Ingnored
by Angel
"Hey dad!" Seamus Finnigan called.
"Later Seamus."
"Hey mum!"
"LATER! Can't you see I'm busy?" Seamus felt a little hurt by these remarks by his parents, but what was new? Since his parents had started fighting, they hardly talked to him. He felt invisible. How much of this could he take? Yeah, sure, he had friends at school, Dean, Neville, Ron, and Harry. How many times had he owled them? More than he could count. Had he received one owl back? Not a single one.
He walked up the stairs to his room, and wrote a letter, to no one in particular.
Dear whoever you are,
I don't know when you'll get this, and I don't expect you to understand what I've been through. I feel completely ignored. My parents have been ignoring me for awhile now, it's always, 'Later Seamus,' or, 'Seamus, can't you see I'm busy?' Honestly, you'd think they'd pay more attention to their own son. Ten times a day, I wish I was someone else. My friends haven't owled me since school, and I feel like I'm an outcast, someone who doesn't even exist. My neighbors don't even notice the young sandy-haired boy who walks past their house everyday, admiring their gardens, or singing as loud as he can. I sing every night, and people used to tell me I had a such nice voice, now my parents just tell me to shut up. "The nice boy who lives down the street" that's what they used to call me. Now they don't even notice me. I think I'm going to go crazy.
If anyone knows how I feel, then please write back, or come to see me, before I loose it.
Always confused,
Seamus Finnigan
He folded the paper up and wrote clearly on the front:
"Please do not be frightened by the owl, It's quite friendly.
Whomever gets this, please feel free to reply.
-Seamus Finnigan"
He tied it to the foot of a handsom snowy owl, which he had oxymoronicly named Delaney, "Take this to the first person you think will understand. I'm trusting you boy."
The owl hooed and flew out the window. Seamus watched his letter dissapear into the sky, "Who will he bring it to, I wonder," thought Seamus.
~*~
{three weeks later}
"Next Tuesday's my birthday," Seamus sighed to himself, "I wonder, will I get any cards? Probably not." Delaney had returned, with no reply. Seamus had asked several times who he had taken the letter to, but who talks to owls? He patted Delaney's beak as he began to scribble the beginnings of a poem.
"Please hold my hand,
don't let me fall,
I've been pushed away,
by you all.
Don't let me fall,
I don't want to,
Please hold my hand,
and I'll trust you."
It wasn't that great of a poem, but it was a start, and a good way of getting his feelings out. He had hardly said two words to his parents since he sent the letter, they were too busy anyway. He wrote tons of things in the next days, stories of truth, chivalrey, and honour, poems that were happy and sad, plays, and many other things. He began to imagine he himself were in a world such as the ones in his stories, but they were fantasies, not real, and he could not escape the truth into a book. He wondered many a time where his letter went, if some punk was reading it thinking what a sap he was, or some old granny wanting to reply but not being able to.
Sometimes he would stay up in his room all day, writing, or thinking about writing. He composed a book, entitled "Everything I know, the collection of all of Seamus Finnigan's Work".
He found an old guitar in his attic one day, he started teaching himself to play. Then he began to put his poems to music. He had written quite a few songs by the time his birthday came.
No cards came for him that day, he spent it like he had spent the rest, however, everything he wrote was depressing, and he often found himself playing "Happy Birthday" on his guitar, that he had figured had once been his father's. He didn't go downstairs, and he didn't leave his room all morning. His parents had forgotten. He cried a little, and sang alot, and wrote many a poem.
He left his room once that night, to go and get a glass of water. It was quiet as usual, and his parents were probably out. they hadn't bothered to tell him. He walked to the sink and filled up his glass.
He turned around. He was surprised to see all of his family and almost the whole Gryffindor house were standing behind him, smiling. Even Harry was there, "how did he get away from the Dursleys?" Seamus wondered. The Creevey brothers were there, and so was a large squarish boy who Seamus recognized right away, not as a friend, but as a Slytherin, one who had particularly taunted him for years.
"Why are you all here?" he asked them.
"Happy Birthday Seamus," they answered, in unison.
"Why's Goyle here? I thought he hated me!"
Goyle muttered something nonunderstandable.
"He got the letter," said someone from the back of the crowd.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
(A/N- Little used character of Seamus Finnigan.... ah, my writing sucks...)
by Angel
"Hey dad!" Seamus Finnigan called.
