasible part of my future. I might have grandiose dreams, but none of the 'spread my seed' kind.

So like I said, what benefits do *I* get by hugging a tree or scooping slop in some kitchen for the homeless? Way I see it, all I end up with is mosquito bites or food stains.

I'll pass. And if this is karma, so be it. At least I still stand by my convictions, and don't tell me it ain't noble in its own twisted (by society's definition) way. Don't tell me it isn't fucking noble to take pride in your views, even an unpopular one. Especially an unpopular one, where you aren't set up on a pedestal and cooed over by the bleating sheep. Instead, the sheep shit on you for it.

And no, I'm not an anarchist. Don't even fucking get me started on that.

What did I write? If it's karma, so be it? Cross that out. Fuck that shit. Pound it up both the Devil's and God's ass with a hammer.

Because why?

Why? Why why why?

I could have just lived my little life and had my little fun. Ok, not so little, if I had my way, but you know what I mean...

But, no....this had to happen while *I* was alive, while *I* was young, and everything was looking up and there was still so much to do. Everything was in the future still. The band....that was the core, the nucleus of my future. And I *know* we would've made it, that we would not have been just another small-potatoes-dealy that did gigs in rattrap little bars. Some things you just know; I'm not being cocky.

I wonder if the rest of the band is dead yet?

The demons ate my babies. Oh, fuck. Making jokes about this isn't as funny when they involve you.

We're going to North Dakota, by the way.

**********

((--From Devon's journal, July 8--))

We crossed the state line today. We're in the land of Hick. I told Oz and Xander I refuse to wear a mullet, no matter how much we need to blend.

Why here, of all places? Ask Giles, and expect to get an odd revolving answer that almost, but not quite, answers the question. The answer will grace questions that you hadn't asked, though. Plenty of those.

"Well, uh, this is good a place as any. A-and it is less populated, so it will be overlooked for awhile."

Spike spoke up. "Yeah, but so are the Rocky Mountains, and South America, for that matter. What's so special here?"

"Well," Giles fumbled with a road map and pointed out a dot. "We need to get here. There is a, uh, place that should suit our needs there. It was the first place I thought of. In case of an, eh, event such as this occuring."

Xander took the map and studied it. "When were you ever in the Dakotas? You have some strange Ripper fun we never heard of here?"

"No."

Tara frowned at Giles' tone and asked, "A place to suit our needs?"

Giles cleared his throat. "Ah, yes. A place to stay. To live for...for awhile. I've never seen it. A...a friend told me about it. He said that if he ever needed to hole up in a fortress of sorts, this place would be it."

He gestured to the map in Xander's hands. "He told me the pertinent information to get here, if the need ever arose. He might actually be there for all we know. He...he has ways of knowing things that happen."

Xander and Oz looked like they might know who Giles was rambling on about, but the rest of us just took his word for it. Giles is a smart man. If he says the place should be safe, I believe him.

But North Dakota? I told Oz to check the radio, and all we could get were Country stations. I'd rather poke my eardrums out than listen to the stuff that passes for modern Country music.

North Dakota.

Shit.

**********

Giles was worried that he would end up leading his clan into the back of beyond to discover it was empty. He was taking Ethan's word that the safe haven existed, even though his logic was gloating that he had been fooled. Or was about to be, come in a short while.

But when Ethan had told Giles of the place they were heading, it had been at a time that found them still on speaking terms, if not close friends.

"It's quite satisfactory."

"The beer?"

"No, what I found there."

A random Ethan statement, sliding itself into a conversation that had no clue as to what it meant. Ethan's statements had often left both Giles and the conversation floundering for a basis in reality.

This particular conversation had taken place at a pub, during one of the increasingly rare and lethargic attempts they made to enjoy each other's company. Grey hairs had only begun to make their acquaintance at that time, and old was still a word that was abstract and not pertinent to *their* world.

"And, ah, what did you find, Ethan? And where is there?" Giles remembered having been a bit drunk at that point, more than willing to follow Ethan along any verbal path offered.

"North Dakota." Ethan had switched their beers, Giles realized, taking Giles' fuller one as his own.

"Whatever were you doing in North Dakota, and I know about the beer. You buy the next round."

"Fine, my friend, fine." Ethan had quirked his lips into a charming smile. "I was working as a salesman. Door to door."

The answer too flippant, the face spouting the tale too smug. Giles knew Ethan better to ever believe such a lie. "Oh, and *what* were you selling?"

"Schoolbooks. I was peddling schoolbooks." Ethan's eyes had begun to glitter, and he looked at Giles over his beer with speculation. It wasn't the typical Ethan look given when it came to glib stories.

"I see...." Giles decided to change the subject. Politics. Ethan enjoyed pretending he didn't care about politics, so they'd talk about that...

Giles had already spoken a few words when Ethan interrupted him, still not prepared to give up the topic of books and the Dakotas.

"And you see, that's when I saw it."

Giles had felt himself growing tired and bland with exasperation. "What, Ethan, What?"

Ethan adopted a look of mock surprise before turning to study his drink.

"Why--the place, Ripper, the place. The place *waiting* for the world to end."

**********

((--From Devon's journal, July 10--))

Well, we're settled. Sorta, kinda.

And this fortress?

It's a school house in the boondocks.

Ha Ha.

Sweet Jesus, could life be any richer?

But I have to admit, it is a sturdy building. Square, stone, with small windows. Probably built in the 50's. It has only two rooms. The weakest point is the front doors...all glass. The doors open up into a narrow, short hallway lined with cubbies on both sides for kids to place their coats. One doorway on each side, opening into smallish classrooms. And at the very end of the hall, facing the entrance, is a boys' bathroom and a girls' bathroom. With a nifty water fountain between them.

How quaint.

We sleep in the bathrooms. They're the safest rooms, and give us a view of our weakest spot if we poke our heads out the door.

The kids? The school is abandoned. We are officially squatters.

Like it matters. By the time anyone tries to get us out, well, I doubt that removing us will be the highest thing to take care of on their Must-Do list. I think running around being killed will take over the top spot on *that* little list.

The school house is situated on a small hill, so we can see the surrounding fields. Nearly impossible for anyone--or anything--to sneak up on us. At least one would think so, but when dealing with demons, I guess nothing's for certain. So I'm told.

There's a dirt road leading from the school to a two-lane highway. If you take it for two miles East, you hit the smallish town of Mandan. Drive across town, and you cross the Missouri River and there's the state capital, Bismarck. There's maybe 50,000 people in this "city". Snicker, snicker, snicker. City, my ass. And Mandan has less than a quarter of that.

We're planning to make a run into town later. Get crap we'll need. Food, gear, and the like. I want a TV and VCR. I'm gonna go out watching a porno. How you like *that* shit?

Now that we have reached our so-called 'safe house', everybody's waking up a bit. That zombie look is fading, being replaced by emotion. It's just as scary--the fear, the anger, the confusion--but at least it's REAL, dammit. Least it shows we're not past hope. Well, I have the niggling idea we are, but I meant that we're not gonna shivel up, like I feared. Like I still fear, I'll admit.

I mean, I was worried for us all. I had a nightmare a couple days back that Giles just drove us over an embankment rather than try to live. And everyone was, well, like a pod person from that weird movie with Donald Sutherland. Smiling and calm, ready to fly over the cliff. I was trying to get up, but couldn't. I when I turned my head to catch a glimpse of my face in a window, I saw that I was smiling the same as everybody else.

