Hey there! Here's a new Buffy oneshot I cooked up one day. I was watching the episode Witch from Season 1, and it was then that I got to wondering about something. What was Amy like when she was twelve, and did she keep a diary or a journal in those days?
Well, in my fic, she does have a diary. I decided to call this fic "Beneath the Willow" because of those very three words in the lyrics of the song "Whiskey Lullaby" by Brad Paisley and Alison Krauss. "Whiskey Lullaby" is an awesome song to listen to, as well as be inspired to write by as well.
Hope you like this fic as much as I do myself. :)
Disclaimer: Genius Joss Whedon owns Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I own the fanfics I cook up from time to time.
Beneath the Willow
"How dare you raise your hand to your mother? I gave you birth. I gave up my life so you could drag that worthless carcass around and call it living?"
Amy Madison, sixteen, shuddered as she remembered her mother's words. She was sitting underneath the willow tree in her backyard, her legs crossed Indian style. Then a memory came to her – a memory she thought she had buried forever...
Start of Memory
"Don't you dare do this to me, Charlie!" growled Amy's mother Catherine. Her azure eyes seemed to be blazing with orange-yellow flames as she glared at her husband.
Twelve-year-old Amy was up in her room sitting on the bed, clutching a blue wire-bound notebook to her chest. The notebook served a purpose as her diary. She then reached over and picked up her yellow Number 2 pencil; then, opening her notebook, she paused for a moment, listening to the fight between her mom and dad. Finally, she put pencil to paper and started to write.
‛Dear Diary,' she began. ‛My parents have always had problems, which is because they married so young – just after graduation from Sunnydale High School. Of course, I'm only twelve, so I'm still in middle school right now; but that's a different story for next time.
‛Anyway, my mom and dad basically were eighteen when they got married to each other. Now, I've done the math and I figured out that eighteen years plus twelve is a total of thirty years. Wow. In my view, that's kind of awesome.'
Feeling she had written enough for now, Amy then closed her notebook, put it in her closet underneath a neat pile of sweaters and closed the doors. It was the right hiding place for something that she wanted to keep safe.
Then, she lay back on her bed, trying her hardest to tune out the sounds of the fights between her mom and dad...
Amy then smiled to herself as she got up and dusted herself off, and then headed into her house and up the stairs into her room. After heading over to the closet and opening one of the doors, she looked underneath the pile of sweaters, and there it was – her notebook diary. It was still in the same place after all this time. This made Amy feel all good inside as she pulled it out, opened it and began to read. The memories began to come back to her, and this time she let them wash over as she read.
To her, writing was not only therapeutic, but also a very good habit to get into early in life.
And she was glad she did.
Well, R&R, please. :) Nice feedback is what I like, as it inspires me to write more. :)