Edits (finally) made on the part one of "When You Are Tired of London ."

Probably won't get a new part tonight, as I'm wiped, still at work now and need to work at 9 a.m. tomorrow morning.

Fay, talking about Gaiman and something he wrote, inspired this:

It is not sunset over the Parthenon that lays a sharpened kiss
Upon the universe held captive in a jar writhing and screaming.
The old man in Sunderland deaf, pats it and leaves it in the dark,
Then goes to eat his shark's teeth soup, ground fine and ragged;
Sings foolish songs of time and hope smacking his lips; never
Blinking at the shadows of other things or the glitter in the fire.

The shadows grow bold, glitter finer, striving for freedom from the fire
As the man from Sunderland dreams of acid love and a Lamia's kiss
And mutters darkly in his dreams, reviles the eaters of plums. Never
A one for simple joys, sweet, tart and cold; he revels in the screaming
Of the ritual critics, chanting with each breath and breathing ragged,
The universe crumbling in the dust under the stairs, infused full dark.

The old man chokes at a tightening collar, thick rubber and dark.
They glitter in the shadows, pull it taut, drawing him to the fire.
The rose bush thorn on the glass taps louder, tapping against the ragged
Wind, slaps against the window, his eyes, acid Lamia's stinging kiss.
The universe has stopped; but the nightingale takes over screaming.
Two old women and a weasel find their vacation crumbling at never.

The universe crumbling in the jam-jar, the glass edge, here is never.
They turn and stumble back to the party, bumping heads in the dark.
The nightingale awakens them to their fate with her broken screaming.
They dance, angry, writhing, in the death throes of the Universe fire
While the old man writhes against the choking of the Lamia's kiss,
The universe crumbles in the jar, trapped, with edges turning ragged

There's no hope for the universe, trapped in the dark, turning ragged
Is a law broken somewhere? Gryphons shouldn't marry, no never.
And vampire's can't, won't dance unless the dance is your last kiss.
Reality continues to crumble; goldfishes howl at the moon in the dark.
Something's broken somewhere. The mystery won't return to the fire.
The old man remembers the jam-jar, writhes to hear the screaming

The mystery with the dog collar has taken all his breath for screaming.
The rose bush taps its message, fighting, as the wind pulls it ragged.
The man's numb hand falls on his library card, throws it in the fire.
There never was a library card, nor a universe, nor a mystery, never.
Jar breaks, the universe skirls free from the cupboard, from the dark;
Lamia turns to cardboard, curls blue in the fire after a benedictory kiss.

The paper kiss burns worse than acid. The old man screaming,
forever in the dark, train rocking over paved time, turned ragged
Women forever and never in twilight, all their heads of light, on fire.

Oh, Deena, how lovely.

Thank you, Deb. I'm really proud of it. I wish I could write poetry like that all the time.

This is the first fic that I've written that's not a drabble. I wrote it while taking a break from the Faith/Wood I'm trying to write. It was hard. I don't know how y'all do it.

Happy Family

Joyce traced the outline of her daughters in the picture. She knew that she didn’t have a lot of time. The doctors and nurses could run a million tests and tell her everything she ever wanted to know about a black and white x-ray of the inside of her head, but they couldn’t tell her how dying felt. They hadn’t seen anything. They all thought she’d be fine. “Go home. Rest.” That’s what they’d told her. But she couldn’t rest. Her fingers trailed across picture after picture. Dawn and Buffy at Sea World. Buffy’s thirteenth birthday party. Dawn was standing behind her making devil horns as she blew out her candles. Joyce remembered when these pictures used to make her smile.

She might be dying, but she wasn’t crazy. Something gnawed at the back of her mind. Something was off about these pictures. Maybe if she could figure out what it was. . . what? It probably didn’t matter anyway. She had more important things to do than look through old photos. She should be preparing, making sure that the girls would be ok after.

She turned the next page of the album absentmindedly. She’d seen these shots a thousand times. There she was in maternity clothes with Buffy’s hand on her belly. And here, sharing a kiss with Hank. She stopped and stared at the picture of the man she had thought she’d spend the rest of her life with. Was he really that tall? She couldn’t remember. How had his lips felt, his hands? She couldn’t remember little things like what kind of soap had been his favorite, but she could remember exactly how they had met. Homecoming 1979. She’d been a freshman at her first big college dance. He had made her laugh about how lame the theme was, “Catch the Fever!” It was love at first sight. After that, they had been inseparable. They talked for hours and they had so much in common. They both wanted a simple life, good jobs, a house, only one child. The world was overpopulated enough as it was. And with just one child, you could make sure that he’d have all the advantages you never did. That had been...

“Aaah! Buffy, Dawn!” The pain hit her like a sledgehammer. It left her gasping for breath. She couldn’t see. She tried to stand up, but her legs gave out. As she slid to the floor, the photo album hit the carpet with a muffled thump. It landed face up, the pages open on her favorite picture. She and Dawn and Buffy on vacation about a year before they’d moved to Sunnydale. Hank had taken that shot. It was the last time they’d been together as a happy family. Mom, Dad, and daughters.

“Mom? Mom?” Buffy came tearing into the room. “Dawn, call 911. Now!” Her two girls were there taking care of her. But there was only supposed to be one.

Wow. Kat, that - damn. Goodgoodgood.

Hullo, everyone. I am in desperate need of a quick-n-dirty beta for this story. It's long, so it continues in the next lj entry. It's from one of my anime fandoms, but I'd really like a Buffista review of the language, structure, etc.

Once I take care of some house stuff, I plan to spend the day writing. Whee!

Wow, Kat, that's painful and really well done.

Anne, quick-n-dirty posted to your LJ.

Thanks, Deena! I'll zip over there and check it out.

Kat, that's a really nice portrait of Joyce.

My one quibble would be with the date. There's an episode where Buffy says something to Joyce that implies that Joyce had gotten married and pregnant, possibly not in that order, before she finished college. I can't remember if we saw her headstone in "Forever"...

Edit: Here it is, from Angel --

BUFFY Okay, so slower than you and Dad took it.

JOYCE Touche'. Do you want to hear the lecture or do you know it by heart?

BUFFY You were young, you were in love, what you weren't was through with college, focused on a career and . . . no help from the audience, please, in possession of your own identity.