I wish I had some weed. Gotta look into that. Maybe not. Ah, hell. I don't know *what* I fucking want. Not this, not any of this.

What I want is to go home.

Ain't that a pisser?

They're called clichs for a reason, I guess. Truth so well proven it's almost a law of nature. When shit happens that turns your mind into a bouncy-ball, you just want to bounce that baby to a place or person or frame of mind that makes a bit more sense.

So yeah, I want to go home. I want to beat someone up. I want to drink and screw and do whatever drugs I can find.

It's like this....everyone here seems to have an overlaying emotion emerging from the shock. I haven't figured 'em all out yet, and of course some here deal with--or hide it--better.

Spike has had the same attitude from the beginning. He's the only one who didn't go into shock, shut down the register and go home for the night. Cool amusement, sour frustration.

Giles seems guilty, or it could just be the stuttering that makes me think that. I dunno yet.

Tara is grieving right now. She snapped from stillness to ferver really fast. Almost as soon as we parked the van out front. Cries a lot, though she tries to hide it. Her eyes are always bruised looking though, like she's been rubbing at a leak there.

Oz, I dunno. Xander, I dunno either. We'll see.

Me? I am mad. I want to maim. I want to scream. I hate this. I really, really hate this.

See, I don't do mad that well.

And I am so mad right now.

**********

...of a doom...of a dream

((--From Devon's journal, August 2--))

The dead hippy babe came back last night.

Brought friends.

Spike saw them this time, and suggested he go out there to talk to them.

"Dude, you think they won't rip you to shreds?" I asked. Spike's crass, and I like that. If nothing else, he can make me laugh. And I didn't care to see him ripped apart in front of me and not be able to do anything.

I try not to think that if he could, he'd be out there peering in on us. Licking his Goddamn lips in anticipation.

Spike just shrugged and unlocked the entrance. No one else tried to stop him. They all are kinda divided on Spike. They hate him, but he helped them.

There were two other vampires besides the girl. Both male, both Phishheads also. Guess the babe felt the need to share her own brand of lovin' with her friends.

Spike sauntered up to them, easy as can be. They stood to greet him, saying things we couldn't hear from our place behind the glass.

Spike ignored 'em until he had lit a smoke, then started to chat with them.

That went on for who knows how long, them having a heated debate of some sort with him, while he puffed away, and we crowded around the windows. Must've looked like fish in a bowl to the collection of vamps. Big fishy eyes and gapey mouths.

Suddenly Spike dropped his cigerette and began to move. I knew these creatures moved fast, but to see one in action is insanely thrilling. The ultimate carnivore, humanity stripped away until all that is left is that best suited to kill.

One vamp was down with a snapped neck before he probably realized Spike had attacked him. The other vamp was staked by a chunk of wood Spike made appear from his pocket.

The girl tried to run, fleeing into the darkness with Spike trailing closely behind at an easy lope.

A little over an hour later, Spike returned.

Seemed a bit happier than I had ever seen him, and just full of lovely, happy news.

Yeah, the vamps had taken over the city. Had taken over the majority of the midwest. The more powerful demons had claimed the big cites as their own. Apparently hell lovin' fiends are into segregation, for apparently the different tribes and breeds were sticking to themselves for the most part.

So it was going on. Spike said if the shit hadn't already gone down that it will in a few days time. He told us to keep watch on the news. Until the TV stations are abandoned or, get a load of this shit, taken over by demons for their own entertainment purposes.

Spike didn't say what he did to the girl, and we didn't ask.

**********

He followed her down into a narrow, winding grouping of trees about a mile from the school.

She ran blindly, as fear driven as a rabbit, darting through the trees, submitting her body completely to her reflexes.

Spike had a good chunk of years over her though. He had no trouble pacing her, no trouble reaching out to tug at the hair at the back of her neck, causing her to careen into trees and roots with bawling shock.

When he tired of the chase, which wasn't long, he decided to fuck her instead.

He never claimed to be decent, but he doubted that any of his companions would care all that much if they knew what he doing.

Funny, how fragile morals were, eh?

Spike easily tackled the girl, sending them both tumbling into the leaves and dirt.

He twisted her over with long practiced ease, receiving a warped scratch along his cheek for his efforts.

They both froze, and Spike let his mouth part so that she could see just how wide a smile he was capable of right now. After all, Pain and Pleasure were just surface.....

"Tell me what I want to know, I'll let you go, pet."

She glared at him sullenly. "Fuck you."

"Not the right answer, babe, not the right answer. Though if that's what you want..."

The girl attempted to swivel the situation around through bravado. "Maybe that's what I *do* want," she purred, "surprised?"

"No." He slapped her. Hard.

Her demon buckled outwards from her face, rattling the skin along her brow into ridges, bending the texture into something more supple, leathery.

"Let's try this again, now--what is your name?"

She pouted at him, a habit that must have done wonders when she was human. The effect was less than extraordinary on Spike. He had, after all, been Dru's lover for decades...

Another shake, and the name was tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop it. "Gina."

"There, now....that wasn't so hard, was it?" Spike held her down easily with one hand as he searched through his pockets for his cigarettes.

Lighting one, he commented, "Now, be a good girl, and if you still want to fuck, we can." He leered at her look of disdain, knowing how it must sound to her. "Look, I can make it very, very good."

Spike let his own features reflect hers. "Or I can show you what I do to bitches that come sniffing around where they shouldn't. Understand? I am old, babe. Oh *so* very much older than you. Just remember this, and use your imagination as to why I tell you that."

Ambiguity is often more effective than direct threats. Something he had learned quite readily from Angelus.

"What do you want to know?"

"Everything."

"Well, *that* certainly helps, you bast--"

Another slap, unerringly aimed at the spots where it would hurt the most, reverberate through her head and echo.

"Now, Gina....."

**********

In the end, Spike received his information, and he received his sex.

Gina received a branch through the chest, among other various damage.

All was less than satisfactory, in Spike's opinion.

But not that he cared, really. It was all the same to him.

His world had been bit in two.

And he could "isn't" and "wasn't" and "won't" all he wanted, but it wouldn't help. Wouldn't fix things, wouldn't place him in the ranks of the normal. If vampires who can bite can be counted as the norm.

As he walked back to the school, it occurred to him. That, oh hey, yes:

In this new world, vampires were the norm. Humans would soon be the whispered myth.

**********

((--From Devon's journal, August 5--))

Reports started to pour in a day ago, interupting regularily scheduled shows. It was chaos, news reporters blabbering on about strange happenings around the world and heavy death tolls in major cities.

Grainy footage of demons, undercurrent of confused whispers about The End coming. Religious mania being spouted by the masses.

We'd all settled down for a major news marathon, but only a couple hours into the news bullitins, the broadcast was cut. Replaced by snow, and I suspect it will always remain that way.

So now it's truly just us for all intents and purposes, and while we're all handling this better than the day we fled from Sunneydale, the edges are fraying.

Xander lost it right after the TV incident. Started to pace around and yell and sweat.

"We can't just stay here!"

Giles was the only one who tried to calm him. He stood as close as Xander would let him, mumbling for Xander to calm down. Great job, old man.

The rest of us just stood near the doorway, staring at our feet or the walls. I don't know about the rest, but at the time I was thinking that it wasn't fair, it wasn't fair that I had to feel like we should be out saving the world somehow. That just by knowing about the Hellmouth opening first meant we were responsible for the world.

