Day 22: Willow

Willow's thoughts as she looks over the Sunnydale Crater at the end of Chosen… This is the last one guys, so I've tried to make it good.

There aren't many things that confuse me. Three, to be exact. The first is cooking, I never really understood that. Tara was the only one out of any of us who was ever good at cooking. The second is frogs, I'm sorry but anything that can start out looking like a piece of sperm and wind up a completely different shape makes NO sense at... Oh. Makes perfect sense. Or not, actually. Definitely not. Because the third thing on my list is another being that starts out all sperm shaped and winds up completely different. And that's people. People, in all their frontal-lobe glory make absolutely no sense to me, even though I am one. A people. I'm a people… person. Us, people, as a race… we work so hard to make the world perfect, carving it and shaping it, almost destroying it again and again… and all of it is just to make it a better place for us. But even though the world is our paradise, we keep trying and trying, making it different over and over again. We're never satisfied with what we have. People are weak, I know that now. We're weak and pathetic and utterly pointless… but we're also persistent, you know? We just keep fighting. Even if it's pointless, we just keep fighting, all for the sake of living another day. I should have been dead long ago. But I'm not, because I kept fighting and so did the people around me. I really should have died seven years ago, the night I followed my first vampire out of the Bronze, but Buffy fought for me. I should have died when I met my online demon-pal, I should have died at the end of my sophomore year when the Master rose. I didn't. I should have been killed by zombies, I should have been killed by Spike. My werewolf boyfriend should have eviscerated me. Angelus should have killed me. I should have died in battle the summer Buffy disappeared. I should have been murdered by a bleached-blonde vampire. I should have killed myself for what I did to Oz and Cordelia. I should have been killed by the mayor, by Faith, by the apocalypse. I should have died on graduation day. But my friends, they kept fighting for me. I nearly died of a broken heart, Tara saved me from the Gentlemen. And from myself. Adam… the first slayer in our dreams. Dracula, fighting Glory… saving Dawn. Looking after the Slayage after Buffy died. A singing demon. Myself. I nearly killed myself, and Tara nearly killed me when she left and broke my heart. A little part of me died when she did, and my humanity got pretty darn comatose for a while there. Giles should have killed me. My magic should have turned me inside out. And now? Now? Nine apocalypses -one of them my own work – hundreds of vampires, dozens of demons, thousands of spells, the deaths of my friends and my lover, the blood of other people on my hands… I'm still here. I'm still standing and most of all, I'm still fighting.

That's a human weakness, I think. We're all protect-y. We keep fighting and struggling until we draw our last breath… we don't run when we should, even when every fibre of our being is telling us to clear out, we still stay. We still stand, force ourselves through the blood and the sweat and the tears to come out the other side, for better or otherwise. Physical torment or worse, emotional pain… it doesn't kill us until we let it, and I've experienced both. The worst moment in my entire life was the moment of perfect clarity I felt on the bluff this time last year… It was the moment, as I fell into the arms of my best friend, that I realised who I was and how much I hated her. How much I wanted to die. My love, my heart… my soul was dead, she was gone and never coming back to me… I had murdered two people and tried to end the world and for God's sake… I was still alive. I had let my own selfish wants possess my entire being and consume me, eating me up from the inside out, leaving me a broken shell of Willow. But I was still there, still standing, still bleeding, still crying. Still breathing, though I didn't feel I had the right to.

Darkness and light, pain and hurt. That's life, that's all it is. It's contrast. A constant spectrum and you just have to hope that you fall on the good part of it. My life hasn't by any means been normal or average. But I'm still me. My appearance, my skills and even my personality may be all transform-y-anti-softer-side-of-sears, but strip it all away and you're still left with the same thing. I'm still Willow. Underneath everything I've been through, every decision I've made and everything I've done… underneath it all, I'm still Willow Danielle Rosenberg.

Giles is my protector, Dawn is my little girl. Anya was my friend. Riley was too. Cordelia was my enemy, and eventually someone I loved very much. Faith was the pariah, Spike the martyr. I love Buffy and Xander. I'm in love with Kennedy. I used to love Oz, and I'll never stop loving Tara. My entire life may have fallen into hell, but what a life it was. And I'm still here, watching it all cave in. These past seven years have been impossibly hard, impossibly painful… they've been full of love and happiness and laughter, but also full of blood and pain and hurt… but you know what? They've been the best seven years of my life.

Wow… I've finished. This is it, last one… so please drop me a review. I'm working on other stuff as you read, so stay tuned please. R&R and tell me, please, how the seven years of their lives affected you. Love, Bitca xx