I lie on my bed. I am listening to the hail falling on the eaves of the roof. In my mind's eye, I see the little balls of ice bouncing off the hard corrugated iron. Forming little dents. Just like the dents in my heart. Which is bleeding. I listen to the footsteps. Deep within the bowels of the house. The shoes walk all over me. All over my body.

It is cold. So cold. I have been confined to my room. No light. No warmth. The wind is howling. The night is dark. So cold. So lonely. No friends. No love.

Images flood to my mind. Mocking. Jaunting. My Father. His scowl. The look of disgust on his face as he beholds the filth who dared become his offspring. The look of extreme hatred as he looks upon the piece of scum who pollutes the very air he breathes.

My Mother, with her far, unseeing eyes. The blankness on her face. She does not hear. She does not see. She does not think. The remnants of her are just a living shell. Her frail body trembles as I approach. Every movement startles her. Like a jumpy deer. Deer in the headlights.

The two images merge. Closing in slowly. The look on Father's face distorts. It changes from extreme hatred to a twisted look of pleasure. He raises his wand. The smile grows wider. I open my mouth in a silent scream. I have seen it done thousands of times. But each time, I lose my voice.

My Mother trembles further. She cowers into the corner of the small cell that has become her room. She presses her body, no, the bag of bones into the concrete. It is cold. I know. Trying to find a form of salvation. Trying to somehow escape from the madness.

The two images draw closer. My mouth is still open. I am still frozen. My legs feel heavier than lead. My arms weigh a thousand tonnes.

Finally they crash. The effect is spectacular. The sound is grating. Torture on the ears. Mother twitches and convulses on the floor. The curse has taken hold of her. She does not scream. Her face is contorted into a mask that I do not recognize.

Father's face is a mask as well. A mask of pleasure. Satisfaction. Delight. Joy. He keeps his wand out. He does not tremble. He looks straight at me. His eyes are deep hollow tunnels. They are challenging me. To say something. To go to her aid.

I am fixed to the spot. I do not cry. I do not shout.

A crash of thunder is heard, and the image disappears. It does not matter. I would get to see it for real soon. It has happened a thousand times. Too many for me to count. Too many for me to feel anything now.

A shiver runs down my spine. The footsteps sound near. I tense up. My body tight. Adrenaline releases into my blood. I leap up and hug the wall. Anticipation swells. Trepidation.

Seconds pass, then minutes. Amidst the booming of thunder and pounding of hail, I miraculously hear a clock ticking. It is in my mind. I relax. Slowly. More minutes pass.

I lie down on my bed. I lift up a hand. The lightning flashes lights it up for split seconds. It is burly. Strong. But so weak. So helpless.

Tears leap to my eyes. I have not forgotten how to cry. The revelation startles me. It is brought this time, however, by something else.

Another image leaps into my mind. It is an image of a girl. A beautiful girl with long, brown hair that has been swept up into an elegant knot at the back of her head. She is smiling. She is holding my arm. I am school champion. She is my partner for the Yule Ball.

A smile works its way to my face. Yes. I am school champion. I am free of the boy with pale hair. He no longer has power over me. My friends join me at the dance. The boy who lived. The boy with red hair. They are laughing with me. We are talking. Joking.

A crash of thunder. A flash of light. My dream is shattered. The image disintegrates with the hammer falling upon it. The impossible. And I crave it. The undesirable. And I want it.

Is it so difficult for one to follow his heart? Is life set out and planned out for you by your birthright?

I cannot answer my questions. I lack the mental dexterity to seek them out. I have always been limited. Gormless. An imbecile.

I look upon the floor. I see the shards of my dream. The splinters of my heart. Pieces of love. Hope. Irreparable. The shards of sanity. The shards of my life. The pieces of my mother.

It is cold. So cold.