hey,
Heres a one off fic that i wrote. It was the first fic that i wrote. Well ive only written two and abandoned one. Its a bit depressve but never mind. hope that you like it.
love ellie x x x x
Title: Spirit guide
Part: 1/1
Author: Ellie Walsh aka. witchbitchwillow
Email:
westendstar@hotmail.comFeedback: yeah please, its my first fic, I need as much help as I can get. Be brutal I can take it. “strong like an Amazon right!”
Spoilers: none
Rating: PG
Pairing: Willow/Tara
Disclaimer: Joss owns it… Mutant enemy blah blah blah etc……
Summery: well its pretty much just Tara’s point of view of her life over the past couple of years.
Authors Note: well as I said it’s my first fic so I just wanted to give it a go so here you are. I wrote this fic first but its the second one which I have posted. Also thanks Ruth for beta reading it for me
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So my high school years were the worst of my life. I mean I fell in love with someone in the first week of my freshman year and then spent the rest of my high school years a depressive, anti-social, closet lesbian witch. This really did not do wonders for my self-esteem and social life. I was an outcast at school, and bullied by the sickly skinny cheerleaders and sneered upon by the football players.
Just to top all of that my father or ‘Sir’ should I say, made my life a living hell. He emotionally and physically abused me. The bruises and cuts that marked my delicate skin may have healed and faded but the memories stayed engraved in my mind untouched. Once I slightly burnt his dinner and paid for it by having my arm held over a hob. Luckily, my mother had managed to do a healing spell just in time so I didn’t get a scar. The ripping of my skin as he held it there lives on with me forever I’ll never forget the hatred and disgust which I saw in his eyes that night. My mother cradled me in her arms for hours; I was unable to let the comfort and warmth of her body away from me. Scared I would lose it forever.
During these years, I felt so enclosed and defenceless. Nobody was actually aware that Tara MacClay existed. The only person who had actually shown me any kind of affection at this point in my life was my mother. She had stuck up for me on various occasions when my father hit out at me and often had endured worse injuries than me through doing so. She had died in spirit long before her body actually caught up.
This was the one person who had enabled me to sleep at night and gave me a reason to awake in the morning. She was the candle flame that flickered in my heart, soon to be extinguished. My mother was diagnosed with terminal cancer when I was only fifteen. My Father refused to come to terms with the fact that she was ill and so made her stay at home. He didn’t allow her to go into hospital for fear that the illness that she had would actually become a reality, but also because they would see the other scarring across her body caused by his own hand.
When she sat me down in the garden on that warm summer’s evening and told me that she had cancer, my heart stopped, my soul perished and my spirit died. The illness lasted for two agonising years, During which I acted as her only companion due to my father’s lack of interest and denial. She stayed in bed all day once the illness got so bad that she was unable to continue with her life. I spent hours in the cold isolated bedroom, which she now occupied at the opposite end of the house to my Father. He would go weeks at a time without visiting her, the bed that they used to share he now slept in alone.
When she was finally released from her pain and suffering, a part of me died along with her. I felt empty and alone; my life had lost all meaning. I continued to follow the strict routine laid down by my father with his military style. I was emotionless and dead inside. I thought that I would be unable to ever love again, and wasn’t even sure if I ever wanted to if that was the kind of pain that it caused.
For the next two years of my life Donny and my father relied on me for everthing. I took over the house keeping and as long as they were fed, they did not bother me. Unless I did something wrong for which I would be severely punished, as I had been that evening. I had accidently slipped over in kitchen and spilt tea across the floor. The tea had scoulded my hand but that didn’t seem to stop my father from hitting me around the face a couple of times for being unabediant. Only this time I didn’t have my Mother there to comfort me and tell me that everything would be okay, that things would get better. I was even starting to doubt all the things that my mother had taught me about love, life and faith.
