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Tick
drabble
for open_on_sunday prompt: clock.
Buffy


She can feel her clock running down. The wind flies by her, tugging at her clothes and her hair. The pain in her gut is an afterthought, her blood is a cold spot on her shirt.

The moon is bright overhead.

Maybe this is how Angel feels-the seconds lasting years to make up for the life neither one will get to live after this night.

Damn, B. I wish this could have ended different. But she's not sure if the regret is for losing the fight or their falling out.

Her time runs out. Faith hits the truck.

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