Or what looked like its nuts. Wesley probably knows more about it than I think is strictly kosher, but it staggered around like that boy in ninth-grade algebra that snapped my recently acquired bra. Once.(Now, I think I went a little crazy cause my mom died, but then I felt like Gloria Steinem when I told the principal “I was just showing him how much I like him, Mr. Delacroix.” That was always what he said when girls got hassled in the halls. I think my dad gave up me a little after that. But just a little.)

(rolling on the floor, whimpering at Pencil Neck and the demon with the nards)

Holy moly. I laughed so hard Aidan squealed in his sleep. Had to tag. Erika, you're brilliant.

(still completely hugging self over concept of officious pimply parking official being more worried about the car than the demon)

You know they're out there. I do. Deena, thanks! Kay would be proud.

Or what looked like its nuts. Wesley probably knows more about it than I think is strictly kosher, but it staggered around like that boy in ninth-grade algebra that snapped my recently acquired bra. Once.(Now, I think I went a little crazy cause my mom died, but then I felt like Gloria Steinem when I told the principal “I was just showing him how much I like him, Mr. Delacroix.” That was always what he said when girls got hassled in the halls. I think my dad gave up me a little after that. But just a little.)
Gunn came up behind me, huffing and puffing, carrying a long sword. “Damn,” he said. “Scully’s got skills!”

I knew I hadn’t done anything much, just aimed my 7 ½ in a soft place, but it still felt good. Nobody here knew to worry about me or care what the doctor said. “I didn’t do anything you wouldn’t,huh?”

“You made it distracted so I can cut its head off.”

“You’re shitting me...busting the rookie’s chops, huh?”

“Nope, not at all. That shit always works. Even creepy-crawlies can’t live with their heads off.”

”Really. Just like...” And I draw my finger across my own neck. Which makes me flustered cause it reminds of that stupid dream so I start with that gallows humor junk.
“One way to cut down on those pesky court dates, hmm?”

“ I don’t do it lightly. We’re fighting for our lives out here. “Gunn tussles with the thing, and slices into its neck. Green stuff, somewhere in consistency between human blood and paint, shoots out of the gash.

“Ugh.” I said, cause it’s hot and smelly, and oh, man, somebody I knew just cut something’s head off.

“I thought you knew.” Gunn said. “I should have warned you.”

”Nothing to lose your head over, hon.”

“But sometimes it’s more complicated, huh? Like this one redball I worked. Poor tourist got shot by a stick-up guy. Terrible, right? Yeah. But we catch the guy and his story’s sad too. Mom’s a fiend, dad’s been dead years...he’s trying to fit in with an aunt in the burbs. Hanging out with real yos, probably trying to keep it real, or some bullshit.”

”Keeping it real is not bullshit.”

“Whatever. Well, anyway this poor sweet guy shoots somebody trying to show how big his dick is. Or something...I’ve still never figured that one out. ‘I had the power but forgot who I was.’Poor Vaughn. Or I guess it’s Malik, now.
” “You wanna help me take an end?” Gunn asks, indicating the 10-7 demon. “Disposal is included in the price.”

“What I wouldn’t give for a crime scene tech. Right now I’d blow Newt Gingrich not to have to touch that shit.’

”I wouldn’t go that far,” Gunn said.

“What? Ten seconds out of your life.”

“ I think I have the wrong coloring for him.”

“Could be, my friend, at that.”

Just then, the guardian of the parking lot comes back. “Euw, that’s disgusting.”

”You’re welcome.” I said.

“You’re gonna have to move that. Liability issues.”

“Oh, well, I would,” I said. “But as you pointed out so helpfully, earlier, I’m in the wrong lot over here.”

“ Everybody makes mistakes.”

“Yeah, you know...cleaning that up’ll give you a chance to figure out what yours was, huh? Good luck, and lift with your knees, ok hon?”
And we were off like a dirty shirt.

“Scully, that was evil.”

“Yeah, but he deserved it.”

Goddamnit, erika, that entire thing was stone perfect. Not a word out of place.

In a slightly different mood, first offering for Open On Sunday. This week's drabble theme: doorways.

On A Paris Night

"Don't."

He cowers back against painted wood, knowing he's reached the end of his run, that there's no place else to go. His escape route is blocked. He's a rapist, a predator. He thought he was luring his prey to this place. It seems his prey had something else in mind.

"Please don't."

Something cold rubs his back: the ornate brass doorknob. The doorway is very tall, blank, featureless. She moves in, smiling.

"Please, please, please -"

From rapist to victim, as Darla's teeth meet in his jugular. She is a careful, delicate feeder. No blood splashes the painted door.

Wow...perfect? Thank you. Well, I still think about "I had the power..." and I didn't work the case. Mostly, I think if somebody had killed my family member and written a statement, I would want it, no matter how crazy it was. Maybe it's a writer's respect for the word in overdrive, or my search for answers.(Those are the sunny thoughts I have when I don't sleep.)
But I bet there are other Buffistas who would agree with me. For those of you that haven't seen "the best damn show on television"(my nagging didn't work?) the young stick-up guy, instead of a statement, writes a letter to the victim's family. It says he's sorry, and he knows it doesn't change anything, but "I had the power and forgot who I was."

The victim's husband(Robin Williams, H:LOTS first stay of execution, and actually acting, not doing a sensitive schtick) throws it out. I could never do that.

That part where Kay goes to the prison and asks him why, when he's got a nice family that cares, and most murderers don't, gets me every time. Also, before that when she faces down all the commotion a woman coming to prison makes without batting an eyelash. She knows the drill, huh? That tells me everything about Kay and nobody has to spell her out to me.

That episode of HLOTS nearly killed me. The act was so senseless and Robin was so amazing - the scene where he finally breaks down in the hotel room, and his two kids are huddled and terrified in the other room because Mom's dead and Dad is disintegrating before their eyes and they can't fix it?

Jeez.

Drabble for Open on Sundays; theme: doorways.

Measurements

As the bus carries them farther and farther away from the sinkhole that was Sunnydale, Dawn thinks about her house. Well, a specific part of the house -- the doorframe of her bedroom closet, on which, after much begging, she was allowed to mark her height each month. (In pencil, Joyce stipulated.) Dawn even convinced Buffy to mark her height on the opposite side of the doorframe (although Buffy stopped when she became the shorter sister).

Seven years' worth of proof, marked inch by inch, that she was really there. Really real. Now those marks are gone forever. Anti-graffiti: Dawn wasn't here.