Heaven? - BtVS fic - PG13

[tigriswolf]

Title: Heaven? 
Fandom: "Buffy the Vampire Slayer"
Disclaimer: Xander's not mine, poor boy.  I bet he's glad of it.
Warnings: um... none?  AU, I guess.
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: none, really
Wordcount: 330
Point of view: second and first
Notes: I don't know who the bold-italized is.  Choose someone.

No one mourns the wicked
The wicked cry alone
The wicked die alone
No one mourns the wicked – “Wicked” by Stephen Schwartz

-

You had never killed a man before. 

You had expected to feel—something. Powerful. Strong. Righteous. 

Instead, you feel—regret. 

You had never killed a man before, only contemplated it. You hadn’t realized the dead wasn’t the only one who would feel the hurt. 

-

Happy birthday, Xander. Seventeen and a murderer. 

Or is it, seventeen and the murdered? 

-

You had never killed a man before. You wonder how long until the regret subsides and you kill again. 

He wasn’t the only you ever thought of destroying. Many people have hurt you, knowingly and not, and—years of pained longing cannot be sated with one mural of red.

You had smelled blood before that night, often. Yours, usually, but sometimes others. Sometimes hers, that blond warrior who could never comprehend. Sometimes Evil’s blood. 

-

There is no Heaven for evil. There is only Hell.

-

You killed a man. A human. A being with dreams and hopes and regrets. A being with a soul.

The regret is fleeting. You hadn’t expected to feel it all.

-

Those that deserve it are called ‘guilty’.

Those that don’t are called ‘innocent’.

There is no in-between. No shades of gray.

Not for her. And now—not for you.

-

There is no Heaven for anyone. Only Hell awaits.

You have known this since you were three. 

-

Happy birthday, darling boy. Is it not exciting?

You are one of us now.

-

There are no shades of gray. Only shades of crimson.

There is no scent of flowers. Only the stench of congealing blood.

There is no hope. Only pain and despair.

There is no regret. Not anymore.

-

You are one of us now.

One of us. Forever.

Happy birthday. 

-

You had never killed a man before.

Now you look back and wonder why.