the worst thing about death
You guys wanna know what the worst thing about death is?
It's not the searing, intense pain of having every cell in your body torn apart by ultra-light beams designed to eradicate everything with human blood (although sure, that's a pretty big downer). After all, pain ends. And, even though this may sound harsh, it's not the fact that I'll never see you guys again, 'cos strictly speaking that's not true. 'Cos every time you remember me, remember some crazy adventure we all had or remember what I was like, I'll be there. I'll always be able to see you guys, because some part of me will always be there with you. I don't understand how, but the Powers that Be assure me that that's the case, and given that they're the omnipotent guardians of balance in the universe, I've no reason to doubt them.
The worst thing about death is the fact that I can't get a bloody drink up here.
You know, if I'd known that Heaven - or whatever you call this place - was gonna be run by fanatical puritan teetotalers, I probably wouldn't have died. Well, I'd have tried not to - the Scourge's weapon didn't exactly give me much of a choice, you know? But if, you know, I'd have had to choose, I'd have chosen life every time. Immortality might be a real pain in the arse after a few centuries, but at least I'd have been able to get a pint every now and then.
It's been brought to my attention that I may have a problem. I prefer to think of it as an eccentricity.
That's partly why Harry left me, actually. When I found out about my other half - you know, my LITERAL other half - I guess I hit the bottle a bit too much. I had trouble dealing. Harry didn't. Ah well, guess that's in the past. Guess everything dealin' with my life is pretty much in the past. Guess I AM of the past.
It's thoughts like that which make me wanna have a drink. Which, in this place, is impossible. I mean, how hard would it be to conjure up a bottle of Jack Daniels, eh? Why didn't someone tell me that there wasn't gonna be any booze in the afterlife BEFORE I started liking the sodding stuff?
Perhaps this is my punishment. Perhaps it's karma. Perhaps the price I have to pay for my sins whilst on the Earth (as if having mind- splitting brain-incinerating god-be-damned visions wasn't enough) is to be deprived of even a little tipple here and there. Ironic punishments - you can't beat them. But whatever the cause is, you can't deny it's effective.
Looking over it, I can't help but notice that this letter has a rather pro-alcohol theme. Can't think why. In fact, I can't think why I'd be telling you this. None of you really drink, after all. Perhaps it's because I'm remembering all the times Cordy teased me about the booze , perhaps it's just to let you know that you don't need to worry, I'm happy (aside from the obvious) and safe and protected - from the horrors of alcoholism as well as demons and stuff. Or perhaps it's just because this is the only chance I get to talk to you all once more, the only chance I get to say goodbye, and I'm prattling as always about things that don't really matter to put it off. I've never been good with letters. You just had to ask my dear old ma about that.
Well, goodbye then. Hope everything works out with the acting, Cordy. And sorry about giving you the visions, although I'm not sorry about how I passed them on to you. Hope you fulfill your mission in life and that everything goes well, Angel - and for God's sake, try to have SOME fun once in a while, man. Wouldn't hurt you. Hope that new guy you found, Wesley Windy-Something works out fine for ya. Seems like a nice guy, for a super-repressed English ponce. See ya, then. Hope next time you're down the pub (assuming you manage to drag Angel out of his dark office to have some actual enjoyment, that is), you'll raise your glasses and have a little drink in my honour.
I certainly won't be able to, that's for bloody well sure.
d e a d l e t t e r s h o m e