SIT THERE, RAIN IN YOUR EYES. THE ENTIRE WORLD GLITTERS TONIGHT, SPARKLES
CRUSHED UNDERFOOT. LIKE FAIRYDUST, FALLEN FROM THE SKY. YOU'RE COATED IN
THAT --- AND YET THE BLACK OF YOUR EYES HAS NONE IT. YOU JUST CAN ADMIRE, T
HOUGH, WISHING THAT YOU COULD TWIST SHIFT CHANGE AND BE ONE OF THOSE
BEAUTIFUL, GLITTERING PIECES: DOESN'T EVERYONE? GOD KNOWS YOU'RE BROKEN
ENOUGH, SHARP AND FALLEN AND OUT OF PLACE, ONE OF MANY WHOS FACES BLEN
D INTO A MOTORCYCLE RIDE AT TWO IN THE MORNING, BLURRED. WHAT A BLURRE
D WORLD IT TRULY IS, WITHOUT THE BRIGHT, REASSURING CLARITY OF THOSE TEE
NAGE YEARS. IT SCARES YOU THAT THE MEMORIES DON'T COME. BUT THAT'S WHAT
FADED PHOTOGRAPHS STUCK IN BETWEEN NOTEBOOKS AND TRUNKS ARE FOR, FOR
REMINDING YOU THAT THERE WAS A TIME WHEN YOU DIDN'T ENVY BROKEN LIQU
OR BOTTLES SMASHED IN A DIRTY GUTTER, SOAKED WITH RAINWATER AND YET SO
BEAUTIFUL TO SOMEONE WHO DOESN'T REMEMBER. SHE KNOWS THIS FEELING -- IT
S A VACANT HOTEL IN HER STOMACH, CARVED OUT BY IRON, BUTTERFLIES DROVEN
OUT WITH STICKS AND STONES. THERE'S NO ROOM HERE FOR DOUBTS. IT'S HOW SHE
WORKS, ANYWAYS --- DO WHAT NEEDS TO BE DONE AND DON'T STOP TO THINK ABO
UT IT. IT'S A STUPID WAY TO LIVE: RACING THROUGH LIFE NOT CHECKING AROUND
THE CORNER, JUST A SWIFT [i]SWERVE[/i] JUST TO HEAR THAT WHOOOOSH OF WINN
ING IN YOUR EARS THAT KEEPS YOU GOING UNTIL THE NEXT BIG LEAP, UNTIL THE
NEXT SECOND WHERE YOU MAY BE OR NOT BE. IT'S WHAT SHE LIVES FOR. THAT SEN
SE THAT YES, YOU'RE ALIVE, AND THAT IS SO BITTERSWEET. A PASSING CAR SHOOTS
BY LIKE STARS AND ITS RED LIGHT GLIMMERS ON THE SLICK PAVEMENT, DAWDLING,
BEFORE DISAPPEARING INTO THE BLACK HOLE AT THE END OF YOUR VISION, BRIGH
T FLOWERS BLOOMING BEHIND YOUR EYES AS A PUNISHMENT OF ADMIRING SUCH
BRIGHT-BRIGHT-TOO-BRIGHT THINGS ON SUCH A DARK TIME. WHAT IS THIS YOU F
EEL? SHAME, PERHAPS? THAT FACETIOUS LITTLE CHUCKLE OF PAIN INSIDE THAT C
ARVED OUT HOLE INSIDE YOU, WHICH YOU WILL TO THINK NOTHING OR ANYTHI
NG? IF YOU THINK, YOU MIGHT POSSIBLY DIE. IT'S A DANGEROUS AND STRANGE TH
ING. SHE DOESN'T FEAR DYING ANYMORE -- WHAT'S ONE MORE PERSON AMONG HU
NDRED? AND THE FACT THAT IT'S HER, WHO HAS COMMITED THOUSANDS OF SINS
AND SLEPT WITH OTHER BOYS AND SMOKED CIGARETTES AND GONE SKINNY-DIPP
ING(WHICH FEELS LIKE SUCH, [i]SUCH[/i] A LONG TIME AGO -- ANOTHER LIFE) IS BETT
ER THAN SOME INNOCENT MUGGLE WHO HAS NO IDEA WHAT OR WHY OR HOW T
HEY DIED, SIMPLY A GREEN BEAM LIGHTING UP THE WORLD ALL THEY REMEMBER.
