"Teardrops"
The sting of leather on skin reminds me that sadly I'm not gone. No, I'm still here to linger, still here to suffer. They would never let it go as far enough to kill me; why let me die? That would be an easy way out, in lieu I am left to sit and suffer. Suffering; what a joke. Physical suffering does not bother me anymore, no, it is the excruciating mental suffering that I have to endure incessantly that drives me to the point of insanity. The unknowing, the feeling of absolute abandonment, and the feeling that I'm not worth the dirt that I walk on is what really gets to me after time.
I eventually learn to block out the physical pain, or pass out before it gets to bad. But at night, when I lie alone in my bed in utter darkness and utterly alone, that's when it truly hits me. I hear screams, but no one is yelling. I feel pain, but, as hard as it is to believe, there is no beating. I cry but I feel no tears on my face. I'm numb, turned this way by the world, by the bastards I have to call "family". I never knew family, and the closest thing to comfort seems a million miles away in a colossal mansion that I will probably never see. And he doesn't know a thing. Sure, he's asked about the scars. He's seen every part of me enough to have memorized it, but I waive them off like they are nothing. Battle scars, I tell him. Yes, they are battle scars in reality, the scars that I bear in order to live to see another day.
I have planned the break away thousands of times in my head, each time perfecting it more and more until I know it is fool proof. Will I ever execute it? Probably not, my only escape is in a place where they think I am fine, a place where I feel loved. So I wait patiently, counting off the days and the beating, until my days are filled with quidditch matches and my nights with passionate kisses from a blond haired angel. It seems like such a fairytale from the position I'm in now but its funny how dreams can become reality and just as fast come crashing down. I actually feel worthy there, like I belong.
I don't question Dumbledore anymore. Not only because, and I hate to admit it, he has gotten so old that I hardly think he makes sense anymore, but because I know he won't change. "Can't he see it?" I wonder, "How does he not know?"
I never wanted any of this. The fame nor the misfortune, and it seems how funny how with the turn of a calendar page the two can be switched. Days become blurred and all I know is that I'm striving for that day; the day I'm finally out, at least for sometime. Thank God it's almost here because I'm not sure how much more I can take. I'm weak and I know it; they know it too. Do they show any leniency? Ha, what a joke...
A fire starts. Something in my already tormented head snaps and I know I have to get out. The door is open, I can see the street and the night sky above, I can smell the night air as if it's tantalizing me to just go out and breathe it in so deeply. I get up, half run and half limp on a leg that just won't heal, until I'm in the middle of the street gasping. It's taken more out of me than I thought, and going any farther is looking impossible. I think it's raining outside, and I feel the rains soothing droplets on my face. It feels so good.
A crack is heard and a swarm of people are around me. I recognize the faces but can't put a name to them. Things seem so distant and blurry now. Someone calls my name.
"Oh, Harry, what's happened to you?"
Now I know finally I'm safe. Someone lifts me and as I leave the ground, I feel as all my worries have left me too. Just before I loose consciousness, for my short trek has drained me of more energy than I thought, I realize it isn't raining outside. It's just the teardrops that I have kept inside for so long are falling on my face.
The sting of leather on skin reminds me that sadly I'm not gone. No, I'm still here to linger, still here to suffer. They would never let it go as far enough to kill me; why let me die? That would be an easy way out, in lieu I am left to sit and suffer. Suffering; what a joke. Physical suffering does not bother me anymore, no, it is the excruciating mental suffering that I have to endure incessantly that drives me to the point of insanity. The unknowing, the feeling of absolute abandonment, and the feeling that I'm not worth the dirt that I walk on is what really gets to me after time.
I eventually learn to block out the physical pain, or pass out before it gets to bad. But at night, when I lie alone in my bed in utter darkness and utterly alone, that's when it truly hits me. I hear screams, but no one is yelling. I feel pain, but, as hard as it is to believe, there is no beating. I cry but I feel no tears on my face. I'm numb, turned this way by the world, by the bastards I have to call "family". I never knew family, and the closest thing to comfort seems a million miles away in a colossal mansion that I will probably never see. And he doesn't know a thing. Sure, he's asked about the scars. He's seen every part of me enough to have memorized it, but I waive them off like they are nothing. Battle scars, I tell him. Yes, they are battle scars in reality, the scars that I bear in order to live to see another day.
I have planned the break away thousands of times in my head, each time perfecting it more and more until I know it is fool proof. Will I ever execute it? Probably not, my only escape is in a place where they think I am fine, a place where I feel loved. So I wait patiently, counting off the days and the beating, until my days are filled with quidditch matches and my nights with passionate kisses from a blond haired angel. It seems like such a fairytale from the position I'm in now but its funny how dreams can become reality and just as fast come crashing down. I actually feel worthy there, like I belong.
I don't question Dumbledore anymore. Not only because, and I hate to admit it, he has gotten so old that I hardly think he makes sense anymore, but because I know he won't change. "Can't he see it?" I wonder, "How does he not know?"
I never wanted any of this. The fame nor the misfortune, and it seems how funny how with the turn of a calendar page the two can be switched. Days become blurred and all I know is that I'm striving for that day; the day I'm finally out, at least for sometime. Thank God it's almost here because I'm not sure how much more I can take. I'm weak and I know it; they know it too. Do they show any leniency? Ha, what a joke...
A fire starts. Something in my already tormented head snaps and I know I have to get out. The door is open, I can see the street and the night sky above, I can smell the night air as if it's tantalizing me to just go out and breathe it in so deeply. I get up, half run and half limp on a leg that just won't heal, until I'm in the middle of the street gasping. It's taken more out of me than I thought, and going any farther is looking impossible. I think it's raining outside, and I feel the rains soothing droplets on my face. It feels so good.
A crack is heard and a swarm of people are around me. I recognize the faces but can't put a name to them. Things seem so distant and blurry now. Someone calls my name.
"Oh, Harry, what's happened to you?"
Now I know finally I'm safe. Someone lifts me and as I leave the ground, I feel as all my worries have left me too. Just before I loose consciousness, for my short trek has drained me of more energy than I thought, I realize it isn't raining outside. It's just the teardrops that I have kept inside for so long are falling on my face.