Summary: A poem for Spike
Rating: Dunno but it's a bit darker than 15...
Warning: character death
Disclaimer: The boys do belong to me, but only in a 'I'm obviously delusional and need some psychiatric help' kinda way!
Feedback: would be lovely!! And no doubt you can tell what sort of mood I'm in based on this little fic....
Poetry Lesson II : A Lesson for Spike
Throwing open the door, Spike looked up and down the corridor. After their row, Xander had stomped out of the flat, leaving him there to simmer. But something didn't feel right, and dragging on his duster he was just heading to the door when there was a knock.
A small, pretty looking box was on the doorstep, a beautiful red bow tied over the top. But the scent – the scent seemed wrong. It smelled – it smelled like blood. It smelled like Xander's blood! Squatting down, he pulled at the ribbon, his hand going to his mouth in horror as the lid flipped open revealing the 'gift' inside.
Without volition, he reached out and picked up the blood-smeared card that was nestled on the side of the box, and flicked it open.
How many times have I told you to take care of your little toys?! Tsk tsk my boy, bad show and all that!!
My lovely friends in LA let me out to play, and I couldn't let the chance to see you and your 'Boy' pass by! Imagine my surprise when I saw him all alone, walking towards the Magic Box.
Knowing how much you like poetry, I thought you might like this. How does it go again?! Ah yes:
“I carry your heart with me
(I carry it in my heart)
I am never without it
(anywhere I go you go, my dear,
and whatever is done by me is your doing, my darling)
I fear no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet)
I want no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you”
Now you can always have him with you, and after all I gave him to you in the first place! See you soon, Willy, see you real soon
Gameface to the fore, tears streaming down his face, Spike fell to floor, knocking over the box as he did so. Reaching out, he picked up the still warm heart of his love and curled himself around it, sobbing brokenly.
'i carry your heart with me' - E E Cummings