"I mean, why are we doing this? We can't just stay here until *They* decide to come and kill us, eat us!" said Xander, looking like a caged animal the way he stalked around.

"Xander--" Giles spread his hands out in a confused shrug, apparently at a loss for words. Don't really blame him.

He just should've come over to the door and stood there looking at his feet like the rest of us. His trying to help wasn't doing Xander a damn bit of good.

"Why'd you bring us here, Giles? HUH? WHY!"

Giles sighed and sat down in a chair, and I have to hand it to him. He didn't waver his voice, he didn't lower his eyes from Xander's.

"I brought us here to die. Is that what you want me to say, Xander? You'd rather we had stayed, sat in a circle on the ground and let the demons eat us at their leisure?"

Xander was the one now to mumble, saying "Maybe. I dunno."

"Well," Giles stood up and walked over to the window, but instead of looking out of it he turned and looked at all of us. "I didn't bring us here to die. I still have hope. No, things are not good, true...."

He did his librarian-eye routine, looking at each of us until we were squirming despite ourselves.

"But we're alive, aren't we? And to give up, what would that do?" Giles walked up to Xander, not pacing anymore but staring sullenly at Giles instead.

"You know what that would be doing, Xander? It would be dishonoring our friends and everything they died protecting."

Giles' walked out of the room then, leaving us all to stand there.

Maybe he thought we were pondering his words. I dunno, but I wasn't. I was thinking he was full of shit.

That might've just been me, though.

**********

Word traveled quickly through the growing vampire population about the group of people living west of town.

"They killed three vampires."

"They're powerful-they have a pet vampire of their own, he does whatever they say."

"They know about us, and they're prepared. Not like the rest of the human population. I mean, they're set up like they think they can wait us *out*."

"Wouldn't mind taking them out."

"Think of the power and esteem we'd get with the town Master if we were the ones to kill these fuckers! Find a way past the crosses and not being able to enter. Outwit them."

"I've gotta see these losers for myself. See if they're as bad-ass as they say."

Talk spread, and with each night, the population of vampires on a thrill-seeking quest grew. They congregated outside the schoolhouse, playing on swings and looking like a company sponsored picnic.

It was fun. It was entertainment. A trip to the zoo where exotic and slightly dangerous creatures were kept.

They all learned within the first week that to wander to close to the building would lead to an arrow through the heart. They were good, these humans (and werewolf and vampire-pet), with weapons. Which brought up the question of what they were before all this. None of the townsfolk that had been carefully chosen for vampirehood recognized them. They were certainly outsiders.

And the "pet" vampire, he was certainly interesting. He wasn't a new member to their changed lifestyle. He felt at least a century old. His scent, which drifted to the gathered vampires when a window or door was cracked open to launch an attack, wasn't right somehow.

Why would a vampire choose to be with humans when the world was now that of the demon and undead?

He was the one they wanted to get their hands on the most. Then the werewolf and the shy looking girl that had a scent of magic to her.

Oh, there's nothing like a good bit of intrigue to pass the prairie night away with.

As for now, none of the vampires had a true desire to kill the group besides for the sport of it. Food was plentiful, and the group wasn't going anywhere.

And as for the growing number of vampires killed by these rogues, well, they were probably deserving. Idiots to get so close to the school as to let themselves be shot down.

Not that such a fact would keep them from tearing the group to shreds first chance they had.

Oh, yes. The vampires pleasantly bided their time. For as they were apt to say, "We'll not open the cookie jar until the main course is through."

**********

...bites this

((--From Devon's journal, August 14--))

If it's true that humans are creatures of habit, kill me now.

It's driving me nuts, this never-fucking-ending *cycle*. Sleeping, waking, fighting and keeping watch, eating. And then once more: sleeping, waking...ah, God.

Every night we're surrounded by fucking vamps out on our front lawn. This is their holiday, their party pad. They bring blankets and trussed up humans and settle down for a few hours to enjoy each others company and have a bite (ha-ha) to eat.

How terribly fucking civilized of them.

We've killed a half dozen or so since they've "discovered" us. Gawking babies who didn't realize that, yeah, this fire *is* hot.

The brief rumbling as the body dissolves, the metallic scent, the gummy ashes: my new favorite things in life.

We're all doing the best we can, I guess. It's not so much the routine, the killing, the knowledge we might be the last humans for miles.

It's the *taunting*.

The vamps come, and they hoot and holler at us. Throw shit at the windows like rocks, bottles, drained corpses. And those are *so* much fun to clean up in the morning when the flies have begun to gather.

And the vampires shout out to us, calling us "playthings" and "dinner" and "antiques". Tell us we're the last humans alive, tell us we should end it now. Why bother with living when we *must* know we're doomed?

Childish shit to break our morals, I know. But Dammit, it's *working*. I go to sleep every morning with their words echoing in my head, repeating themselves like some really, really bad play-by-play.

But if nothing else, it's given me a reason to keep going. Just so I can flip them all off when I manage to dust one of their buddies. To fucking be a thorn in their sides is a sorry way to live, but Hell, it's a reason.

Reasons are good and needed, no?

We're all getting closer in a very understated, unspoken way. We show it in the smallest ways, mostly through touch. No, nothing sexual at all. Just....I dunno, touching for the sake of feeling another human.

I think it reminds us that we're not alone in this, that we're making a stand together. That no matter what, we're here in both mind and body. Which sounds like fucking stupid nonsense, but you'd be surprised.

When it's three in the morning and a *vampire* has thrown a dismembered *head* at the window inches from your face, it's *hard*. It's easy to forget that you're more than just food, more than an expendable resource. That there's more to you than just the sum of your parts, if that makes sense.

A pat of the back, an arm linked through yours--it lifts the haze, scrubs away the stains a bit. Leaves you feeling, if not whole, at least less...mentally raped.

We're actually at the point now where we sleep in a huge puppy-pile. When we first came here, we all just climbed into our sleeping bags or under our blankets and hid from each other.

Didn't want to see my own horrors reflected in the eyes of others. That was my reason. Now, it's good to see reflections.

Ha...I fucking reflect, therefore I fucking am.

Though these Bedtime Snuggly Writings bring up a point that's become an issue for us.

Xander.

He's leaving us, and there's nothing we can seem to do about it.

He fucking refuses to let himself be reflected through us, refuses to cast his own reflections.

What the Hell *can* we do?

When it's hard enough to muster your own reasons to keep fighting for your life, how can you manufacture a reason for someone else?

**********

"Hey...get outta my spot, bastard. Unless you're hinting at something."

Oz rolled his eyes at Devon, and rolled over onto Tara, causing her to squeak. On the other side of Tara, Giles was reading a book. A few feet from Giles lay Spike, not a member of the Comfort Club.

Not, thought Oz, that he would've been shunned. It was his choice.

Though Oz had to admit to himself that he was more comfortable with Spike keeping his distance. Help or no help, he was still a vampire. Something that, try as he might, he couldn't forget.

Anyways, he wanted to have completely human scents lulling him to sleep.

Devon's scent: cigarettes and the cologne he still wore, even now with no one to wear it for.

Well, he wears it for *us*, thought Oz, the realization a warming comfort.

Tara smelled of chocolate--a favorite comfort food--along with the intriguing scent of simply being female. No herbs and magic, now. She refused to do any spells. She had said once-- to Giles--that she would never again, her voice more pointed that Oz had ever heard it.

