Title: "Thrive"
Author: Mala
E-mail: malisita@yahoo.com
Spoilers: "Angel" S1.
Rating/Classification: PG-13, Wesley, angst.
Disclaimer: Grrr. Aargh.
Summary: Wesley categorizes his strengths and his weaknesses.

The world fades every night when the sun goes down. It bleeds into the horizon and blackness pours down over everything like slow-moving tar...leaving Nothingness as far as the eye can see.

My wishful thinking.

Because there's never truly Nothing. There are shapes. There are movements. There are shadows. There are trees and buildings and distant cars on distant roads. And there are people. Thriving on night.

Other people thrive. And I stand and stare out across it all... I fool myself into thinking I'm doing something useful. That my life has meaning. That I've come into my own and left behind the Council and even my own foolhardy dreams of being a "rogue demon hunter" in order to help Angel do deeds for the greater good.

It's a load of bollocks.

In a sea of Nothing, perhaps Wesley Wyndham-Pryce could be Something. But not here. Not in Los Angeles. Here I am yet another transplanted idiot who moves through every day and every night as a mild annoyance to everyone else. Oh, maybe my knowledge of Aramaic is useful one week...or my insight about ancient demonic rituals another...but hourly...minutely...what am I?

I'm a fraud. I'm a fake. I'm always second best.

In Sunnydale, I was nothing compared to Giles. Here, I stand in the place of Doyle. Will there never be a place where I am first? Where I replace no one and cannot be replaced myself?

Perhaps in that place where horizon meets the edge of night...perhaps there is my place.

I'm too much of a coward to look there.

I'm too much of a coward to tell Cordelia I've fallen in love with her, too.

But that is my own cross to bear.

The foolish lust I had for a high school girl has long been gone...but I know she still sees the stiff, awkward, tight-assed prick I was then. When she looks at the more relaxed man I've become, she still tastes our unpalatably sloppy kisses from the library stacks. And they cannot match the kiss that Doyle left her with. The kiss that gave her visions...and a noble purpose.

A noble purpose that I lack.

It would have been easier if I had died when Wolfram & Hart blew up Angel's office. If he hadn't found me and saved me in time. Then I could've truly thrived at something...I could've thrived at death. I'm sure I would've been wonderful at it.

But Angel is a true hero who does his job well. He performs penance for his misdeeds as Angelus with vicious precision. And my penance for my own stupidity, my own weakness, lies incomplete.

Yet another load of bollocks.

I feed myself such drivel daily. Self-flagellation keeps me getting out of bed every morning. If only I were brave enough to beat myself so that the scars really showed. So that they built character. But I'm not that brave. I'm not brave enough to build myself up. To change. To grow. To admit my failures and rise above them.

The world fades every night when the sun goes down. It bleeds into the horizon and blackness pours down over everything like slow-moving tar...leaving Nothingness as far as the eye can see.

Ha.

The only true Nothing is where my balls should be.

--The End--

August 2000.



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