She was standing alone in the stone-slab corner, her shoes shone brightly
whether from polish or pride. Her bushy brown hair was a mane, making her
looking ferocious, fierce-a lioness, something she is, and yet something
she could never be. The irony is too much. She was wearing those Gryfindor
knee socks, gold and scarlet, and she kept tugging at her skirt, trying to
lower it and cover that last bit of scandalous knee that was still visible.
A matching scarf was wrapped around her otherwise exposed throat-- perhaps,
hiding a draft or a chill. Her legs were crossed in that obvious way, and
her arms mimicked the former, as if to close off leering intruders and
wandering eyes.
It was a prefect picture, and she, a picture perfect moment. Not a ruffle out of place, standing almost stark innocent, chocolate brown eyes and that hardened look of modest pride and courage, coupled with intelligence and wit. She was waiting, a portrait of life. Her breaths came in even little ups and downs on her chest as she chewed her bottom lip impatiently.
It was plain to see-she was remembering, holding a familiar pair of thick rimmed, black glasses in her delicate hand. There was a time in her head; a place, a moment; a perfect moonlit night. She patrolled the halls, as was her nightly routine, when suddenly a hand grabbed her and pulled her into the darkness. She did not flinch, but merely opened her eyes wider, trying to see into the darkness. His strong hands enveloped her, not allowing any stretch of soul or skin beyond his control. She sighed and moved her hands over her shoulders, cursing under her breath, softly stroking his cheek.
His slim form whispered secrets into her body, and with the words he let go into the well of her ear like a thin silver thread as he outlined her jaw in the darkness. Her thin form tattooed itself onto him forever. Her soul let out a small sigh. She could see the gentle roughness of his body reflected in his eyes, wanting and warning her. She only smiled wordlessly as he captured her lips like a piece of fruit between his teeth.
She could recall that night perfectly. She would never forget it. She would never forget the sting of loss, or the bitter taste of hate and hurt mixing in her mouth like hell's cocktail, or the icy feeling of rejection either. Her eyes still shone with hurt, even now, when she thought about him. The way he'd touched her, the way he'd scorned her, the way his apologies felt like a thousand daggers upon her skin.
She only waited for one, now. She could see him bounding down the corridor, recognizing him by his signature flaming red hair. She feigned a smile and linked her arms with his, walking down the hallway. Time went on, and nobody knew about that moment she'd had, standing alone in that corner, remembering love and loss and hurt and hate and life.
Two forms hurrying down the hall, hand in hand, caught her eye. She only saw their heads-one platinum blonde, the other jet-black. She fingered the glasses before putting them in her pocket. Again, her soul sighed, but differently this time. Once for redemption. It was a picture perfect moment.
It was a prefect picture, and she, a picture perfect moment. Not a ruffle out of place, standing almost stark innocent, chocolate brown eyes and that hardened look of modest pride and courage, coupled with intelligence and wit. She was waiting, a portrait of life. Her breaths came in even little ups and downs on her chest as she chewed her bottom lip impatiently.
It was plain to see-she was remembering, holding a familiar pair of thick rimmed, black glasses in her delicate hand. There was a time in her head; a place, a moment; a perfect moonlit night. She patrolled the halls, as was her nightly routine, when suddenly a hand grabbed her and pulled her into the darkness. She did not flinch, but merely opened her eyes wider, trying to see into the darkness. His strong hands enveloped her, not allowing any stretch of soul or skin beyond his control. She sighed and moved her hands over her shoulders, cursing under her breath, softly stroking his cheek.
His slim form whispered secrets into her body, and with the words he let go into the well of her ear like a thin silver thread as he outlined her jaw in the darkness. Her thin form tattooed itself onto him forever. Her soul let out a small sigh. She could see the gentle roughness of his body reflected in his eyes, wanting and warning her. She only smiled wordlessly as he captured her lips like a piece of fruit between his teeth.
She could recall that night perfectly. She would never forget it. She would never forget the sting of loss, or the bitter taste of hate and hurt mixing in her mouth like hell's cocktail, or the icy feeling of rejection either. Her eyes still shone with hurt, even now, when she thought about him. The way he'd touched her, the way he'd scorned her, the way his apologies felt like a thousand daggers upon her skin.
She only waited for one, now. She could see him bounding down the corridor, recognizing him by his signature flaming red hair. She feigned a smile and linked her arms with his, walking down the hallway. Time went on, and nobody knew about that moment she'd had, standing alone in that corner, remembering love and loss and hurt and hate and life.
Two forms hurrying down the hall, hand in hand, caught her eye. She only saw their heads-one platinum blonde, the other jet-black. She fingered the glasses before putting them in her pocket. Again, her soul sighed, but differently this time. Once for redemption. It was a picture perfect moment.