beccawhite (beccawhite) wrote in wearechosen,

Welcome to Sunnyhell

I feel like I have been running my whole life, that all my life is this, this fear. It's only really been a couple of weeks but I can hardly remember anything else. It's certainly built on my reflexes. Geoffrey always said I needed to improve my reaction times.

But Geoffrey's dead now, remember? Dead in a pool of his own blood and I am so scared I might be next.

I'm in a motel room now, much like the other motels I've stayed in over the past couple of weeks - scuzzy, dirty and probably sleazy. There's a stain on the wall and I'm worried it might be blood. But then, if it's not blood, I'm worried about what it is. Gross. Gross, gross thoughts, Becca.

I sigh and lie down on the bed. Relaxing is difficult. I get scared to go to sleep in case one of those things finds me and I'm not prepared. And if I do sleep, I have the dreams. Dreams where girls like me get sliced into bits.

Shivering, I sit up again, wrapping my arms around myself even though it's warm. Too warm in fact. I've never been to California before. I was born in England, and let's face it, it's not a country famous for its heat. The last six years I've lived in Seattle, which again isn't the hottest place in the world. Six years since Geoffrey went to my parents and told them about my destiny and they gave me up. Not that I'm bitter. No. Not even when they stopped visiting and forgot my birthday last year. No, definitely not bitter, though if Mum got some kind of scaly skin disease I so wouldn't mind.

I'd had the dreams for a few weeks before Geoffrey - before I had to leave. We researched them. I was good at research. I'm bookish, you know? I really don't think I'll ever be a slayer. I asked Geoffrey once to check he had got me the right destiny, that I wasn't really meant to be a watcher instead. That would make a lot more sense. I mean, I love books. I even wear glasses. I bet there has never been a slayer who wears glasses! And... Let's be frank, I'm sort of clumsy. Hand-eye coordination... Not that great. There's no way I'm getting called. I think Geoffrey thought so too, which is why we ended up doing more theoretical stuff than combat training.

I wish I knew more, now. About two weeks after my first dream, we got the news of a potential's horrible murder. It was probably a coincidence, Geoffrey said, but I wasn't so sure. And then the killings escalated. We left Seattle, knowing Geoffrey was too well known there. We ended up in a small town fifty miles away. But...

Something got him. I had been to the grocery store to buy milk, and I came back to find him in a puddle of blood. God. God. It was so awful. I loved him. He wasn't like a dad to me, not really, but maybe like some eccentric uncle. And his throat had been slit and his eyes were still open.

I didn't stop to get anything. Not even a change of clothes or a toothbrush. I grabbed his wallet out of his pocket and I ran. And ran and ran and ran. I used the card to withdraw $500 and then I threw it away. I know people can trace me by cards, I'm not stupid.

It's taken me two weeks to get here. I couldn't afford to fly. Why here? Well, I didn't know where else to go. Surely the Slayer can help me. The good slayer, that is. I hear one is banged up in LA. Classy. Still, that's probably the safest place for her, given the circumstances.

I'm going to go find this Buffy later. What kind of name is that, anyway? Maybe she can help me, or her watcher can. I don't know. I just hope they don't turn me away.

For now, I decide to leave my creepy, dirty room and head outside. Nearby there's a coffee shop. The Espresso Pump. I look in my wallet. Not a huge amount left, but I can stretch to a cappucino. Geoffrey never wanted me to drink coffee. Said it would stunt my growth. Well, I'll take the risk.

((Open, if anyone's in town))
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