Stuck Together, torn apart(Harry Potter, again)
Apr 24, 2013 23:59:35 GMT -5
Post by Iris Lulane on Apr 24, 2013 23:59:35 GMT -5
I don't want to leave.
The thought ran through Melanie's mind as she sat on the edge of her divan, Hamlet once again in her small, pale hands. She had read this book countless times and could recite by memory how Hamlet had killed Claudis and how the scene that Fortibas entered on to-of everyone dead-happened. But the tattered and mottled book brought back memories she couldn't stand to let go of. She could see the slight charring on the spine and smirked at the memory of Pavelia running in circles as the edges of the blindingly ugly dress curled. But guilt caught ahold of her throat and she cleared it, resting her currently hazel eyes back on the striking text. It isn't nice to remember things others don't want to remember, Melany remembered that one of her friends had said to her. But what if I want to remember-and what if the little b***** deserved it, Melany thought visciouly, gripping the edge of the book rather roughly. Noticing she was hurting the book, Melany made a small whimper and stopped, shoving those thoughts from her mind, staring at the curled letters. Melany wasn't registering any of the text-they were stuck in memory anyway-as she kept thinking of what she was supposed to do about school. Her parents said she was ready. Her friend said she was ready. Her therapist said she was ready-though he didn't exactly know what she was talking about. But one person thought-knew-she wasn't ready. Herself. But no one would listen to her. To the outside world, she was a girl that had fell down and hit her head, went to rehab, and is 'back to normal'. But things have never been normal. And Melany was sure that the incident was much worse than a concussion.
Melany had been attacked, kidnapped, and more without memory-and it wasn't fair. The only time she went on an adventure on her own, she had been attacked. In fact, that wasn't even the first time she was on her own-it was the first time alone in London. But Melany should've known-and scolded herself often-that something was up. Her parents weren't perfect, but they weren't evil. They never did try to turn her towards the way they grew up-at least, not constantly. They tried a little, but Melany of course didn't budge and leave her be. But sometimes she wishes she hadn't been as reckless, as she wouldn't be remembering the night she was in London. Dark. Cold. Alone. A few words that came to mind that night a green-lit-tipped wand( Not sure if I did that right ) was pointed to her, she blacked out, and got the tattoo on the back of her neck that she was now rubbing. The book slid off her lap and onto the ground below her, thudding softly on the blue slippers left for her to put on her bare and cold feet. Looking up, Melany knew that her parents had been in. She wrinkled her nose and felt that her parents were just to in her space-but she was expected to feel that way at the age of 13. Though she was irratated of her parents closeness, Melany still didn't want to leave. Sighing, she bookmarked the page and slipped on her slippers, adjusted the strap of her dress, and held the book close to her side when leaving the room she wouldn't see till Winter.
***
Kings Cross Station seemed too close to her slightly large house as the car began to slow down, the motor slowing and humming less as her father pulled out the key. There was a silence in the car that was only broke by the clicking of seatbelts withdrawling. Victoria, her mother, bit her lip and turned to look at Melany, the leather under her squeaking. "Look-I know you're scared and nervious, but you have to go to school. And, I'm not saying that anything is wrong with you dear, but try to make more-well, some-friends. I-" "Yes, mum, I know. You told me last year." Melany interrupted, forcefully opening the door and slamming it. She wasn't mad at her parents or the car-she was mad at herself. Throwing open the trunk, she took her things and dragged them along, the tingles in her hands and the calling of her parents far away. It was weird how only a few weeks ago, she wouldn't even leave the house without the both of them, but could now ignore their cries while walking into a kind of place she secretly despised at times-a place of magic. Her hair gently but vigoursly bounced in the wind, just like the rising and crumbling feelings in her stomach. The trunk bumped on a rock at the entrance and she stopped, nearly tripping but gripping the railing just in time. Breathing heavily, Melany slumped against the rail, hearing her parents growing footsteps. Her mother's dull eyes seemed to burn with sorrow and her father's with worry, while all Melany could think of was: What is wrong with me?
***
As Melany sat on the train, she thought about the sounds of joy emitting from the ther compartments and the confusing cloud that surrounded her-comforting, yet suffocatingly. Hamlet had been put away and a Midsummer's Night Dream had now replaced it in Melany's weary arms and was dully being scanned by her unfocused eyes. A witty comedy was needed by the frustrated girl-teen, now-but it seemed as if it just made her more think of the Unthinkable. When reading on marriage, the first thought was her parents. They were so good to her, but she was such a b*st*rd to them( I just starred in case. Never can be too safe ^^ ). Well, Melany wasn't horrible, but she wasn't the perfect child. On the outside, it seemed so. Straight-A student, beautiful, calm, and nice. But no one knew that it was a play-and what happened behind the curtains was what really was scandalous. As the curtains were drawn and the actors bowed, the girl behind the plan was tired, exhausted, reclusive. But she still had enough strength to pull off the epilouge, stepping of the train with a bright smile into Hogsmeade station and stowing her book in her pocket while riding to the castle with fellow Gryffindors that were applauding in her world, patting her back while the emptiness toke over. When the stage was empty and the others all bedded, the director, the master, the puppeter, touched the window in her nightly clothes, closing her eyes and watching the screen with joy that turned into the horror of reality.