SHE'D RATHER IT BE HER THAN SEEING GLASSY, OBLIVIOUS EYES, WHIMPERING Y
OUNG CHILDREN, AND THOSE COUPLES, GODDAMNED COUPLES, WHO THEY SOMET
IMES FIND HOLDING HANDS, INTERWINED ONE LAST TIME, AND NO ONE EVEN KNO
WS WHAT SHE WOULD FUCKING [i]DO[/i] TO THOSE BAT-SHIT CRAZY BASTARDS IF SHE
COULD. IF IT WOULDN'T MESS UP HER WORLD, IF THERE'S ANYTHING LEFT TO MESS
UP. WHO KNOWS? MAYBE THIS IS HER LAST NIGHT, MAYBE AROUND THAT NEXT AL
LEY SHE'LL BE CORNERED BY DEATH EATERS AND THAT'LL BE 'THE END' OF MARLEN
E MCKINNON. SHE LIKES TO DWELL ON WHAT-IFS, IN THE SPARE TIME THAT DOESN
T EXIST. WHAT IF THE ORDER WAS NEVER FORMED? WHAT IF SHE'D BEEN A SLYTH
ERIN? WHAT IF SHE'D BEEN BORN A PUREBLOOD INSTEAD OF A PILE OF STEAMING
SHIT MUDBLOOD? WHAT IF SHE HADN'T EATEN THAT PIECE OF CINNAMON TOAST
FOR BREAKFAST? (WELL, HONESTLY, MARLENE CAN TELL YOU THE ANSWER TO TH
AT ONE -- HER JEANS WOULD BLOODY FIT RIGHT.) BUT NOW HER CLOTHES HANG
OFF, HER HAIR HANGS LOOSE, AS DO THE POOLS UNDER HER EYES. SHE IS SHEER
CONTRAST IN ITS MOST RAW FORM, MADE OF ALL LOOSE DRAPES AND AT THE SAM
E TIME SHE IS EDGES -- SHARP, RAW, UNTOUCHED EDGES THAT CAN SWIPE A ROO
M OF ALL CONVERSATION AT A WORD OR MAKE HER CRY AT NIGHT, ALONE. WHA
T THESE LOOSE CURVES AND SHARP EDGES ADD UP TO, SHE HAS NO IDEA. BUT TH
AT IS A COMMON THING IN THESE TIMES. WHY DOESN'T ANYONE UNDERSTAND?
SHE JUST DOESN'T [i]KNOW[/i]. NO, MUM, I DON'T KNOW WHETHER I'LL BE ABLE T
O VISIT FOR CHRISTMAS. (I DON'T KNOW IF I'LL BE ALIVE, YOU SEE.) SHE CAN'T SAY
THINGS LIKE THAT. IF MARLENE, WHO'S SUPPOSED TO BE THE CONFIDENT, BAD
ASS, I-DON'T-GIVE-A-DAMN ONE, GIVES UP, WHO DOES THAT LEAVE? EVERYTHIN
G CRUMBLES LIKE THEIR SUPPORT HAS FALLEN IN ON ITSELF, AND IT'S DUST. EV
ERYTHING IS DUST. WHAT KIND OF PERSON WOULD THAT MAKE HER, THEN? EVI
L, PERHAPS, DEATH EATER MATERIAL? MARLENE LAUGHS AT THAT ONE, HERSEL
F AS A DEATH EATER. THE ORDER WOULDN'T STAND A CHANCE WITH MARLENE
WIELDING HER SHARP TONGUE AND MERCILESS WIT, UNLEASHED, FOR ONCE. T
HEY'D BE SCARED. SHE WOULD SEE THE FEAR IN SOMEONE'S EYES, TRULY. SHE NE
EDS TO SEE THAT. SHE'S TIRED OF BEING WEAK AND TIRED AND EXHAUSTED, ALL
THE TIME. FOR FUCK'S SAKE, THEY'RE [i]TWENTY YEARS OLD[/i]. FUCK, NO ONE THAT AGE
SHOULD BE WONDERING IF DEATH IS AROUND THE CORNER, SHOULD BE BEING A
WOKEN AT THREE IN THE MORNING TO RUSH TO A MUGGLE'S HOUSE AND FIND T
HE LOT OF THEM, FIVE IN ALL, DEAD, LIMBS TORN AND TEAR TRACKS STILL FRESH
ON THEIR FACES. SHE SHOULD BE OUT CLUBBING, HOOKING UP WITH STRANGERS,
