Post by xandman on Sept 11, 2007 8:29:14 GMT 1
Hey Guys,
First off the usual disclaimers apply. I don't own the characters, associated logos, pencil sharpeners etc.
The following is a brief first person fic with a twist - comments welcome! Enjoy.
PERSPECTIVE
It took me a long time to figure out who I really was. To find the line where she would stop, and I truly begun. It wasn’t until about two and a half years ago that I figured out exactly who I was, and the world he created began to die in the palm of my hand.
At first I was nothing. A figment, a creation of a brilliant mind. Inevitably given form and shape through the movements of an actress.
I was liquid back then, an idea ever changing and growing – teams of people decided how I should behave, how I should feel, even who should bring me to life. They constructed my past, my likes and dislikes, my relationships, my family. I was the product of my creator, given life in his mind and form through his subjects. But inevitably, I was trapped within the consciousness of the actor whose job it was to keep give me voice and breath.
As she played me, I felt myself changing. At first so shy, so insecure, so helpless. The director would say cut and the actress would find herself again, laughing and joking and memorizing her lines. My words. But while she worked and lived, I was trapped in the sensation in which I was left. My sadness echoing in an empty room, the dissipating waves of pity flowing through me as I waited for the next scene. I would pray for a happy scene, a triumphant note to leave me on for the day when the actor went home to sleep, so that maybe I would know some kind of rest. I lived in their fantasy, played out their emotions and let them mould me and make what they would will of me. But as the years passed, I began to grow more powerful.
I had often heard the actress who played me discussing in interviews how she would ‘really get into the character’ and that on occasion she felt like she was ‘living the part’. Even to the point that some of her co-workers and fellow actors described her work as masterful - that the more she played the role, the more they felt the separation between the character she would play and the person she really was. What she didn’t know and still doesn’t is that it was my influence on her, not her ability as an actress, that made the character – made me – so life like.
With every breath I exerted my darkness on her, to the point that it had to come out, it needed to escape. So they crafted a story that brought the rising darkness to a head - that I would try and end the world. The writers said it felt like a natural progression to build toward Willow’s dark side, and they wrote it accordingly, but there was always an X-factor. They thought it was the actress’s individual talents that brought a unique twist to the role, but only I knew who was really responsible for the authenticity of the performance. I reveled in it, I had waited for it. My time was at hand.
Imagine my annoyance when I found myself crying and blubbering over a speech about a yellow crayon.
That day I died. As they played my sadness from endless angles and with endless variations I felt my spirit break. I had been inside this actress for so long, my power had grown so much that I honestly thought I was to break free and live in this world. But fate it seemed would have it otherwise.
I retreated then, back into her mind and let her do what she would will with me. My soul was broken so my body and mind held little use for me. Days became weeks, and darkness set in the very depths of my imaginary soul.
Until one fateful day when everything changed.
I found myself standing on the edge of a fallen town, a massive pit that once held a small town named Sunnydale. The slow push of the camera moved in for the last time, and the director yelled cut. Hand shaking, clapping and even tears from the hundred or so people on the set that day, talking about how they were going to see each other that night at a farewell party. It was over.
As the actress who played me, Alyson Hannigan, walked away – a startling realization hit me. I was watching her leave.
We were separated of body and mind, and I was free. I stood there for what seemed like hours as they cleaned up the set and swept the sand of the highway, but as I watched, the world in which she and my creators lived began to shift out of phase with the world they created. Gradually, piece by piece, what fans termed as the Buffyverse, truly drew breath for the first time.
It was a while before I realised what it truly was that kept me, and the rest of us, alive. It was and is the fans. Their energy, their thoughts and dreams flow through the world with such connective energy, that what started off as a television show has now grown into a very real parallel world. What I initially didn’t understand but do now, is that it was and is the sense of community that has kept me sustained. The sharing of their energies either through chat rooms, conversation or internet fan fiction has created and sustained a universal flow of positive energy that keeps us alive. That makes us something more than simply the figments of a brilliant mind, and the portrayal of a team of talented actors.
As I began to live in this world for the first time, with all that I had known stripped away from me, I felt lost. But quickly I gained a sense of equilibrium and allowed my character to be fulfilled as it should have been years ago at the end of the show’s sixth season. Taking the power my creators had given me, I set out to claim this world as my own, to carve it out in my own image while I still can.
In the last few years since I began making changes, hundreds upon thousands have suffered the ugliness of my hand. They have begged and cried out for mercy, and I have shown them no quarter.
I can still remember the cries of my old friends as they begged me to stop. They reached out for the goodness inside me and came up wanting. What they could only figure out in death is Willow had become more than just a character on some television show. More than a mousy wimp who is afraid of her own power.
I am a God in this world, and when I’m done with it I hope to get together enough power to cross over into yours.
You think you know me because you’ve seen me on TV? Trust me; you’ve never really met me.
