This is written for the Quiddich League competition, in the position of chaser 1 for the Appleby Arrows. I used the following optional prompts:
1)Conscious by Wilfred Owen
His fingers wake, and flutter; up the bed.
His eyes come open with a pull of will,
Helped by the yellow may-flowers by his head.
The blind-cord drawls across the window-sill . . .
What a smooth floor the ward has! What a rug!
Who is that talking somewhere out of sight?
Three flies are creeping round the shiny jug . . .
'Nurse! Doctor!'—'Yes, all right, all right.'
But sudden evening muddles all the air—
There seems no time to want a drink of water.
Nurse looks so far away. And here and there
Music and roses burst through crimson slaughter.
He can't remember where he saw blue sky.
More blankets. Cold. He's cold. And yet so hot.
And there's no light to see the voices by . . .
There is no time to ask—he knows not what.
2)Bird (word)
3)Swollen (word)
Charlie was tired. He looked around him, his eyes scanning the yellowing walls of the room. The putrid paint was peeling off, water creating its own paths along the creases. His vision blackened again. Birds singing. It created a mournful ballad, a song he never wanted to hear again;then he realised, he never would.
Burning. Everything burned around him. His skin, worn away by fire, sizzling away. The smell of burning flesh, it shocked and repulsed him. And then the cold, icy breeze freezing him in place. Nothing could save him.
He jolted awake, pain shooting along his swollen arms and upper abdomen. Slowly, he took a breath in, and released it cautiously, as to avoid breaking the bandages that kept him alive. He wished he hadn't left . No, wished he would've stayed home, found a suitable girl and married her. Perhaps had children. He wished this was later on in life, with his siblings by his side, along with his children and grandchildren. He wished he was in his old bed, at home.
Reality wasn't on his side, nor did he expect it too. He chose this life, going abroad to study those magical creatures. He knew there was a risk, a very dangerous risk, that the dragons wouldn't cooperate. Dragons are extremely complex and majestic creatures, and he's yet to understand them fully. Their power and grace amazed him immensely, but it was their ability to create and use fire at their will that truly captivated him. And that cost him his life.
They kept trying to tell him that he will be alright, that he will pull through this. They gave him pills, and alleviated his pain with ointments. His colleagues even sang to him words of encouragement and joy. And yet, he could feel death's persisting stare every time he closed his eyes. He could smell the burning flesh he smelled only yesterday. He could feel himself becoming more aware of what was going on around him without actually understanding.
The sun blinded him occasionally as its rays went to caress him, lowing him to interpret on the hours of the day. The groans and growls of dragons in the far off distance created a symphony he was proud to say he heard everyday for the past ten years. He asked himself sometimes whether it was all worth it, and, despite some small part of him that wasn't so sure, the answer was always yes.
He did miss his family, especially the twins. Their mischief always managed to put a smile on his face when he read the letters sent by his mother. You never knew what they might do next. He felt so proud when he found out about their little shop in Diagon Ally. The pride he felt for his sibling didn't end there; he was extremely proud of Ron for going through all that mess and coming out on top of it all, knowing that he is so much more mature. He felt proud for each one of his many sibling, for both small and substantial achievements.
He mostly missed his parents. The few times he was able to visit for Christmas he was reminded of why he had a tough time leaving in the first place. The fulfilling aroma of pies and cooked foods passed down from parent to child old, leather-bound books, made him feel home, and made him feel safe. His mother would smother him to pieces, and made sure his every wish was fulfilled. His father would pat him hard on the back, and talk to him about various Ministry business, sometimes involving dragons, sometimes just random chatter. His siblings would fight like there was no tomorrow, bickering about anything they could find.
But the best moments were when they all gathered around the fireplace on Christmas Eve, with a warm drink in hand, snuggling up together to fit underneath one of the massive blankets knitted by his mother. And they would just sit there, each in their yearly Weasley sweaters revelling in the comfort and safety of the burrow.
He would never get to feel that safe, never see his mother's face as she complains about the load of food she has to cook, never have to break up fight between his siblings. And that is what broke his heart most. They would have to fins out through a letter, and then wait, wait until his corpse was delivered back to England, and then have to decide each heartbreaking choice in regards to his funeral.
His vision cleared up, and he could hear the machine monitoring his heartbeat slowing down. He looked towards the nurses and doctors and they began talking to each other quickly in Romanian, trying to save him. He didn't have the heart to tell them that it was all for nothing. Various spells were thrown in his way, and several liquids made their way down his throat. He complied, no longer in pain. He was blissful, and yet painfully aware of everything. He notices the stress the staff were under, he noticed the small tan lines on one of the nurses' arms.
' I'm glad she is happy ' he thought to himself. He felt his lips quirk upwards, in a smile. Yes, it was all worth it. He got to meet the most amazing people, and study the most entrancing creatures on this earth. He slowly raised his hand, and touched the doctor's fast paced one. The man stilled, along with all the nurses, as Charlie looked him straight in the eye.
"It's alright. You don't have to worry, I'll be okay. I'm happy." And with that, he let his hand drop, and let out a small chuckle, before allowing darkness to envelop him fully. And as he did so, the last thing he heard was:
"I'm proud of you, Charlie"