Bess ~ July 17 2001

"Don’t you dare," he breathed, miserable, and not a little drunk, "don’t you dare shine when she’s not here," he slurred, and hefted another rock at his fifteenth lamp pole. It gave a satisfying shudder and showered glass fragments onto the waiting pavement. Spike nodded at it appreciatively. "Bastard," he glanced up, and found he’d reached his destination. End of the street. No more lampposts. Just a graveyard that stretched along the street for a mile, casting great stone shadows across the grass. She was under one of them. He climbed, hand over fist, to the top of the cast-iron fence, and paused for a moment there, swaying. He hiccuped once and dropped to the ground sideways, tangled in a heap. There was a silence, and he hiccuped again.



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