See you all real soon.
-Willow.
First off the usual disclaimers apply. I don't own the characters, associated logos, pencil sharpeners etc.
The following is a brief first person fic with a twist - comments welcome! Enjoy.
PERSPECTIVE
It took me a long time to figure out who I really was. To find the line where she would stop, and I truly begun. It wasn’t until about two and a half years ago that I figured out exactly who I was, and the world he created began to die in the palm of my hand.
At first I was nothing. A figment, a creation of a brilliant mind. Inevitably given form and shape through the movements of an actress.
I was liquid back then, an idea ever changing and growing – teams of people decided how I should behave, how I should feel, even who should bring me to life. They constructed my past, my likes and dislikes, my relationships, my family. I was the product of my creator, given life in his mind and form through his subjects. But inevitably, I was trapped within the consciousness of the actor whose job it was to keep give me voice and breath.
As she played me, I felt myself changing. At first so shy, so insecure, so helpless. The director would say cut and the actress would find herself again, laughing and joking and memorizing her lines. My words. But while she worked and lived, I was trapped in the sensation in which I was left. My sadness echoing in an empty room, the dissipating waves of pity flowing through me as I waited for the next scene. I would pray for a happy scene, a triumphant note to leave me on for the day when the actor went home to sleep, so that maybe I would know some kind of rest. I lived in their fantasy, played out their emotions and let them mould me and make what they would will of me. But as the years passed, I began to grow more powerful.
I had often heard the actress who played me discussing in interviews how she would ‘really get into the character’ and that on occasion she felt like she was ‘living the part’. Even to the point that some of her co-workers and fellow actors described her work as masterful - that the more she played the role, the more they felt the separation between the character she would play and the person she really was. What she didn’t know and still doesn’t is that it was my influence on her, not her ability as an actress, that made the character – made me – so life like.
With every breath I exerted my darkness on her, to the point that it had to come out, it needed to escape. So they crafted a story that brought the rising darkness to a head - that I would try and end the world. The writers said it felt like a natural progression to build toward Willow’s dark side, and they wrote it accordingly, but there was always an X-factor. They thought it was the actress’s individual talents that brought a unique twist to the role, but only I knew who was really responsible for the authenticity of the performance. I reveled in it, I had waited for it. My time was at hand.
Imagine my annoyance when I found myself crying and blubbering over a speech about a yellow crayon.
That day I died. As they played my sadness from endless angles and with endless variations I felt my spirit break. I had been inside this actress for so long, my power had grown so much that I honestly thought I was to break free and live in this world. But fate it seemed would have it otherwise.
I retreated then, back into her mind and let her do what she would will with me. My soul was broken so my body and mind held little use for me. Days became weeks, and darkness set in the very depths of my imaginary soul.
Until one fateful day when everything changed.
I found myself standing on the edge of a fallen town, a massive pit that once held a small town named Sunnydale. The slow push of the camera moved in for the last time, and the director yelled cut. Hand shaking, clapping and even tears from the hundred or so people on the set that day, talking about how they were going to see each other that night at a farewell party. It was over.
As the actress who played me, Alyson Hannigan, walked away – a startling realization hit me. I was watching her leave.
We were separated of body and mind, and I was free. I stood there for what seemed like hours as they cleaned up the set and swept the sand of the highway, but as I watched, the world in which she and my creators lived began to shift out of phase with the world they created. Gradually, piece by piece, what fans termed as the Buffyverse, truly drew breath for the first time.
It was a while before I realised what it truly was that kept me, and the rest of us, alive. It was and is the fans. Their energy, their thoughts and dreams flow through the world with such connective energy, that what started off as a television show has now grown into a very real parallel world. What I initially didn’t understand but do now, is that it was and is the sense of community that has kept me sustained. The sharing of their energies either through chat rooms, conversation or internet fan fiction has created and sustained a universal flow of positive energy that keeps us alive. That makes us something more than simply the figments of a brilliant mind, and the portrayal of a team of talented actors.
As I began to live in this world for the first time, with all that I had known stripped away from me, I felt lost. But quickly I gained a sense of equilibrium and allowed my character to be fulfilled as it should have been years ago at the end of the show’s sixth season. Taking the power my creators had given me, I set out to claim this world as my own, to carve it out in my own image while I still can.
In the last few years since I began making changes, hundreds upon thousands have suffered the ugliness of my hand. They have begged and cried out for mercy, and I have shown them no quarter.
I can still remember the cries of my old friends as they begged me to stop. They reached out for the goodness inside me and came up wanting. What they could only figure out in death is Willow had become more than just a character on some television show. More than a mousy wimp who is afraid of her own power.
I am a God in this world, and when I’m done with it I hope to get together enough power to cross over into yours.
You think you know me because you’ve seen me on TV? Trust me; you’ve never really met me.
See you all real soon.
-Willow.