Rain
I sit at the window watching the rain slanting down to the ground. The sound of it pounding the glass soothes me. I can see the trees swaying in the wind as my glance travels around the grounds. Suddenly I freeze: I see a flash of red hair. I blink in disbelief. It's her, my little sister. She's only wearing thin robes, open to reveal a skirt and top. I'm transfixed as she begins to dance, twirling her arms above her head. She is so beautiful. I want to touch the pale skin of her midriff, to see if it's as soft as it looks. I want to bury my face in her hair, to see if it smells of strawberries like I think it does.
As I'm thinking about running my hands over her skin, I'm interrupted by the sight of a blonde someone making their way to her. It's Malfoy. Irritation boils up in me. How dare he talk to her, touch her bare skin the way I want to. The irritation turns into anger as he reaches forward and kisses her. I want to pound on the window- screw that, I want to jump out of the window and pound on his face.
He soon leaves though, probably scared that the rain will frizz his poncey hair. I want to go down to her and kiss away the taste of his lips, but I know I mustn't.
And so I sit, watching the rain, long after she's gone back in. Still wanting her.
I sit at the window watching the rain slanting down to the ground. The sound of it pounding the glass soothes me. I can see the trees swaying in the wind as my glance travels around the grounds. Suddenly I freeze: I see a flash of red hair. I blink in disbelief. It's her, my little sister. She's only wearing thin robes, open to reveal a skirt and top. I'm transfixed as she begins to dance, twirling her arms above her head. She is so beautiful. I want to touch the pale skin of her midriff, to see if it's as soft as it looks. I want to bury my face in her hair, to see if it smells of strawberries like I think it does.
As I'm thinking about running my hands over her skin, I'm interrupted by the sight of a blonde someone making their way to her. It's Malfoy. Irritation boils up in me. How dare he talk to her, touch her bare skin the way I want to. The irritation turns into anger as he reaches forward and kisses her. I want to pound on the window- screw that, I want to jump out of the window and pound on his face.
He soon leaves though, probably scared that the rain will frizz his poncey hair. I want to go down to her and kiss away the taste of his lips, but I know I mustn't.
And so I sit, watching the rain, long after she's gone back in. Still wanting her.