[identity profile] authoressnebula.livejournal.com posting in [community profile] tamingthemuse
I was going to do HSG this week, but I wound up not being able to; finals hit me a lot sooner than I thought. I still do have something for you guys this week, though. One of those missing scenes that hit me when I compared one scene from television to that of the scene that happened on Monday.

Title: 37
Fandom: Buffy.
Prompt: 39 - Inertia.
Warnings: None really.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Countdown to destruction from a different point of view.

Wordcount: 880 (yes, that's right, I wrote something under 1,000)



Thirty-seven.


The first one was slow; she thought it was to break her nerves, to make her wait in horrible anticipation as it was slowly taken. Colors changed, she changed, and she wondered how. She knew the why; it was the how that eluded her. She had time to think, though. Just a little time left before...well...she didn't really know. In this state, who knew what she would do.


Thirty-six.


The how had to have been him. That was all she could think of. It hadn't been the girl, though this was certainly all about the girl. No. It had been him. It must have been. He'd been the one to force the changes. He was the one responsible.


Thirty-five.


Going faster now; if she had a watch, she could calculate how many a minute. It wouldn't do her any good, though. She didn't have a watch, and watching the watch would've made her that much more aware of how many there were left.


Thirty-four.


An object at rest tends to stay at rest unless acted upon by an outside force. She knew all about that; it had been one of the lessons she remembered well before coming here.


Thirty-three.


Newton's law. Physics. That was easy to understand. It was a little harder and trickier to apply it, but when she did, it still worked. Even in the realm of pain and anguish, the law still applied.


Thirty-two.


All she had to do was switch out the variables. Replace outside force with him, and replace object at rest with her. Then it all fit into place quite nicely. Except it wasn't nicely; it was a horrible truth.


Thirty-one.


The object at rest had been pushed by anger by the outside force. Pushed by grief. Sorrow. Pain. Everything and anything that dealt with a sudden loss, and it had been pushed at the object.


Thirty.


Well, the object certainly wasn't at rest anymore. Neither was anything around. Papers flew, books slammed into the wall when they'd been sent flying from the table.


Twenty-nine.


Normally, she would've said something about the mess. She still wanted to; this wasn't going to be fun picking up. Of course, her body would be a lot harder to pick up and clean up, so she stayed silent.


Twenty-eight.


Maybe she'd been forgotten. Maybe. It would be nice if she was, because then she could get out through the door just around the corner, go tell the others, do something other than stand and


Twenty-seven.


stare at the destruction. She could swear that she heard the wind of power rushing through the room, covering everything, surrounding her.


Twenty-six.


She tried to move, but when her arm hit the barrier, she stopped. Any more pushing, and her attention would go straight to her, and that wasn't something she wanted. She needed to


Twenty-five.


be invisible. She tried the other side of the barrier, but


Twenty-four.


no luck. She wasn't going anywhere


Twenty-three.


anytime soon, and was she getting panicked, or were they getting taken faster? No, wait, those ones were tiny. Hefty and powerful, but tiny. Okay. She could breathe again.


Twenty-two.


Well, not really. They weren't going as fast as those last three, but they were still flying by fast, and when she said flying, she meant flying. Off the table into the wall and the glass windows, and she cringed, waiting for one to break.


Twenty-one.


If they broke, though, then maybe someone outside would panic and scream and then the news would get out to the others, and there'd be help. She could do with some help right now. Lots of it.


Twenty.


Come on window, break. It wouldn't take much; just a few more hard pounds, and it would break out into the street. Just break already.


Nineteen.


Break, dammit, break. Break. Break. Break.


Eighteen.


PLEASE break. Break. C'mon, break, let someone hear the shattering of the glass, see the glass


Seventeen.


exploding out into the street. Break. Hell, even a hard enough hit might cause it to crack, and THAT would be noticed. So break already.


Sixteen.


Please break.


Fifteen.


Break.


Fourteen.


BREAK.


Thirteen.


It occurred to her then that no one was watching.


Twelve.


No one was coming to help.


Eleven.


No one was coming at all.


Ten.


She was going to rip them a


Nine.


new one when she


Eight.


got out of this.


Seven.


If she got out of this.


Six.


She turned her eyes from the windows to her.


Five.


There weren't many left.


Four.


Her life had seconds left, because


Three.


any second now she was


Two.


going to be done and then


One.


she was done.


The last one was tossed aside, and the change was evident. Very strongly evident. Inertia. Her mind latched onto the word, refusing to call it what it really was. It wasn't inertia. It wasn't really an object at rest acted on by an outside force.


It was a grieving woman who had lost her lover in the blink of an eye and was going after the man who had done it.


In another blink of an eye, Willow was gone, and Anya breathed.








< --- >

I actually really like the short style I did with this one. I tried something different, and I actually really liked it. Let me know what you thought of it.

~Nebula

Date: 2007-04-22 02:10 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] loony-sasquatch.livejournal.com
Hey, sweetie! I know I don't generally read your fiction (not much into the het, but you knew that already, hehe), but I saw that this one was no pairing. Which I will read, though normally only ones with Xander in them.

I know. I'm a bit obsessive.

Anyway, that said, I really liked this. I like fics that are a bit obscure; fics where you don't really know whats going on until the very end. You did an awesome job capturing Willow's anger and Anya's fear/nervousness.

And I love what you did with the book numbers! :D

Date: 2007-04-22 02:28 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] velvetwhip.livejournal.com
I like this! It's quite an effective piece.


Gabrielle

Date: 2007-04-22 05:02 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] dedra.livejournal.com
Oh, I liked how this turned out. Very well done.

Date: 2007-04-22 01:35 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] curiouswombat.livejournal.com
That was very interesting - I was gripped by it, waiting to see who was counting down what - and made two or three wrong guesses before I got to the end.

Date: 2007-04-23 04:00 am (UTC)
jesterlady: (oooh)
From: [personal profile] jesterlady
Love it darling. I had absolutely no clue. Sorry I didn't get here before but I have been a bit unable to be at the computer! Poor Anya!

Date: 2007-04-23 04:00 am (UTC)
jesterlady: (oooh)
From: [personal profile] jesterlady
Love it darling. I had absolutely no clue. Sorry I didn't get here before but I have been a bit unable to be at the computer! Poor Anya!

Date: 2007-04-28 10:42 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] shadow-in-eden.livejournal.com
This was really intresting to read. I liked the countdown, with the tesion of Anya really getting through. I've never seen this episode... or in fact any of the BigBad!Willow series, but I still enjoyed it. Well done.
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