Haec dies

[electricalgwen]

Second requested drabble!

Though poor _beetle_ may not approve of where I took her prompt: Dawn/Willow, waaaaaay post-NFA, smoochies, Buffy's b'day party.


Haec dies

Into every generation one is born.

It had been a lie, but a useful one. It laid the weight of the world on one girl’s shoulders. Refusal was unconscionable.

They know it’s not true, now. But the lie had already molded her irrevocably, driving her to fight and sacrifice continually until there was nothing left inside. Until the day – she lost.

They still gather every year on her birthday. Picnic in the cemetery. Good times.

Willow chokes down a wave of tears and raw power. Dawn smells like forest glades at morning, and tastes like dew. Buffy would have understood.

Comments

One drabble, five poems

[(Anonymous)]

I like how each line stands alone as its own little story, not necessarily connected to the rest...

[cordelianne.livejournal.com]

Oh wow! I'm all teary. I love what you did with the prompt! As the other commenter notes, it's very poetic.

I love how you utilized the phrases we're so used "Into every generation.." and "weight of the world". This is so sad and makes me all teary:
But the lie had already molded her irrevocably, driving her to fight and sacrifice continually until there was nothing left inside. Until the day – she lost.

I love the the statement of "Good times", it's so loaded with meanings. And I adore how you describe the kiss. Lovely drabble!! *g*

[electricalgwen.livejournal.com]

Thanks for the continually awesome and useful feedback! :)
When I was having trouble with word count, I considered cutting the "Picnic...Good times" bit, but I liked the layers of that phrase so much it had to stay. So I'm glad it worked for you.

[http://users.livejournal.com/_beetle_/]

OMFG!!!

Willow chokes down a wave of tears and raw power. Dawn smells like forest glades at morning, and tastes like dew. Buffy would have understood.

Dude . . . I am so hearting this 'ship!

They still gather every year on her birthday. Picnic in the cemetery. Good times.

God, that's so tainted by Sunnyweird. . . . so sad and beautiful.

This was so good, you have to write more, now.

I'll wait.

[electricalgwen.livejournal.com]

More of this?? But...I don't do f/f! *blinks* Uh, really. No! I don't! That Lilah/Dawn fic currently hiding on my computer has nothing to do with me!

But flattery (and quotage!) will get you far. Hmm. You are bad wicked evol, poking me like that. :P No promises.

I used to know some women whose good friend had died fairly young (before I met them), and every year they'd go out to visit her grave with a thermos of tea. Have a cup, tell her stories of the year, and pour her cup of tea on her grave. I like to think someone might come pour me tea when I'm dead (and not just 'cause I'm a total tea addict.) I can picture a really drunk Spike dumping a slug of bourbon on Angel's grave, a kind of tribute. Maybe not Buffy's, though.