In those two years, I finished high school and took a year out at home. During this year, my cousin Beth came to live with us. I saw this as my chance to escape as they expected her to take care of the house as I did. This meant that I was relieved of some of my duties. I had managed, much to my father’s disapproval to get a job at the local library to raise some money to go to college. Cousin Beth in my Father’s eyes could do no wrong. He loved her and treated her more like a daughter than he did me.
One evening he called me into the kitchen where he was sitting at the dinner table. He told me to sit-down, the calmness in his voice and mannerisms chilled me to the bone. He began to explain the fact that I was a demon. I couldn’t believe that he could be so matter of fact about something like this. I half expected him to attempt to beat the demon out of me, but he didn’t; he was almost happy that I was a demon. He said that I would have to live with him after the age of twenty so that he could control my problem. The smug look on his face as he left to go and join my brother in the other room made me hate him even more that I did already. He’d left me all alone again, just landed this tonne weight on me only to breeze out of my life once more.
I went upstairs to the room, which my mother had once slept in. After she had gone I claimed it as my own. In an attempt to become closer to her even though she was no longer there her essence remained. I could often smell the soft sent of lavender as it drifted through the room almost as though she had never left me. At night I could sometimes hear her whispering words of comfort through the night’s cold, unforgiving air.
As I did most nights I cried myself to sleep, pausing to hear my father climbing the stairs with Donny. When I heard this muderous sound I would promptly stop crying, for fear of what would happen if they heard me. This was partly because I feared what they would do if they saw me weak and vulnerable to their torment, but also because I still had an inch of dignity, and didn’t want them to hear that they had got to me as much as they had.
After a year of working eight-hour shifts everyday, coming home to cook lunch and dinner for my Father and Donny, I had earned enough money to escape the hell. I had searched on the Internet whilst my brother and Father were not at home. Once Beth had told them that I had used it, I was beaten much to her delight. I then overcame this problem when they installed the Internet at the library I worked at. With the help of my work colleague we looked at universities online. I could see in her eyes that she was aware of the abuse which I suffered, although she never said anything. Once I had told her of my plans she immediately jumped at the chance to help me out with my escape.
This was my chance to release myself from the heavy chains which my Father had created. I decided not to tell him of my flight, and thought that I would just leave without a trace and start a new life in Sunnydale. The night before I was set to leave I sat in the room I shared with my mother. The tears began to run down my face uncontrollably. I wasn’t sure if this was through happiness or sadness. It would be what my Mother would have wanted for me I know, but part of me felt that I was abandoning her to live alone with my Father for eternity.
I think that her death had released her from my Father, but her spirit would always be trapped in the house; I could feel it. It wasn’t until I had experienced what she had that I realised that when she had talked to me about love and having true faith in people that she was actually talking about my Father. Even though he had treated her like dirt she continued to stay with him even through her death. It wasn’t that she was trapped in the house, she chose to the stay with him. She had always watched over me and now I realised she had watched over him too.
Later on in my life I found the same kind of feeling for my Willow. It made me understand completely all that my mother had spoken of and I now respected her even more that I had before. Willow may have put the forget spell on me, lied to me, got addicted to dark magic but I loved her. She was my life; when I breathed in it was her that I inhaled, surrounding my whole being. Even through my death I stayed with her.When I was alive and we split up, she couldn’t cope and turned to dark magic. The pain that I saw in her eyes when we apart was unbearable.
This simple fact meant that I could never leave her alone, for fear that she would never overcome the darkness. I stayed with her throughout everything. At night, I whispered comforts to her. When she was upset and crying alone in her bed I brushed the tears from her soft, milk white cheeks. I believed that someday she would return to the old Willow, but in the meantime, I had to act as her spiritual guide until she was ready to except her destiny without me.
*thats me as a vampire im so evil and skanky and i think im kinda gay*
*no candles? well i brought one its extra flamey!*
Edited by: witchbitchwillow at: 5/30/02 1:25:02 pm