"Later Seamus."
"Hey mum!"
"LATER! Can't you see I'm busy?" Seamus felt a little hurt by these remarks by his parents, but what was new? Since his parents had started fighting, they hardly talked to him. He felt invisible. How much of this could he take? Yeah, sure, he had friends at school, Dean, Neville, Ron, and Harry. How many times had he owled them? More than he could count. Had he received one owl back? Not a single one.
He walked up the stairs to his room, and wrote a letter, to no one in particular.
Dear whoever you are,
I don't know when you'll get this, and I don't expect you to understand what I've been through. I feel completely ignored. My parents have been ignoring me for awhile now, it's always, 'Later Seamus,' or, 'Seamus, can't you see I'm busy?' Honestly, you'd think they'd pay more attention to their own son. Ten times a day, I wish I was someone else. My friends haven't owled me since school, and I feel like I'm an outcast, someone who doesn't even exist. My neighbors don't even notice the young sandy-haired boy who walks past their house everyday, admiring their gardens, or singing as loud as he can. I sing every night, and people used to tell me I had a such nice voice, now my parents just tell me to shut up. "The nice boy who lives down the street" that's what they used to call me. Now they don't even notice me. I think I'm going to go crazy.
If anyone knows how I feel, then please write back, or come to see me, before I loose it.
Always confused,
Seamus Finnigan
He folded the paper up and wrote clearly on the front:
"Please do not be frightened by the owl, It's quite friendly.
Whomever gets this, please feel free to reply.
-Seamus Finnigan"
He tied it to the foot of a handsom snowy owl, which he had oxymoronicly named Delaney, "Take this to the first person you think will understand. I'm trusting you boy."
The owl hooed and flew out the window. Seamus watched his letter dissapear into the sky, "Who will he bring it to, I wonder," thought Seamus.
~*~
{three weeks later}
"Next Tuesday's my birthday," Seamus sighed to himself, "I wonder, will I get any cards? Probably not." Delaney had returned, with no reply. Seamus had asked several times who he had taken the letter to, but who talks to owls? He patted Delaney's beak as he began to scribble the beginnings of a poem.
"Please hold my hand,
don't let me fall,
I've been pushed away,
by you all.
Don't let me fall,
I don't want to,
Please hold my hand,
and I'll trust you."
It wasn't that great of a poem, but it was a start, and a good way of getting his feelings out. He had hardly said two words to his parents since he sent the letter, they were too busy anyway. He wrote tons of things in the next days, stories of truth, chivalrey, and honour, poems that were happy and sad, plays, and many other things. He began to imagine he himself were in a world such as the ones in his stories, but they were fantasies, not real, and he could not escape the truth into a book. He wondered many a time where his letter went, if some punk was reading it thinking what a sap he was, or some old granny wanting to reply but not being able to.
Sometimes he would stay up in his room all day, writing, or thinking about writing. He composed a book, entitled "Everything I know, the collection of all of Seamus Finnigan's Work".
He found an old guitar in his attic one day, he started teaching himself to play. Then he began to put his poems to music. He had written quite a few songs by the time his birthday came.
No cards came for him that day, he spent it like he had spent the rest, however, everything he wrote was depressing, and he often found himself playing "Happy Birthday" on his guitar, that he had figured had once been his father's. He didn't go downstairs, and he didn't leave his room all morning. His parents had forgotten. He cried a little, and sang alot, and wrote many a poem.
He left his room once that night, to go and get a glass of water. It was quiet as usual, and his parents were probably out. they hadn't bothered to tell him. He walked to the sink and filled up his glass.
He turned around. He was surprised to see all of his family and almost the whole Gryffindor house were standing behind him, smiling. Even Harry was there, "how did he get away from the Dursleys?" Seamus wondered. The Creevey brothers were there, and so was a large squarish boy who Seamus recognized right away, not as a friend, but as a Slytherin, one who had particularly taunted him for years.
"Why are you all here?" he asked them.
"Happy Birthday Seamus," they answered, in unison.
"Why's Goyle here? I thought he hated me!"
Goyle muttered something nonunderstandable.
"He got the letter," said someone from the back of the crowd.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
(A/N- Little used character of Seamus Finnigan.... ah, my writing sucks...)