Magic had not been brought up since.

And Giles, he had a surprisingly aggressive male aroma, coupled with a secret smell. A subtle hint of Alpha and strength. Surprising from a mild person such as he, but while appearances lie, scent never does.

Xander.....

Oz stopped the playful teasing he had begun with Tara, refusing to let her push him from his spot on her back. He was suddenly distracted by his thoughts, and let her shrug him away.

Oz rolled over so that he could see where Xander lay to the other side of Devon.

Xander was pushed up against the wall with his back to the group, as if their presence disgusted him or caused fear.

Oz could smell neither, just a hopeless scent that itched at his nerves. A tired, pale sensation. Sickness of the soul.

Not that one needed to have special senses to know that. All one needed was eyes to see how he was so obviously loathe to reach out to them all.

Damn.

Oz rolled onto his back, throwing an arm over his eyes. Both Devon and Tara glanced at him and then Xander before arranging themselves to a more suitable position to sleep in.

Oz listened to the sounds of everyone settling in, of Giles rising to shut off the light. Oz was surprised, actually, that they still had electricity. Far too easy for the new town leaders to shut it off...

Sighing, Oz rolled over to face the direction that Xander was sleeping. He opened his eyes, the pitch darkness of the windowless room pressing down momentarily until his hearing sharpened, compensating.

Spike was already dead to the world, so to speak. He always was. Perhaps so he could escape to a chipless land as fast as he could. Who knew? Giles and Devon talked to him, but Oz felt no need.

Devon was also asleep, the crown of his head pressed into Oz's stomach. His mouth was open, and Oz knew he'd wake later that day with a Devon-drool marking on his shirt.

Oz lay there as the rest of the group drifted off. Tara snoring softly, her perpetually cold feet pressed against his legs with her head near Giles. Giles was the last to drift off, as usual.

Oz suspected that this was Giles' time for giving thanks. One more day with his five charges still present and accounted for.

Oz waited patiently.

He couldn't guess how much time passed before he heard movement from where Xander lay.

A small click and suddenly there was a faint glow of light filtered through a blanket. Papery rustlings from under the tent Xander had made over his head with his blankets.

Oz resisted the urge to get up and make his way over to Xander; to grab him and ask him *why*. Why day after day he waited until he was sure the group had fallen asleep and then read his books by the poor illumination of his penlight.

Oz wasn't sure, since he needed his sleep after the nights they faced, but he suspected that Xander more often than not read most days through. Oz had forced himself to lay awake three times for the entire day. Two of the three times Xander had read the entire day, clicking the light off whenever then was a shifting or murmuring from those asleep.

Those two times, Xander slept for perhaps an hour or two at the most. Drifting off when the others where just beginning to swim upwards through dreams to the even more surreal reality that was to be faced nightly.

It explained in part why Xander was so haggard looking. But as bad as he looked, the aspect to his depression that bothered Oz the most was what he said.

Nothing.

Nothing, which was the opposite of what Xander stood for. No matter what had been faced in the past, Xander had always had a comment, a story, an unwelcome and ill-timed remark.

And now he just sat by the window watching vampires or more and more often, in front of the television watching tapes.

Interesting thing, but Xander never read at night when the others were up and about.

Oz shut his eyes, and curled up around Devon. Tara's feet were slowly warming, and were no longer a distraction.

Oz drifted off to the sounds of soft snores and turned pages.

**********

.....universe in two.

((--From Devon's journal, August 20--))

We should have expected it. We should have foreseen that the vampires would have human minions.

People promised immortality instead of death if they pledged themselves to the vamps.

Fucking creepy jobs such as protecting them during daylight hours, scouting for them, serving them in God knows what ways.

Also trying to capture us for the vamps when we don't expect it. When we try to get our *much* needed sleep.

Three nights ago was the break in...well, days ago, actually. Since we sleep during the day now, we all catch ourselves calling night day and day night.

Well, we'd all gone to bed once the last vamp had left our front yard and the sun had begun to creep its way over the horizon. I fell asleep right away, as usual.

Next thing I knew, Xander was shaking me awake. The others were still asleep. I guess he had chosen me because I was the closest person, the only one within reach.

Why couldn't Oz or Spike or Giles been closer?

I woke up with Xander's hand over my mouth. Dude knows me well enough, I guess. I was trying to cuss him out before my eyes were open.

I opened my eyes to see Xander next to me, a penlight towards his face so that I could see him put a finger in front of his lips.

I nodded, and he removed his hand from my mouth, pointing towards the door.

I was still groggy as Hell, but I heard something that had me awake and sweating like a switch had been thrown.

Footsteps in the hallway. Quiet, barely audible. Whomever was out there was trying to keep silent.

My brain was racing, the first thought being we had overslept and it was night. But I then remembered the whole deal about vamps not being able to enter a home.

The next thought was that it could be a demon of a different flavor, and I mouthed this the Xander.

He shrugged and nodded. He didn't know, but had the same suspicions.

Then, with no warning, he had stood and moved quietly to the door.

I sat up as he began to crack the door open, asking myself what the *fuck* he was doing not waking the others and just plowing out the bathroom without any plan. I had to choose between waking the others and following him, because he wasn't waiting.

Well, what the fuck could I do? If I didn't try to stop him, he might've walked out into the waiting jaws of some freaky monster.

So I followed, grabbing a gun from the shelf over the sink. I made my way over to the door, grabbing it before it could close behind Xander and slam shut to alert whatever intruder that was here that we were awake.

There was no one in the hallway luckily, because the sudden daylight was disorientating and blinding.

There was noise coming from the TV room, and Xander approached the door with no apparent fear.

I ran up behind him, the gun cocked and ready.

There was a man standing by a desk, leafing through the books Giles had left there. He looked up, and tried to pull a gun from his pocket.

"Don't move..." I was shaking horribly, scared and pissed at myself that I was.

The man raised his hands and took a step back.

"Xander...g-go get his gun." God, I sounded like a pussy. Stuttering like I was Tara.

Xander just stood there until I aimed a kick at his leg. He moved forward slowly, not a bit of awareness or caution to his movements.

"What are you doing here? You're human..." I didn't know what else to say, I couldn't understand why a human would break in with a gun.

The man glared at me and Xander as he approached. "Not for much longer, kid."

Xander stopped. "What?"

"I said, not for much longer. But they're gonna kill me now, I was supposed to bring the girl in and kill the rest, and I've failed, oh shit of fuck--"

The man was blabbering in his terror, not terror of us though. I still, at that point, couldn't quite piece together what he was saying. The idea was there, at the back of my mind I think. I didn't want to understand him...

Xander was frozen, his back to me. Suddenly he lunged forward, screaming out, "You bastard!"

"XANDER!" I could see the man reaching for his gun as Xander ran at him.

I didn't even think, I just....

God, I shot a fucking man. A *human* who wasn't evil. I mean, no matter what the rest of the group says, he wasn't a human devil.

He was just trying to survive.

And I'll never admit this to the rest of the group, but if I was in that position.....a position of dying or living....

I don't know.

I might take the less noble route.

I. Just. Might.

**********

"Why would they want Tara?"

Oz was looking out where they had placed the body. It lay crumpled on the merry-go-round, a gift for the vampires that would surely arrive soon.

Devon and Tara had wanted to bury the body, but there wasn't enough time. An hour to sundown, maybe two.

Too big of a risk.

