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Tragic
You spent your life being ridiculed and picked on. You spent your life being judged because of those big glasses on your face and those two pigtails you would always wear in your hair. You've lived a sad life, a life spent in the shadows, in complete isolation. Your life has been one big tragedy.
You pretend your life went down hill after he died. That after your brother, your best friend, was killed you gave up on life and everything that has to do with it. You pretend he's the reason you spent your weekends locked up in the dormitory going over the weeks homework and studying for tests that were two weeks away. You pretend he's the reason you were alone. But that couldn't be further from the truth.
You were always so outspoken as a child, and you're still outspoken now, still the same girl no one liked. It's an honorable trait, you used to think, to always tell the truth, to speak your mind and stand your ground. You once thought, still thinks, that your big mouth was a gift from God because you, in your naïve childhood state, thinks that honesty gets you far, no matter how brutal or hurtful your words tended to be. You couldn't comprehend that it was the reason no one liked you.
They all hated you. Even after the primary judgment was made your peers still decided to give you a chance. You seemed so nice and innocent to them and most let your less than flattering looks go unnoticed. But you had this spiteful tongue and by the second month school you made all your dorm mates cry at least one time. You didn't let their tears bother you though. You thought you were doing them a favor by letting them know what you thought.
But you were lonely so often because of your strong words and stubborn, opinionated nature. You walked around the grounds kicking random rocks around talking to yourself about the latest news in the daily prophet and what the girls in your house were saying to you now. You repeat their words in your mind exactly, "fat, ugly, miserable, moaning, moping Myrtle". It was a tune constantly ringing inside your ears and even today as you sit sad and depressed inside your bathroom you still hear the cries of those girls whose only goal in life was to make you as miserable as possible.
You make a big deal about your death when you talk about it. You make it seem like some huge tragedy that you died so innocent, so young. But what you don't tell them is that being alive was your true tragedy and heartbreak and the only moment during your meaningless existence that you were happy was the moment after you looked into those hideous yellow eyes. It's the only moment you felt complete.
Your death has become harder than life. Your life was a burden, a pain, you carried with you everywhere you went, but there was a way out. Every person is awkward and naïve as a child and so many people grow out of their rudeness and childish nature and do become nice, friendly adults. There used to be a chance for something to change, for a different life. It makes you bawl when you look in the mirror and spot those same hideous glasses and that same hairdo you've worn for over sixty years. It's over, you think. You'll never be able to grow up and change your life because in death everything stays the same. You'll always be that same girl who ran from the frequent slander with no control of the words coming out of her mouth. You'll always be a person you despise. It's rather tragic really.
End
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