F A N F I C T I O N > B U F F Y V E R S E
Murder Blood by Amberina
I scrub as hard as I can, and yet there just seems to be more of it. It's thick and it's red, bright red, the color that only murder blood is, and it's on my hands. I am a murderer.
I am a vengeance demon, and this is what I do. I make men suffer when they do cruel things to women. They were laughing at her while she cried - you should have seen the way their faces were twisted, in horrible, disgusting, evil pleasure at her pain. It was the most sickening thing I have ever seen. They way they chuckled while she sobbed, the way they taunted her as she pleaded. The way they began to unbuckle their belts, stomach-turning leers on their ugly faces. They were going to rape her.
But she was so upset, I think she was oblivious to what was truly happening. All she knew was she was being laughed at. "I wish you could feel what it's like to have your hearts ripped out!" she screamed, her voice cracking, her face streaked red and wet with her tears.
Right then I was about to personally kick their asses, so the "done" came out of my mouth easily.
The blood swirls down the drain, but there is more on my hands, on my arms, on my neck, on my face, in my hair, down the front of my dress. Murder blood stains. I heard that once. You can't get rid of murder blood.
It came quickly, ripping the still-beating hearts from their wretched chests. It was a glorious moment. I think I may have smiled.
And then it was different. There was so much screaming - now the men were the ones pleading, childish sobs and apologies. Although it was fitting, and at one time I would have reveled in the moment, toasted Hallie over it, now each one of their terrified screams found their way directly into my gut.
The blood was everywhere, all over me, all over everything. I've witnessed many blood baths in my life, but this was the first time the phrase was so literal. Soon they all were dead, every last one of the assholes, and their bodies were strewn around the house.
"What have I done?" I had asked to the empty air, at that point in slight shock. I've been a vengeance demon for so long. It's what I do. It's what I am.
Without it I am nothing. But is this what I really want to be?
Between my fingers. I scrub between my fingers especially hard, but it's still there. Murder blood stains, especially the hands of the murder.
But am I a murderer? Was this vengeance - what they deserved? I'm not so sure anymore. Murder or vengeance? The way this blood is sticking to my hands, it must have been murder.
All of them weren't laughing.
Two were trying to stop the others.
They're all dead.
I look at myself in the mirror. I have a strong urge to look away, but I force myself to stare at my reflection. At the blood streaked across my cheek. It's hard to look at myself. I'm hideous. I'm a hideous, murderous demon, and that's all I am. That's who I am.
I can no l longer be that, yet that is all I am. I am Aud. I am Anya. But D'Hoffryn was right - I am neither of those. I am Anyanka. I am a horrible, disgusting vengeance demon, and I can't be anything else, yet I can't be that anymore.
So what am I? Nothing.
The blood, oh god, it's so thick. It won't come off. Why won't it come off? Please make it come off. But it won't ever come off, I realize, it stains my soul, and it will long after the physical evidence of my crime have long vanished.
What have I done?