The group all gave little glances towards Tara, who squirmed uncomfortably. Why would they want her? She was...

...was *nothing*.

Giles walked up to Oz, turning him from the window to lead him back to the group sitting on the floor of the hallway. "Perhaps for her knowledge of magic. She could serve as quite the weapon."

Oz sat down nodding at Giles words.

Tara looked up at Giles, her face blanching. "But I don't do magic anymore--"

"They don't know that, Tara."

"Oh."

Tara pulled her knees up under her chin. Tears where threatening. A little part of her wondered if the vampires knew it was *her* fault they were in charge now. Maybe they wanted to *thank* her.

Devon was nervously pulling at the frayed end of a shoelace. "We'd know, we'd know if I hadn't offed him. Oh, *fuck*!" He threw himself backwards, gazing up at the ceiling.

"Devon," Giles kneeled down next to him. "It wasn't a bad thing. You saved Xander. He might've been killed. It was Xander or the man."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever."

Spike had been standing in the bathroom doorway, safe from the rays of the setting sun. He now sat down, wedged between the door and the doorframe.

"I have an idea."

They all looked up at him. He was staring coolly at Tara, and she looked quickly down. There had been pity in his eyes.

But not much.

"These vampires are the new pilgrims." Spike looked at each of them in turn. "They are building a new civilization."

Giles frowned and turned his back to the group. Tara had a feeling that he knew what Spike was going to say.

"And, children, how does civilization start?"

He waited, the question apparently not being a rhetorical one.

"Just get to it." They all looked at Tara, even Giles and Xander. Xander who had been staring numbly down at his feet this entire time. He hadn't said a word since the incident.

Tara glared at Spike. "Stop teasing. What is going on?"

Spike smiled sourly.

"Well, the answer is this: they must stop being nomads. Civilization started, officially, when humans stopped being hunter/gatherers and settled down."

Spike paused to inhale from his cigarette, not taking his eyes from Tara.

"Settle down and start growing crops, that is."

"Oh God..." Oz looked at Tara, his eyes wide. "They're not...they're not...."

He trailed off, looking at Spike for an answer. Spike said nothing, just continued to stare at Tara.

It was Giles that answered the unspoken question.

"Yes, I suspect they are, actually. It makes perfect--if horrid--sense."

Tara suddenly realized what Spike had been hinting. She got up, and walked quickly to the bathroom used for purposes such as hers.

Before the door closed and her retching was the only sound she heard as her stomach emptied into a toilet, she heard Giles finish his statement.

"They're beginning to breed humans for a steady food supply."

**********

.....peels forever out

((--From Devon's journal, August 26--))

It was my turn to pull the day shift.

Ever since we've had our daytime visitor, one of us has kept watch for the entire day.

Since the 20th, we've had to take action two other times.

Once for attempted arson. Four people, two guys and two girls. All it took was us coming outside and brandishing guns. Stupid fuckers didn't have guns with them, didn't think we'd hear them outside. Fuck, we'd seen them as they approached across the open fields. Or Giles had. It had been his day.

The other time was yesterday. I'd been on watch. Tara had been outside walking with Oz. Daytime's relatively safe, so they shouldn't have had to worry. I could see them from my position.

Suddenly I heard a gunshot.

They stood up quickly, but I couldn't see if they'd been hit. Wisely, they started to run back towards the front doors.

Tara had fallen behind a bit as they passed the van. Or rather the remnants of the van.

I'd forgotten to write this, but we lost Oz's van to fire quite awhile ago. The gathered vampires had roasted a few people within it.

Oz passed by it, still a few hundred yards or so from the front doors. As Tara approached, a man stepped out from the hollowed out interior.

He grabbed her around the waist, and started to pull her backwards behind the van.

Oz didn't realize what was going on until I screamed out "Tara!" and pointed. He spun, and started back.

As Oz had spun around to face the kidnapper I hadn't recognized him for a moment.

Looked kinda like the faces we see night after night outside our front doors.

As he ran back, another figure rushed from the van, wheeling a motorcycle. Bastards must've rolled it into the burnt out shell the night before under the cover of the darkness. Waiting.

He saw me in the doorway. I went for my gun, but he pumped a couple shots towards the school, forcing me backwards for cover.

Oz had reached them by the time the man had rolled the cycle over to the man struggling with Tara. Oz launched himself at the man, knocking him away from Tara.

Smart chick, she started back towards me without looking back. Knew Oz could handle himself.

By this time my shouting had roused Giles and the ever-silent Xander.

Giles took out the man with the bike with a single shot. I'm not all that good with a gun. Giles is a bit *too* good for a librarian.

Oz managed to scramble away from the first man when the shot rang out. He started to sprint towards us. Tara had almost reached the entrance. But Oz still had a ways to go.

The second man ran, hunched over, to the bike, popping shots at us to keep us from shooting at him. He didn't shoot at Oz, just aimed the shots so that we couldn't stay in his sight long enough to get a clear aim.

We heard the bike roar to life, and I scrambled over Giles to look out the front door before Giles roughly pulled me back.

Luckily, the man wasn't shooting now, or I might've lost my fucking head.

He wanted Oz.

He caught up, and reached out to snag Oz by his shaggy hair. This sent Oz off balance, tumbling him to the ground roughly.

I think the men's aim was to capture one of us alive, and try not to kill the rest if possible.

We'll never know, because just as the man began to slow down enough to turn the bike back towards Oz, Giles's aim went true.

Less than four minutes had gone by, though it had felt like much, much more. Four minutes and two dead.

That easy.

It gives me hope, you know?

Makes me think we might have a fighting chance because they haven't gotten us yet.

Just hope they aren't smart enough to bring a bulldozer to the school next time.

**********

Giles passed by Devon, sitting by the bathroom used for normal bathroom purposes.

"What are you up to? Writing again?"

"Yeah," said Devon, glancing up. "Gonna sell our story to the networks for a miniseries. Make a bundle."

"Ah," said Giles, sitting down. He looked over at Devon, taking his appearance in. Longer hair, but the old tale about how events making a person appear older must be a lie.

To Giles, he still looked like the same young man he had first met in Sunnydale. They all still looked like children to him. And eyes lied. He didn't see the pain when he looked at them. He just saw....eyes. Brown and blue and hazel and greenish gray. Sometimes yellow. Sometimes wet with tears.

But Giles had never had that poetic view of eyes in the first place. He was one to judge through body language, through a tilt of the head. Or the tone of a voice. Both in what the voice said and how it was said.

Trying to see into a person through the eyes, well, that was fine and wonderful a notion for Devon with his songs or Tara with her romance novels.

Tara, as if on cue, wandered out of the other bathroom with a book in tow. Giles never ceased to be amazed by the covers of those books. They were bloody giving, those artists. Perfected dreams for $4.99.

If only things were as easy as they must be in those books. Good people facing horrible odds. Everyone is going to hell in a handbasket with no hope in sight. Then they have sex, a couple swashbuckling scenes, more sex, and it all ends with the characters sailing off into the sunset.

"Where's Xander?" He asked the two, not expecting a response that would answer his question.

"Dunno" and "I haven't seen him."

Ah yes, Xander with his apparent suicide wish. Traipsing outside despite their pleading. Unless they planned on tying him up, they couldn't keep him from taking daytime walks.

And he always was a bit more receptive after taking a stroll outside. God help him, but that almost made the fear he wouldn't come back one day worthwhile.

