Might as well be dead

Author: Goat Boy <shezmania[at]hotmail.com>

Disclaimer: Buffy and co belong to Joss Whedon and his monkeys

Summary: PTB say...WHOOPS

Warning: im 18, im tired, and im pissed of...except bad grammar and stupid mistakes

Pairing: X/B (for life baby)

Rating: i dont know..., who ever wants this pick one

Chapter 1

A sudden crash sparked the interest of the population of this quiet street in LA. This is not street known for its activity. People come here to sleep, that's about it. There are no bars. No shops. No restaurants. No parks. All they have are houses, big residential houses. This quite boring street is also very safe. It's in the good area of LA. Funny that some areas are considered safe, even when such an event happens. The crash of a black BMW with a green Caddilac at speeds of 80kph is quite a sight. The black BMW, a beast of an automobile. It can withstand a lot of danger, and anger. But the reckless driving of a spotty teenager is one of its many Achilles, as is a faulty construction crew whose ambition in the night of construction was to get home soon for a game of slap and tickle. The Caddilac come at the BMW on the left side, at a right angle. It creates a compound fracture within the structure of the car. But it also dislodges the seat brake of the responsible driver.

As the seat belt is suddenly released the driver experiences a sudden pull to his left. Before the seat belt would have stopped his shoulder from being able to move but now his neck has freedom of movement to do as gravity pleases. These extra few inches that are given to his body by the release of the seat belt allows his head to pick up even more speed by car crash. Quite a substantial amount of damage is caused to the side panel of the car where the Caddilac crashed, forcing it inwards into the ribs of the driver; these move his torso to his right making his body into a more vertical position. These 2 mitigating forces cause the driver to hit his head on the glass of the BMW; causing a tidal wave effect of his brain to swoon upon his skull. This pressure in his head causes some areas of his brain to stop functioning within normal parameters. So as he drops down, bleeding from the face with broken ribs and a broken jaw his first conscious thoughts is not a questioning of why this happened but where is here?

As time slowly crawl back to the normal tick-tock caused by a balance of chemicals within our brain to accept visual signals at their normal clocking speeds he notices a violent pain all around him. What he fails to realise is the rush of adrenaline protected him from the immediate impact of the pain; as did his own lack of the past 10 seconds. He lifts his right hand from the uncomfortable place within the broken glass, metal, and shards it is lodged in he looks at it and feels a sense of nausea. The first three fingers are missing. Somewhere in that sea of broken glass, tiny pieces of metal and plastic which paints quite the dainty picture are 3 gangly fingers.

As his voice asserts the owners displeasure in his current predicament the people around the car; the fine and generous people of this street who all give to their charities. Who always have time for the local minister, rabbi, etc. Who always pay their taxes. These law abiding folk are doing their best to store this quite fascinating picture of human misery in their lives as in our times we have no wars. There are no famines, no great sources of death but the freak accident- case in point. When a human mind is shown a picture of death the immediate action is disbelief, and relief (better them then me). These 2 forces pull our minds out of their useful gutter into 'spectator mode', these nice gentle people are looking at art. Or could have been.

As this activity centres around the driver of the black BMW his conscious mind slowly starts accepting the fact that his life is different from how it use to be. He is in a place he has no memories of; he is bleeding, in pain, and is missing 3 fingers. Slowly but surely things are getting more, and more weird for this man as from the left of him he hears a voice. A quite angry, and malevolent voice who demands retribution from someone. God, Jesus, Allah, Buddha, "the driver of that big black fucking roadblock". What ever the entity this quite disturbed individual is unable to stop his discern or his limited vocabulary where the f, s, c words are prevalent. A sudden crash to the right of the driver happens as a bystander finally takes action as a brick flies trough it by a member of this utopian society; a gentle Samaritan thought the best way to help was to break through the window. Regardless it was a big brick where velocity is halved by the collision to glass, not stopped. This results in the loss of lower right set of teeth for this hapless driver, and a concussion. Sometimes waking up is not the best way to start a day.

As the big black cloud unfurls from conscious thought, a withered block that shares nothing to its owner of his current state and as his eyes slowly start to blink he hears a whir of activity within his general location.

"Doctor he is…how are you son…quite worried"

His head is having a difficult time adjusting to the demands met upon them by the current user; a whir of activity is the space of little time with a disproportionate time being allowed for rest and recovery after this waking means he is confused, and disorientated. The last thing he remembers is a red brick slowly reaching for his head from the corner of his eye. With some fingers missing from his left…as his mind recaps this event his eyes quickly take a quick inspection of the area. A quick motion as his brain starts sending chemicals designed to calm him down in case his worst fears, for the moment, are realised. He is an amputee. Good news, no. Confusing news is the scar he expected from such an injury is healed to an incredible extent. Not the red, patchy scabs he expected. But a dull line covering each finger that was released from its god forsaken place.

As he slowly starts to think of possible scenarios for this his ears pick up auditory signals from the throat of closest being on his right; mentioning something very special to the man. Buffy.

She is a Californian; borne and bred. She is 5 feet nothing, with soft skin and blond hair. This beauty meant a lot to the occupier of the BMW. She was his first and last thought in bed. She dominated his heart, body and soul to an extent which he thanks is irreversible. This slayer of his heart owned him. All of these memories, neural connections in his brain were enforced by countless hours with her. Semantic relationship, after ship building a picture in his head of his life. With her as his focal point. She provides much needed clarity for him as the past 20 years of his life slowly comes tumbling back into its place. This takes a few seconds. When he is done reminiscent he asks for a repeat of that following phrase:

"Mr Harris, your wife and daughters will be pleased to see you"


The End