Liebestod, Part I

 
He’d given it the best try he could. For a few days, he'd made the effort to come down to the bar, to give at least the appearance of being social, of possibly even giving a damn about the place. He had tried.

But that was weeks ago now.

He was done. He had been done for some time. If he was honest with himself, he'd been done even before Fred had departed. But now that she was gone, Wesley was finally beginning to understand why he had never made a serious effort to keep her from walking through that Door to her final end.

It was, of course, because he had been envious.

Hers was a decision he had yearned to make for himself. Had he only the guts to follow through with it.

No. That was too harsh, even for him. It wasn't a matter of courage. It was a simple matter of breaking out of a rut. The rut of continued, banal existence because he lacked even one compelling alternative to draw him away from it. Because what was Death but empty Oblivion?

Until these past few days, when all the boredom and all the meaninglessness were finally making Oblivion seem compelling indeed.

But if he was going to Pass On at last, there were questions he was going to see answered first. And this time, there would be no delays. No excuses.

He would have his answers, the consequences be damned.

Even if he damned himself in the process.