To actually hear Xander laugh, even if it was only a small one aimed at a movie in the VCR.

Where Xander had become an introvert rarely speaking unless spoken too, Oz had done the opposite. He talked often now, and for long lengths of time. To all of them, even Spike now on occasion. He'd talk to Xander, even if Xander didn't say a word in response, even if he didn't acknowledge Oz's presence.

Giles had asked him about it one day. Oz had gone quiet, making Giles think he might not say anything at all.

"We're gonna die in the end, Giles."

Giles had reached out to Oz, planning on what he didn't know. A hug, a shake. Don't scare yourself like that, and for God's sake, don't scare me like that.

Oz had pulled away.

"I mean, when I woke up today I said to Devon 'Hooray! Today I broke my record for consecutive days I've been alive!' and I'm not saying we might be dead today or tomorrow or even five years from now....."

Giles had nodded. "You're saying that you can feel your life like never before. You cradle it closer than in Sunnydale. It's a delicate, cracked thing."

Oz brightened, saying, "Exactly! And...well, I truly doubt we'll all be alive five years from now, Giles."

Giles had smiled bitterly. "I know."

"And I want to be known. You're the only ones alive that know me. But until now, except for Devon perhaps, you really only knew *of* me. And I can't die knowing that."

What does one say to a child when they are asking you to tell the painful truth?

"I've all these thoughts and opinions, Giles. And I want to die knowing that people knew me. That I'm be remembered."

Giles now reached towards Oz, who let himself be pulled into a rough hug.

Character changes, unfortunately sometimes.

Giles wasn't the type to hug a person to comfort them, just as Oz wasn't the type to talk your ear off all day and night.

But character changes, thought Giles as he looked at Devon and remembered how useless he had felt that day with Oz.

Perhaps one *never* knows if it is for the better or worse. Even if the person is happier or more brave or wise, they are still a different person.

And that means the original version you knew is dead.

Better or worse in the end? Who knows, who cares?

Perhaps all one can do is mourn.

**********

((--From Devon's journal, August 30--))

All I wanted was some fucking comfort, some remembrance of when things were good and simple.

Oz was in the bathroom cleaning up, and I came in on him. I'd been thinking about it for a few days, and it seemed to be the perfect opportunity.

I just walked up to him, grabbed him, kissed him.

I wanted to touch someone in *that* way.

I wanted him...

But he shoved me backwards, shaking his head.

I tried a different route, sliding up towards him, around him. Trailing my hand over his neck. He never could resist me when I tried to seduce him in that way. Soft words and softer touches. He liked his sex partners soft and pliant, he liked to be the leader.

He's the only person I've ever let lead *me* along. Doesn't he know that?

But he didn't respond to me, just stood looking at the ground.

"Why not, Oz?" I whispered in his ear, but when I licked the edge, he pulled away again.

Fucking bastard. My fucking bastard, and it hurt.

"I can't, Devon."

"Yes, you can. You have before. It's something to do with Willow's memory, isn't it? Like you'd be cheating on her, even though you were broken up and--"

Oz came back to me and grabbed me by the shoulders, speaking low and slowly. "No. It's not that at all."

"Then what?" My voice was panicked sounding and whiney, but I didn't care. I was just so *needy*.

"It's *our* memory I'd be cheating on, Dev."

"Huh?"

"When we were sixteen, the whole world was ahead of us. Anything was possible. It was all so...so...." Oz shrugged, looking upset.

I tried one last time to kiss him. I leaned forward but he dug his fingers painfully into my arms, stopping me with a wince.

"It was all so solid, Dev. It was innocence."

"We were *never* fucking innocent."

"Yeah, we were. We were *so* innocent. And I don't want to mess up those memories. To be with you now would be stale. It wouldn't be the same. I want to remember us in a good light. I'm sorry."

It was my turn to push him away then.

I was mad, and I say the stupid shit my brain lashes out with towards the other person. I can't keep it in.

But he deserved it. I deserved it.

Deserved it because we all fucking *knew*. Because it was done in the dark, hidden from view like a dirty, disgusting secret.

"Is that why you're fucking Tara?"

Ever notice that a person blushing is a "yes"?

************

.....of his grave

They gathered silently.

No taunts about how the humans would soon be breeding stock, no speculations as to the taste of the blood contained within their fragile, warm skins.

The twenty or so vampires, along with twice as many human servants, began to file around the school, circling it.

Up until now, the attempts to get in had been mostly in idle jest. Sure, they wanted the cocky humans. But there had been so many more important issues to deal with at the time....

But now, for all intents and purposes, the town, the state, the countryside...it was all theirs.

What was needed now was to finish setting up the various breeding facilities.

While they didn't need males as much as females, these renegades would be getting off much too easy by simply being killed. Or even tortured.

Let them mentally rot away until they were empty shells. Animals used for fucking and nothing more. Kill them finally when they could produce no more seed or offspring.

By then they would willingly bare their necks. They would beg for it, clawing at the pant legs of their owners and mewling.

The vampires in front could see the pale faces of their prey through the entrance windows between the cracks in the wood panels placed against them for support and protection. The group inside knew something was up.

But this was nothing that arrows and rifles could stop.

A vampire stepped forward from the line. He was the master of the two towns and had planned this little raid.

A human stepped up next to him, carrying a box. "Should we begin, sir?"

"Yes," Said the vampire, not looking at the human. "But you are not to kill them. Get as many as you can and then retreat. Don't get cocky or reckless."

He raised his voice so all gathered, along with the group inside the school, could hear his words.

"We are here in celebration," he called out loudly and clearly. "We are here to take the last free humans of the town as our own, literally and symbolically ushering in a new age."

A thrumming excitement was rising through the crowd, leaping from vampire to vampire. Faces were shifting rapidly, teeth were replaced by dripping fangs.

The Master vampire lifted his arms skyward. "Our time is now. And let this be a lesson to humans the world over that the struggle is useless."

There was movement behind the glass of the school entrance. Mice scurrying away to save their tails.

The vampire smiled as he brought his arms down swiftly, a sign to those present. "Take them. Kill the traitor vampire. Bring the rest to me alive!"

The crowd seethed to violent life, rushing towards the school with war cries and shouts of glee.

"Shall I use the grenades?" His human pet was back, looking at the contents of his box.

"Not yet...let's see if we can snatch any of the mice first..."

**********

"Ah....fuck me!"

Devon raced to the weapon room where the others were gathered.

"This's it, they're storming the school!" Even as the words left his mouth they could hear the muffled shouts through the thick walls.

"Well, let's do this then," said Spike, smiling with glee as his face warped into a buckled shape. He picked up a chainsaw from the piles of assorted weaponry, hefting it as if it weighed nothing. Devon wished he had as little apparent fear as Spike did. Or could at least hide it as well.

Giles nodded grimly, his flamethrower firmly in place. "Devon, use the rifle with the--"

A sudden shuddering thump shook the back of the room. A rumbling began, making the wall vibrate.

Oz rushed in, pulling Tara and Xander behind him.

Tara fell to her knees by the weapons, searching for a weapon she could use well. "They're drilling through the walls!"

"What?" Devon almost dropped the rifle he carried as his hands began to shake. Perhaps he wasn't such a Badass after all.

Each bullet for the gun had a holy cross carved upon it. Giles had brought them along from Sunnydale, where they had been blessed by a priest.

"They're drilling in the other room!"

