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[Slay]
She remembers when slaying used to be a burden; when it filled her with a sense of dread and duty. She remembers when she wanted to slack and push it all away. What she doesn’t remember is when it became a comfort. She doesn’t remember the curve of the stake in her hand feeling like home or the smear of blood across her knuckles being victory without remorse.
There are other things she remembers like the fear of turning into what she hunts but that’s vanished and it’s left behind this fullness, like a ripe pumpkin ready to turn into something else like pumpkin pie or a maybe a carriage. Although she’s not sure why she would be a carriage and now that thought is going to bother her for the rest of patrol.
It’s easy to point and say it was after she came back from Heaven. So many things changed then sometimes she wonders if she is the same girl at all but she’s pretty sure slaying changed later. It changed after Sunnydale cratered and after she tried her retired stint. It changed when she realized slaying isn’t something she does; it isn’t something she’s destined for or something she can give, will or push away. Slaying is in the flex of her skin over muscles, the way she pushes up on the balls of her feet when she turns and the way the pit of her stomach curls . It’s the way the smile tugs at the corner of her lips at that point, that apex in a fight where she knows she’s going to win. She tells the others, it’s a part of you but she never shares the real truth because she thinks maybe it’s just her.
Slaying drives her heart; it powers her lungs and moves her forward. It wakes her up, it keeps her moving and it barely lets her sleep at night. One of these days, she thinks the girl will all boil down and the only thing left will be slaying.
She remembers when slaying used to be a burden; when it filled her with a sense of dread and duty. She remembers when she wanted to slack and push it all away. What she doesn’t remember is when it became a comfort. She doesn’t remember the curve of the stake in her hand feeling like home or the smear of blood across her knuckles being victory without remorse.
There are other things she remembers like the fear of turning into what she hunts but that’s vanished and it’s left behind this fullness, like a ripe pumpkin ready to turn into something else like pumpkin pie or a maybe a carriage. Although she’s not sure why she would be a carriage and now that thought is going to bother her for the rest of patrol.
It’s easy to point and say it was after she came back from Heaven. So many things changed then sometimes she wonders if she is the same girl at all but she’s pretty sure slaying changed later. It changed after Sunnydale cratered and after she tried her retired stint. It changed when she realized slaying isn’t something she does; it isn’t something she’s destined for or something she can give, will or push away. Slaying is in the flex of her skin over muscles, the way she pushes up on the balls of her feet when she turns and the way the pit of her stomach curls . It’s the way the smile tugs at the corner of her lips at that point, that apex in a fight where she knows she’s going to win. She tells the others, it’s a part of you but she never shares the real truth because she thinks maybe it’s just her.
Slaying drives her heart; it powers her lungs and moves her forward. It wakes her up, it keeps her moving and it barely lets her sleep at night. One of these days, she thinks the girl will all boil down and the only thing left will be slaying.
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