Summary: Jonathan reflects on his death.
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon owns them, not me.

The Myth of Dying

There are all these myths about dying. They've been around for so long that everyone believes that they're fact. The story about your life flashing before your eyes or a white tunnel of light appearing before you are comforting, but completely false. There is no white light and no pathway to heaven.

It's all very sudden. First there's the pain that radiates from the point where the knife enters the soft flesh of your stomach. Next comes the sensation of falling backwards into a black pit. When you land, it all becomes very clear. You're dying and there's nothing left that you can do.

It was paralyzing. Even if I wanted to move, I couldn't. All I could do was stare at the dank, concrete ceiling of the school above me as I bled onto the Seal. All I could do was listen as my best friend packed our things, mumbling incoherently to Warren, who in all rights, shouldn't be there. I had no time to deduce how our dead partner-in-crime was standing above me, alive and well, as I bled to death.

In retrospect, I know that fake-Warren was the cause of all our problems. I know that all of this started long before our return to Sunnydale, I just don't know why. There was something dark and evil behind it all, and I know that there's nothing I could have done. All I could do was watch as the people I came back to help were killed or hurt one by one. All I could do was tag behind Andrew as they made their final preparations, unseen and unheard, forever.

I'm kind of surprised that Andrew made it so far. I never expected him to fit in with Buffy's group at all, but he stood with them in the final battle and they won. I think that maybe this is how it was meant to be. I just wish that the knife would go away. I wish the pain would stop. So much for the white light and the flashes. So much for heaven.