Another rumbling began at another point in the room. Oz bared his teeth at the wall, picking up a crossbow. "They're gonna break through the walls in so many places we can't stop them. Overrun us with humans. Ah shiiiitt."

Devon smiled shakily at his friend. "Maybe they just wanna treat us all to a Thanksgiving meal. You know, show their fucking support."

"We're the pilgrims?"

Devon couldn't maintain the joking lightness, and let the words come out that wanted too.

"No, we're the meal, dude."

**********

Spike pulled Xander with him into the living quarters to guard the back door. Xander couldn't fight well enough to be at the weakest spot by the front doors. And the demons had not, as of yet, begun to start drilling at the walls in this room. They were focused on the door.

Xander had a stake, and except for two hectic red circles high on his cheeks, looked more corpse-like than Spike.

"Just let them try, just let them try, eh, Xander?"

Xander didn't answer, not that Spike had expected him too.

This was awful, this night would in all probability leave them dead, this Licked The Big One.

This was kinda fun.

It was action, finally. No more cowering in a hole. No more waiting for *God* knows what.

While he'd rather have been on the side winning, he knew he could never be.

So he'd punish the other side for reminding him of this fact nightly. Not with words, just by *being*.

Spike stood to one side of the door. He could hear the vampires and servants on the other side, prodding and banging at the metal.

Spike prepared to open the metal door and have a few words with those outside.

He'd been watching the telly when this shit had hit.

He wanted to let them know just how much he hated having his viewing time interrupted.

Spike forced the chainsaw into roaring, grinding life.

**********

"Tara--over there!"

She spun to see a man crawling in through one of the holes left by the plates of broken glass. She let loose an arrow, catching him in the arm. Devon used a normal handgun to finish him off, before aiming his holy-powered rifle back towards the seething darkness outside the entrance.

They were holding steady, having the luck that *they* hadn't any orders against killing the enemy. The enemy had to be careful, couldn't take them out.

But sixty against six wasn't lucky. It sounded like a kamikaze mission, thought Tara.

She looked at Devon, catching his eyes. They were gaping, surreal in the way they bulged. He was panting, hyperventilating.

She knew it was hard for him to kill. Even if it was them or the enemy who would die.

Tara just felt empty.

She wouldn't let them take her alive.

She planned on saving a bullet just in case.

**********

Oz hissed in pain as a fingernail peeled back, the startling hot pain racing through his hand, numbing it.

He continued to shove anyway, pushing the shelving unit, with Giles help, until it was over the spot where the vampires and humans would soon be breaking through the stone.

He could hear drilling starting up at another point along the wall.

"How thick are the walls?"

Giles checked his valves and settings on the flamethrower, positioning himself for battle. "Nearly two feet."

"Not enough."

"It'll never be enough..." He trailed off. The Alpha scent Giles exuded was overpowering in the room now, calming Oz in a much needed way. He needed the benefit of a leader, he needed to be propped up on someone else's bravery.

Oz nodded, blinking away a trickle of sweat that ran into an eye.

He shut his eyes, willing the wolf forward. He needed the bloodlust right now, craved it.

Nothing.

Apparently the wolf had run away. Wisely cowering in the corner of his mind.

Oz whimpered, and couldn't tell if it was his own voice or the Wolf's.

**********

Teeth grazed along his collarbone, hungry hands traced lines of fire and blood over his back.

Spike took each creature as it approached. Luckily, the vampires wanted to be the ones to claim him as their kill. Humans not allowed here, so sorry...

He could hear Xander behind him in the doorway, blindly shooting out into the darkness and brandishing his stake when anyone approached too closely.

Spike had lost count. As far as he could tell, he had taken out four vampires. He had maimed several more.

They were young, those vampires. But patriotic.

Never underestimate those fighting for religion, love, or their country.

And God, especially fear those fighting for all three.....

**********

"See anything?"

Tara squinted out through the crushed remains of the front entrance. The attacks had dwindled.

"Maybe they are regrouping...."

Devon gave a jittery, sobbing laugh. "Oh, yeah, oh hell yeah. 'Cause we're *so* unkillable and such the badass crew--"

"--Shhhh...." Tara cocked her head, listening. "Do you hear drilling?"

"No, you're right." Devon sat up, grimacing at the blood coating his arms from a shallow knife wound.

Tara listened harder, but besides the ringing in her ears, could hear only the sounds of the night. Crickets and wind sweeping through the tall prairie grasses.

"So where the fuck are they?" asked Devon, his teeth chattering. Tara wanted to calm him, but now wasn't the time. Bodily safety first, mental afterwards.

"I don't know. W-why would they have stopped?"

"Something must have happened."

**********

"Huh?"

Oz stopped rattling shots off through the small hole in the cement. As soon as the power drills had broken through, he had shoved a rifle through the tiny hole and begun to pump bullets.

"I d-don't hear anything." Giles moved from his spot at the other side of the room, where he had been waiting for the vampires to break though.

"You're right. Does that mean we're dead?" Oz smiled crookedly at Giles.

"I hope not," said Giles, walking towards the entrance of the room. "I haven't had the chance to use the flamethrower yet."

Oz left the gun propped through the small hole, and followed Giles out of the room.

**********

"Where's Xander?"

Spike stood in the open doorway, searching the moonlit landscape for movement. "I don't know."

Oz moved up next to him, inhaling deeply. "The vampires are moving away."

"Where's Xander, Spike?" Repeated Giles.

"I *don't* know."

Oz hissed and started to step outside. Devon lunged forward and pulled him back.

"He's somewhere out there. I can smell him. His fear...his anger...."

Giles stepped forward towards Spike. The rest of the group just stood around with blank faces and crumpled postures.

"You let him go outside?" The words were said softly, but Spike could see how tightly Giles gripped the nozzle of the flamethrower.

Spike blinked at Giles in surprise. "Look, I was busy fighting the bastards, I'm not his babysitter--"

"You. Let. Him. Outside."

Spike stopped talking, his eyes searching the faces of those gathered.

They were as alien and demented as those he had been fighting moments before.

Hungry. Lamb slaughterer's eyes denied.

"Look...I couldn't stop him, he had a fucking death wish and you *know* that!" Spike stepped backwards.

"We trusted you. Xander was an innocent. He needed to be watched over. *You* certainly *knew* that."

Giles pushed Oz to the side so he could step up to Spike.

The werewolf's eyes flashed ink as they slid along Spike.

He turned away and walked from the room.

As he turned the corner and out of view Oz threw the words back in brittle shards, "No great loss."

And Spike knew he wasn't talking about Xander.

Giles nodded, his eyes dark and far away. Perhaps thinking of all that vampires had taken from him during his life.

And *more* than willing to use Spike as the replacement for those pent up angers.

Giles pushed Spike in the chest, once. Hard.

Spike stepped backwards into the night.

And the door shut hollowly in his face.

Spike craned his head around, the crisp night air bringing him the sounds of dry, dead cornstalks swaying in the breeze.

He walked towards the corn field, for no other reason except that he *had* no reasons anymore.

No reasons, just a sense of weariness unlike any he had ever felt.

He entered the corn and disappeared.

**********

.....and sprinkles nowhere

((--From Devon's journal, September 3--))

It took the rest of the night and part of the day to make descent repairs. There's no way to fix it enough to stop them if they come again. And now that there are less of us, it makes the odds even worse.

And they'll come again. They'll fucking come.