The thought ran through Melanie's mind as she sat on the edge of her divan, Hamlet once again in her small, pale hands. She had read this book countless times and could recite by memory how Hamlet had killed Claudis and how the scene that Fortibas entered on to-of everyone dead-happened. But the tattered and mottled book brought back memories she couldn't stand to let go of. She could see the slight charring on the spine and smirked at the memory of Pavelia running in circles as the edges of the blindingly ugly dress curled. But guilt caught ahold of her throat and she cleared it, resting her currently hazel eyes back on the striking text. It isn't nice to remember things others don't want to remember, Melany remembered that one of her friends had said to her. But what if I want to remember-and what if the little b***** deserved it, Melany thought visciouly, gripping the edge of the book rather roughly. Noticing she was hurting the book, Melany made a small whimper and stopped, shoving those thoughts from her mind, staring at the curled letters. Melany wasn't registering any of the text-they were stuck in memory anyway-as she kept thinking of what she was supposed to do about school. Her parents said she was ready. Her friend said she was ready. Her therapist said she was ready-though he didn't exactly know what she was talking about. But one person thought-knew-she wasn't ready. Herself. But no one would listen to her. To the outside world, she was a girl that had fell down and hit her head, went to rehab, and is 'back to normal'. But things have never been normal. And Melany was sure that the incident was much worse than a concussion.
Melany had been attacked, kidnapped, and more without memory-and it wasn't fair. The only time she went on an adventure on her own, she had been attacked. In fact, that wasn't even the first time she was on her own-it was the first time alone in London. But Melany should've known-and scolded herself often-that something was up. Her parents weren't perfect, but they weren't evil. They never did try to turn her towards the way they grew up-at least, not constantly. They tried a little, but Melany of course didn't budge and leave her be. But sometimes she wishes she hadn't been as reckless, as she wouldn't be remembering the night she was in London. Dark. Cold. Alone. A few words that came to mind that night a green-lit-tipped wand( Not sure if I did that right ) was pointed to her, she blacked out, and got the tattoo on the back of her neck that she was now rubbing. The book slid off her lap and onto the ground below her, thudding softly on the blue slippers left for her to put on her bare and cold feet. Looking up, Melany knew that her parents had been in. She wrinkled her nose and felt that her parents were just to in her space-but she was expected to feel that way at the age of 13. Though she was irratated of her parents closeness, Melany still didn't want to leave. Sighing, she bookmarked the page and slipped on her slippers, adjusted the strap of her dress, and held the book close to her side when leaving the room she wouldn't see till Winter.
***
Kings Cross Station seemed too close to her slightly large house as the car began to slow down, the motor slowing and humming less as her father pulled out the key. There was a silence in the car that was only broke by the clicking of seatbelts withdrawling. Victoria, her mother, bit her lip and turned to look at Melany, the leather under her squeaking. "Look-I know you're scared and nervious, but you have to go to school. And, I'm not saying that anything is wrong with you dear, but try to make more-well, some-friends. I-" "Yes, mum, I know. You told me last year." Melany interrupted, forcefully opening the door and slamming it. She wasn't mad at her parents or the car-she was mad at herself. Throwing open the trunk, she took her things and dragged them along, the tingles in her hands and the calling of her parents far away. It was weird how only a few weeks ago, she wouldn't even leave the house without the both of them, but could now ignore their cries while walking into a kind of place she secretly despised at times-a place of magic. Her hair gently but vigoursly bounced in the wind, just like the rising and crumbling feelings in her stomach. The trunk bumped on a rock at the entrance and she stopped, nearly tripping but gripping the railing just in time. Breathing heavily, Melany slumped against the rail, hearing her parents growing footsteps. Her mother's dull eyes seemed to burn with sorrow and her father's with worry, while all Melany could think of was: What is wrong with me?
***
As Melany sat on the train, she thought about the sounds of joy emitting from the ther compartments and the confusing cloud that surrounded her-comforting, yet suffocatingly. Hamlet had been put away and a Midsummer's Night Dream had now replaced it in Melany's weary arms and was dully being scanned by her unfocused eyes. A witty comedy was needed by the frustrated girl-teen, now-but it seemed as if it just made her more think of the Unthinkable. When reading on marriage, the first thought was her parents. They were so good to her, but she was such a b*st*rd to them( I just starred in case. Never can be too safe ^^ ). Well, Melany wasn't horrible, but she wasn't the perfect child. On the outside, it seemed so. Straight-A student, beautiful, calm, and nice. But no one knew that it was a play-and what happened behind the curtains was what really was scandalous. As the curtains were drawn and the actors bowed, the girl behind the plan was tired, exhausted, reclusive. But she still had enough strength to pull off the epilouge, stepping of the train with a bright smile into Hogsmeade station and stowing her book in her pocket while riding to the castle with fellow Gryffindors that were applauding in her world, patting her back while the emptiness toke over. When the stage was empty and the others all bedded, the director, the master, the puppeter, touched the window in her nightly clothes, closing her eyes and watching the screen with joy that turned into the horror of reality.
