Numbers

Written By: Sway Slayer

Disclaimer: I don’t mention anyone…except in the summary. Argh! Busted by my own hand. Joss owns them but I’ve made him an offer he can’t refuse *shines chainsaw*
Rating: PG-13. I’m behaving. Don’t get used to it.
Summary: Buffy’s system of numbers, using Faith as her muse.
Feedback: I won’t be offended if you give this one a miss – it’s a quickie *thinks* Screw that! Give!
Distribution: Takers? Mail me. I’ll be nice. I promise *bats eyelashes and distracts from crossed appendages*
Dedication: I have no idea who this is for. It popped into my head while I was beginning a new fic, but seeing that it attached itself to my neurons while listening to ‘Whenever, Wherever’, this is for Shakira. Bless you and your exhilarating bootay-shaking. If you’re ever offering lessons, I’m a willing pupil.
Author’s Note: I hate numbers. I hate anything to do with algebra, geometry, trigonometry, or anything that is remotely mathematical-based. I hate making change. Why? Because I cannot *do* any of the above mentioned tasks. This is why I write. Words are sweet whisperings. Sentences are foreplay. Paragraphs are incarnations of carnal desires and fiction is the grand climax. Enjoy. Burn a calculator.



Twenty. Life expectancy for you and me.
Nineteen. Stitches in your skin when I took you away.
Eighteen. Years spent looking for your soulmate.
Seventeen. Candles on your cake when you felt me die.
Sixteen. Times your name escapes my lips.
Fifteen. Kisses placed on your body.
Fourteen. Pieces of poetry written on your skin.
Thirteen. Demons dispatched in a night’s work.
Twelve. Hours I’ve spent watching you sleep.
Eleven. Scars on your body that demand the attention of my mouth.
Ten. Half the box of cigarettes you smoke.
Nine. The lives you have when fighting beside me.
Eight. Pairs of black leather pants hanging in your closet.
Seven. The digits of your phone number that I know by heart.
Six. Drinks that you down by the time we reach the dancefloor.
Five. My lucky number. The date you were born. My lucky number.
Four. Limbs that stretch for miles, subject to my touch at any time.
Three. The minutes I can cope without having you near me.
Two. Dark eyes that sear into mine, coaxing me into submission.
One. The amount of times I’ve said ‘I want you’ and meant it for eternity.

The End

 

RETURN TO MAIN                    Return to Mystic Muse

 

Home
Fiction by Author FanFic Links

Fiction by Pairing

Eliza Links

Awards

Link to Us

Nominations

Affiliates

Memberships

Contact Us

 

Main   What's New   Fiction by Author   Fiction by Pairing    Links    Eliza Links    Awards   Contact Us

Forever Faith. © 2002-2007 All rights reserved.

If you find problems on these pages please email your host.