When the Xander thing went down....I wasn't there. I mean, in body, sure.

But I wasn't mad or sad or *anything* comparable.

It was like I was watching a film just interesting enough to keep my attention.

Somewhere along the line, I've made myself objective and outside life, glancing in occasionally for shits and giggles.

We finally went to bed except for Oz, who kept day watch.

Guilt? Not me, at least. I just wanted to be left alone to think about nothing.

'Cause apparently that's all that's left. Nothing.

I've no hope anymore.

I have even less since earlier tonight when I woke up.

Giles is dead.

A heart attack during the night.

And then there were three.....

He died, right between Tara and me, and we had no clue. We just went on dreaming death.

Tara cried bitterly. She was the one who found him. I think Oz went off and shed some tears, too.

His body was so cold when I touched it, but I didn't cry.

See? I've changed as much as everyone else.

The Tinman was wrong. It's better when you've lost your heart.

Oz helped me bury him while Tara watched.

But I was the one to carry his body outside into the darkness.

"Fuck the vampires and humans and fuck God and Heaven and Hell and all in between. Amen."

That's what I said over his grave when we were done. I turned and left, leaving Oz and Tara to say whatever they wanted.

I had said it loudly. I didn't care if the monsters heard us anymore.

I mean, we had behaved as monsters. We've begun to *think* like monsters. Not evil. Just not noble enough to be human. Too fucking base now. Too raw.

Ha!

Shitty vampires won't need to break us once they catch us.

I mean, we're already thinking with animalistic stupor.

I can't take much more of this and I think I understand Xander now.

I'm jealous of him. He got what he wanted in the end.

An answer, one way or the other. A fucking *clue*, as they say.

No more hope.

Just finality, in whatever form the vampires chose for him.

Wouldn't you be jealous?

**********

They stood silently over the mound of earth, listening to the sounds of the night. The normality of it.

Tara wanted to ask Oz if he could hear or smell any vampires. It was stupid to be out here, but she wouldn't, couldn't let Devon and Oz do what needed to be done alone.

But for the first time in a long time, not a single vampire was to be seen.

And it felt so *normal* somehow....

"Tara?"

She looked over at Oz, her lover, her dirty secret. She didn't love him, not in a way that reached beyond the way she felt about Giles or Xander or any other friend.

But Devon had been more or less right in his examination or their silent relationship. It wasn't for each other or even for themselves that they fumbled against one another during stolen moments.

It was for the past. A breath of past lovers and happiness could be felt during the final, gritty moments before climax.

Just a touch of reluctant, tangible memory before they pushed each other away in the dark.

"Yes, Oz?" Her voice sounded oddly flat to her, as if she was speaking in an enclosed space. Speaking in her mind.

"I want to leave sometimes; I feel the Wolf begging me to leave and give up being human. It tells me that humanity's dead, that I'm wasting my time on a stinking poultice of a corpse."

Tara said nothing, but looked up at the splash of stars overhead. They were the clearest thing in her world right then.

Oz continued, saying, "And the Wolf hates dead meat."

He tried to laugh a bit, but all that came out was a shaky sigh, long and mournful.

"Am I?" Oz whispered to the ground, "Am I wasting my time?"

Tara shrugged, trying to catch sight of a shooting star. To make a wish upon.

"I don't know. Maybe."

"Yeah."

They stood like that for a while longer, not talking. Just craning their necks upwards with indifferent hope of seeing something bright. Even if it was fleeting and unconcerned with their hopes and fears.

It was only a dying light, after all.

But they saw no shooting stars that night to wish upon.

**********

.....with me and you

((--From Devon's journal, September 4th--))

I remember when I was a kid and the first day of school came around.

It was the only day of the year I was excited to go to school. The rest of the year I just daydreamed.

I don't know what was so damn special. I mean, you had new clothes and supplies. And that was it.

The thing I remember the best was waiting for the bus as the sun rose, your breath crisp in the air, your shadow trailing ahead of you. Mountainous, powerful. Fun to dance and sway and pretend it was a robot's or monster's shadow. Twenty feet tall and on top of the fucking world.

Looking back, I think what caused the excitement was that sense of moving forward. Of gearing up, places to go and a world holding its breathe for your arrival.

Growing up, is what we called it then.

Perfected motion, I call it now.

I'd like to think some day I will write a song about that. Low crooning words and a viola for backup.

I won't though. Never and never and ever goodbye.

I'd like to say I'm proud of who I've become under the pressure. But I can't say it matters one shit.

I'd like to say I was able to find peace before the end. But all I've found is confusion masquerading as a life.

I'd really like to say I've found a connection with my companions. But we've all grown into nomads, lost from each other in the storm.

I'd like to say a lot of things, but no one will ever hear them.

So what's the point?

***********

((--From Devon's journal, September 5th--))

Oz refused to do this, so I guess I will have too.

It's not right, I told him. Devon's your best friend.

But Oz, Oz who once again doesn't talk, all he said was that it would be trite to write anything. That if I wanted to, go ahead.

So here I am, writing the last entry of a journal that will probably never be read. At least not by human eyes.

Though I have hope, it's a flickering, cracked thing. It comes and goes. Each puff that signals another friend gone brings the flame that much closer to being extinguished.

The dream's still there, if only in ember form.

The future belongs to those who believe in their dreams.

I have to believe that, or what is left?

Nothing but the darkness.

Yes, Devon is gone.

He was taken during the daylight hours while on his watch. We do not know the events behind the disappearance, only know it was the boorish humans serving the vampires.

They left us no question as to what his fate will be. A note was left at the spot we last saw him. It told us many things meant to stalk our nightmares. Things dealing with breeding and renewable resources and death.

Poor Devon. I had hoped for a quick death for us all, not the shame and horror of being...being a gene pool for nourishment.

I didn't know him well, so I have nothing more to say about him. Oz just came up and handed me a slip of paper. He said a poem was written upon it, Devon's favorite by e.e. cummings. He also said that Devon had always told him that when he died, he wanted it on his tombstone.

And I guess that is what this journal is, in a way.

So I'll slip it into the pages and wish Devon well, where ever he is now.

I hope he dies soon, just as I hope the same for Xander.

I ran across Xander's hidden stash of books. Well, not hidden, but hidden in plain sight through our respect of his privacy.

They were all children's novels, classics that must have read when he was young.

He must have used them as a shield against the madness. Letting his mind wander in a land where the hero wins in the end, and the princess is saved.

I suppose Oz and I are the reluctant "heroes" now.

And as for us, we're going to try to run.

It's almost pointless, I know. We've no vehicle and moving on foot will slow us down.

Oz has been trying to talk me into letting him Change me. He says we've a better chance as werewolves.

I would, but......

I have read that if a pregnant woman is Changed the child will most certainly die.

That is why I still dream, you see.

The day we lose our need for dreams is the day the human race forfeits its soul.

And I want full price for mine.

For my child, if it survives.

**********

pity this busy monster,manunkind,

not. Progress is a comfortable disease:
your victum(death and life safely beyond)

plays with the bigness of his littleness
-electrons deify one razorblade
into a mountainrange;lenses extend

unwish through curving wherewhen until unwish returns on its unself.

A world of made
is not a world of born-pity poor flesh

and trees,poor stars and stones,but never this
fine specimen of hypermagical

ultraomnipotence. We doctors know

a hopeless case if-listen:there's a hell
of a good universe next door;let's go

.........e.e. cummings

~the end

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