[ Post a Reply to This Message ]
[ Edit | View ]

[> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> And the sattire that follows of human farce and folly... -- Harry Potter, 16:58:27 05/27/02 Mon

The jade toned eyes scanned the star strewn, now sable firmaments, the ringing of the elapsed tacit in his ears that was numbing his logic causing him to not be able to find a constellation because their were so many spheres of diamond like sheen in the raven pitch that was the galaxy. Crickets and other nighttime creatures had begun encroaching, engaging in their sprightly symphony that ensued after the sun sank in surrender to the moon. As she stirred against his masculinely solid bulk, his nerves were still amuck, his need to be consoled shouting mutiny to his conscience which screeched its protest from being overwhelmed... all inside of his cluttered, broken mind. He continued gently cradling her against him, again offering and receiveing the very human concept of warmth that entered physically but seemed to caress one's pysche. He seemed to have strangely tranquilized his requirement for pacification, as he now had calmed down after he had achieved some sort of mental peace... a peace that was the mere disquiet wait for something to spark his frankly unstable, irrational mindset. It may have varnishly appeared by garbed semblance that he had recovered from the traumatic, cataclysmic events he had brought upon himself, fitting the euphorism that one usually gave another the means for their own destruction. However, he hadn't healed, really, and no wound ever closed without a scar, and his wounds were secretly open. Still fidgeting unconsciously with her vermilion, fouland like hair, he parsed her hackneyed but forsooth, true, words. "Death has us in its hands to eat us, but right now, it's full. Everything we do to avoid is a procrastination. Nothing lasts forever. Just a lifetime." Perhaps a more deranged, indignantly said set of quips from his unsteady, irascible brain, but fundamentally, it was true. "But. Until my bitter end," and the prospect for that being long wasn't too promising, "I'll be here when you need me. Sounds... cliched... but... I don't know how else to say it," he admitted, shrugging against the pulingly placid her as he emitted a short sigh of utter exhaustion but also temporary contentment. The condition was temporary because it was precluded that he could reside in someone's reassuring embrace for the rest of his days.

And then... it wasn't, couldn't be, over her infirm shoulder. A mirage. Yes, that was it. It was a mirage. Until it spoke, then he was fairly confident that, no, it was in fact, not a mirage. The mirage was unspeakably cherished to him; the image it cast the image of the one he cabalistically relied on to be his other half until he was of sound mind and out of his pathetically weak dependence upon her. Breath stealingly captivating for him, the mirage was, and how it struck the greatest deal of pain into him of how it seemed to partially comprehend but not fully the scenario that it had uncovered as it spoke. He gasped noticably, perhaps from how suddenly excruciating it was to breathe, jaw unhinged from the grim limn it had been repressively smothered into. "She's not dead," was the last thing that he lackadasically and faintly said before a comatose state engulfed him fully and he became utmostly flaccid and limp, any tension his body had completely slackened as his full weight leaned against the feeble girl's frontal side as he passed out from proverbial shock. His fealty may have gone awry slightly because of the injustice of him being deprived of something that he absolutely craved in any way, shape, or form: comfort. Like all the rest of his copiously replete mistakes, it would forsake him into the maw of abject misery, wistfully, chimerically wishing away that he could expiate the angst induced hurt he dealth out to people... videlict someone he genuinely loved as much as Hermione. She was one of the very few people that he could not bear to burden the cumbersome depiction of tears cascading down her comely face... all because of him.

[ Post a Reply to This Message ]
[ Edit | View ]

[> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> ...and finally the silence that is louder then the noise... -- ginny weasley, 20:18:38 05/27/02 Mon

…and ginny faces the absolute reassurance of being with him, just being near him and not anything in addition, nothing extra. the remainder of what ensued, happened devoid of her. the initial instant she was tranquil and passive, and the next she discovered herself clutching a wilted boy, the language of the wounded humming through her ears. her head twirls nauseatingly as she dreadfully endeavors to catch up with time and discover what went mistaken, what she performed to obtain this horrifying anguish within her, and yet she recognizes, she knows that in order for harry to endure, she has to someway place the whole thing back in position, even if it was inescapable that she had to abandon all and whichever possibility that she could have boasted with harry. one way or another prevent the fluid from overloading the cup because of the ice cub that streaked indoors without forewarning. with all of this coursing through her cranium, ginny bounds to her feet and lopes after the escapee, disregarding the screeching within her that advises her that she doesn’t need to nuisance herself with healing the bond, that she could perchance have harry to herself. she recognizes now, further then ever before, that it would not happen, by no means would arise, and wasn’t destined to begin in the first place. the consideration freezes her and she determinedly persists, howling out hermione’s name urgently. she no longer cares how pitiable she appears, and the distortion of her foot as she staggers on an invisible article lingers unobserved, overlooked. “we didn’t do anything! he was comforting me because he’s the only one who seems to care! i could never love him like you do, hermione. i only want him as a friend…and as his friend i cannot stand to see him suffer, and as your friend i cannot stand to see you suffer. just don’t act hastily…the world is made up of…deception…don’t be part of that mirage.” her voice explodes and she moans, declining into hush and to the sand ground, not troubling to glance up to see if the girl perceived the noise of her voice or if her utterance went unnoticed or not even heard.

while probing her foot in inactive inquisitiveness, suffering through the feeling of being emotionally anesthetized, she can’t evade but reflect to herself terms of abandon. i have worked so hard and gone through so much to find a sense of peace, and the moment i do, i look up only to find myself where i started…back on the cold bottom, but this time i’m not going to try to climb up again. i’ve given up on the remains of humanity…nothing matters anymore. nothing at all.

[ Post a Reply to This Message ]
[ Edit | View ]