Ever since he was a young wizard, he wanted a robe like Flamel’s. Something midnight blue, speckled with stars. As he grew older, he acquired robes of varying colors – ebony black or fiery red. Some, even, a tantalizing shade of sky blue. However, he never encountered the robes(more).
Until the day he ascended to the post of Headmaster of Pigfarts University.
The Divination teacher gave him the gift with an odd twinkle in his eye, muttering something about the future-seeking Crystal of Erutuf before handing the present to him, then expressing hopes that he’d wear it during years to come.
She watches them fall one by one. Person by person, he weaves his magic over their heads until there is nothing left, nothing that made them the people she loved.
Why she remains untouched, she does not know. A forgotten love, perhaps. However, she cannot do anything sav(more)e wander the streets she once knew – the streets devoid of laughter and life and cheer. She wishes to strike out at him, to put an end to this – oh, to hear laughter again! – but any attempt would be futile.
So instead she roams alone, condemned to embrace the "gift" of her "salvation."
When I let my imagination run away with me, I can see slime oozing off his features. Sometimes I think it already does – I can hear the stuff creeping out his voice, anyway. Every one of his features exudes oil and sycophancy.
I know it’s his fault(more). I know it is, but I’m too small and I can’t possibly know what I saw. Because I’m too young, right?
Wrong. Even as he comes up to me and sneers, “I’m sorry for your loss,” I sneer right on back in his greasy, overbearing face. Not caring how stupid the expression might look on my face.
Because he’s wrong, every part of him is. And I know.
I won’t let it rest.
panic sets in because
he won’t wake up
no matter what i try or
how i yell, his face
stays motionless as stone
(more) and i think of all
the times (the ones
before at least) i
screamed and cursed
but didn’t mean a word
did he know? did he
realize it was only a lie?
well, not all of it (just the ones
meant as a blade, like the
one now driven in his side)
a tear falls stained red
red like blood
red is blood, and panic
and eyes that won’t awake
and all the words i cannot say
It's been their special place for as long as she can remember. It was where they first met; underneath a vibrant green tree just blooming, both of the happy pair in the spring of their lives. In their summers, when the tree stretched its leaves to their fullest, they(more) would leave sappy notes in secret in "their" hollow in the center of the trunk. In the fall, when the leaves fell to the ground, they would chatter away, happily seated in plush chairs of fallen vibrancy.
Now comes the winter, and there are no more leaves; just a lone woman and a black grave to keep her company. (less)
you see him, outlined by the abyss. you lurch forward, hoping to get there in time.
in a vague, ignored part of your brain, you realize that you cannot reach him, but emotion defies all logic in its strongest moments, so you reach toward his falling figure anyway.
no(more) one pushed him, you know. he fell of his own volition. but the guilt will process later, the sorrow, the grief and the i-could-have-helped-why-didn't-you-tell-me?
for now, all you can think is that if you get close enough, if you can see him clearly enough, you can save him. So don't blink. (less)
The whispers won't stop. They follow me, mirroring my every move and muttering relentlessly in my ear. Sometimes they're helpful - the jagged screech of dangerdangerdanger on a moonlit night, a relaxing hum when nerves are high and tensions rising. But more often they cause discord.
As I strolled(more) in a park, shrouded by clouds and stars, the humming in my mind ceased for a moment. The moment persisted, morphing from one to two to seven, until I could hear them no more.
Then an explosion. My "madness" followed, and I can no longer tell past from present from future. (less)
As a shunned young one, I would lie amongst trees, gazing at the clouds to wish for another who would not fear me; and as day turned to night, I would hope in vain that there was someone listening, ensconced in the stars.
But my answer never came.
(more) However, I still sought solace in the skies. It stretches on, endless - it has no borders, can you see? Even as the horizon pierces its side with blackened thorns, it arcs above to soar onward, regardless of obstructions. Of shunning. Of patronism.
How I wish I could join my eternal guardian. (less)