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quotable_muse
Feb. 10th, 2007 02:21 pmPlease write a ficlet based on the quote, "After all, tomorrow is another day." ~ Gone With the Wind.
There had never been a moment, during all the years prior to that night, when I had even imagined that I would suffer a gunshot wound in the course of my duties. Not all through Academy, not during my early stint at Headquarters earning sufficient seniority to be named a field Watcher, not through my difficult tour of duty in Sunnydale, and not even since joining Angel Investigations. The adversaries with whom I had envisioned tangling used weapons like claws and fangs and magic, and even very rarely bodily fluids, but not firearms.
However, I had not counted on the possibility of encountering zombies; specifically, zombie police officers. Now even in these modern days, the officers of London's Metropolitan Police are not routinely seen carrying firearms, and after several years in the States, I was still becoming accustomed to the sight of Los Angeles' finest carrying theirs.
I will have to say, though, that I doubt I'll be forgetting the fact terribly soon.
From the day I'd become part of Angel's team, I'd been happy to return to distinctly Watcher-like duties, providing much needed research and information, and the occasional bit of physical assistance. Demons. Vampires. Ghosts. Wizards. Business as usual, par for the course.
Laying in that hospital bed, though, listening to the telemetry softly pinging out my pulse and breathing, I at last opened my eyes to the truth: we were fighting a new fight, a different fight to the one I'd expected and for which I'd prepared. In Los Angeles, the evil was not content to remain in its traditional roles and behave in its traditional manner. More often than not, we were finding corrupt humans, not demons, behind the wrongdoings we investigated. This was a harsher, more violent and more desperate battle, though no less right and necessary than the fight had been in Sunnydale.
And, I thought to myself as I glanced across the room to the corner where Gunn had insisted on remaining-- but, amusingly, could not remain conscious-- there were good men and good friends to fight it beside.
The movement made me wince slightly, but a deep breath or two quieted the pain. Soon enough, I knew, I would be out of hospital, and then on my feet, and then back in the fight. Soon enough. After all, as the lady (who, incidentally, was portrayed twice by Brits) said, tomorrow is another day.
(401 words)
There had never been a moment, during all the years prior to that night, when I had even imagined that I would suffer a gunshot wound in the course of my duties. Not all through Academy, not during my early stint at Headquarters earning sufficient seniority to be named a field Watcher, not through my difficult tour of duty in Sunnydale, and not even since joining Angel Investigations. The adversaries with whom I had envisioned tangling used weapons like claws and fangs and magic, and even very rarely bodily fluids, but not firearms.
However, I had not counted on the possibility of encountering zombies; specifically, zombie police officers. Now even in these modern days, the officers of London's Metropolitan Police are not routinely seen carrying firearms, and after several years in the States, I was still becoming accustomed to the sight of Los Angeles' finest carrying theirs.
I will have to say, though, that I doubt I'll be forgetting the fact terribly soon.
From the day I'd become part of Angel's team, I'd been happy to return to distinctly Watcher-like duties, providing much needed research and information, and the occasional bit of physical assistance. Demons. Vampires. Ghosts. Wizards. Business as usual, par for the course.
Laying in that hospital bed, though, listening to the telemetry softly pinging out my pulse and breathing, I at last opened my eyes to the truth: we were fighting a new fight, a different fight to the one I'd expected and for which I'd prepared. In Los Angeles, the evil was not content to remain in its traditional roles and behave in its traditional manner. More often than not, we were finding corrupt humans, not demons, behind the wrongdoings we investigated. This was a harsher, more violent and more desperate battle, though no less right and necessary than the fight had been in Sunnydale.
And, I thought to myself as I glanced across the room to the corner where Gunn had insisted on remaining-- but, amusingly, could not remain conscious-- there were good men and good friends to fight it beside.
The movement made me wince slightly, but a deep breath or two quieted the pain. Soon enough, I knew, I would be out of hospital, and then on my feet, and then back in the fight. Soon enough. After all, as the lady (who, incidentally, was portrayed twice by Brits) said, tomorrow is another day.
(401 words)