DRINKING HER BLOODY GUTS OUT AND THEN PUKING IT ALL OUT, NOT STRIVING
TO GET ATLEAST FIVE HOURS OF SLEEP THIS WEEK. SLIGHTLY INTRIGUED AND MO
STLY ENRAGED BY THE IDEA, MARLENE SLIPS OUT A CIGARETTE FROM THE BACK
POCKET OF HER FADED JEANS THAT HAVE SEEN THE WORLD MORE THAN SHE HA
S, OPTING FOR A LIGHTER INSTEAD OF THE RISK OF HER WAND. THIS PUZZLES H
ER ESPECIALLY, HAD SHE NOTICED. AT OTHER TIMES, SHE WOULD'VE JUMPED AT
RISKS, GOBBLED THEM LIKE APPLE TARTS FRESH FROM THE OVEN. A DEEP, THOUG
HTFUL DRAG DOESN'T CALM HER SLIGHTLY SHAKING HANDS, MARLENE NOTICES
BITTERLY, STUBBING THE CIGARETTE ON HER PALM, WINCING AT THE SLIGHT BU
RN. SHE DROPS IT TO THE PAVEMENT AND CRUSHES IT WITH THE TOE OF HER T
RAINERS, ADDING A SMEAR TO THE CANVAS OF BROKEN GLASS AND SHIFTING L
IGHT THAT THE CITY BRINGS. IT'S A WARM, JUST RAINED SORT OF NIGHT, WHER
E WAR CASUALTIES SQOOSH UNDER HER TRAINERS AND HER LEATHER JACKET
IS NOTHING BUT A FAMILIAR COMFORT SNUGGING HER BODY. SUDDENLY INSPI
RED, MARLENE DOES SOME SORT OF BALLET LEAP TURN, JUMPING UP HIGHER T
HAN A DEER AND POINTING HER TOES INSIDE HER CANVAS TRAINERS. SHE USE
D TO TAKE BALLET, A LONG TIME AGO, SOME 15 YEARS OR SO, AND SHE KNOWS TH
IS ONE IS A COMPLICATED NAME WITH LOTS OF DOUBLE 'T'S AND THE SUCH. ONL
Y AFTER SHE LANDS AND COMPLETES A SHAKY PIROUETTE DOES MARLENE REAL
IZE THAT SHE'S LAUGHING, THAT FAMOUS MARLENE LAUGH THAT SHE'S MISSED
SO MUCH. UNSURE, SHE SMILES AGAIN AND THERE IT IS, THAT HOARSE BUT BEA
UTIFUL LAUGH, LILTING AND RASPY. AND ALL OF A SUDDEN, THAT'S ALL THERE
IS. LAUGHTER, LAUGHTER, AND MARLENE FEELS SO SILLY FOR BEING SUCH A STU
PID ANGSTY WORRYWART LIKE SHE USED TO MAKE FUN OF, AND THAT'S ALL THE
RE IS, THAT BEAUTIFUL IMPERFECT LAUGHTER. AND YOU JUST DANCE, YOU JUST
FLY, THROWING YOUR ENTIRE SOUL AND HEART OUT THERE TO JUST [i]BE[/i] LIKEE
YOU DIDN'T EVEN REMEMBER TO DO, BUT NOW IT'S SO BEAUTIFUL. THE ENTIRE W
ORLD SPARKLES BEHIND HER, UNFOCUSED, BLURRED. THE CHEAP NEON LIGHTS F
ROM THE SEEDY LOOKING BUILDING ACROSS THE STREET BEAMS ACROSS HER FAC
E, CHANGING. A MAN WITH HOOD DRAWN BLACK OVER HIS FACE RAISES HIS EYE
BROWS AND GOES ON, BUT MARLENE DOESN'T NOTICE. SHE DOESN'T CARE. THE ST
RANGER IS GONE, INSIDE HER. WHO KNOWS? WHAT IF? TO BE OR NOT TO BE, AND
THE ANSWER IS BECOMING CLEARER. SHE STILL DOESN'T KNOW. SHE DOESN'T KNO
W, BUT NOW SHE DOESN'T CARE. LIFE AND DEATH AND BEAUTY WILL GO ON.
AND DESPITE THE SWIRL OF RAIN AND TEARS AND CONCRETE POLAROIDS LIKE
STONES IN YOUR STOMACH, THE PHOENIX RISES. THE ENTIRE WORLD SPARKLES.
