Character: Angel, thinking about Buffy
Concrit: Please, in Comments
Disclaimer: They aren’t mine, not yet, but they will be… once I’ve taken over the world. Bwah-ha-ha!
Word Count: 130
Note: The original prompt at Open on Sunday was lack, but apparently I'm the one lacking something: when I tried to recall the prompt I came up with lock.
Note: You may notice a similarity to my story titled Dead Kennedys. The story started taking a different path but I liked both versions.
The steel bars were nothing next to the thin band of light that angled across the floor. His fever rose as that golden beam, impenetrable as a raging wall of fire, inched closer and closer. Heat and light brought hallucination: Buffy outside the cage. She stood facing him but her head turned when he looked up. She wouldn't even catch his eyes.
A great abyss lay between them: the chasm of darkness unspoken. Mere words could never bridge that gap, could never explain the flamboyant pageant that comes from living without caring, without a purpose, without a soul. Buffy could never understand, never forgive, never forget what she could never be told. How could he have ever thought they could have a life together when one of them was dead?