Hey ya'll! This is my first ever attempt at writing fanfiction. Sorry if it's bad. Please critique. I know that this might be a confusing prologue, and you are probably wondering what this has to do with Harry Potter, but I am going to try to get the first couple of chapters up soon.
Prologue:
I was standing in the bathroom, steam collecting around me from one of the best showers of my life. My sister's words kept reverberating through my head. I needed to get a job, but I had no skills that anyone would want. What I really wanted was to just train horses for the rest of my life, but Fate saw to it that that would never happen. I was a let down. She had hung up on me when I told her about my lack of skills. Sure I had just graduated from high school, but my talents lay outside the classroom, outside the workspace. I would be a great farm hand, that was for sure.
All these thoughts kept spinning circles around my head. I had had enough of letting people down. My father, whom I still lived with, had just told me the other day that he didn't want me hear.
"When will you tell me some good news?" He had asked me over dinner. Needless to say, I quickly lost my appetite.
My reflection stared back at me from the foggy mirror. Her hair was dark chestnut, handing limp past her shoulders. Though it was wet, it was already curling wildly. I had always had a problem with controling my bushy hair. The girl in the mirror had angry red cuts up her left arm. There were uncried tears in her forest green eyes.
It would be so easy, I thought, glancing from the cuts I had done with a push-pin to the glittery orange razor sitting in the soap dish in the shower. I grabbed it, expertly breaking the blades free from the plastic and held one of them up in the light. When I was thirteen, I had had a really bad problem with cutting. So bad that I ended up almost killing myself. I hadn't wanted to back then, but now…
I pressed the cold metal to the thin sking of my rest, right where the scarr from my accident was. It was so easy. I sliced quickly, shutting my eyes. It never hurt, but I had a serious problem with blood. Even just the thought of it made me nauseus. The skin split apart, revealing red and white. I needed to do more, though, I knew. This one I did vertically, drawing the bade up my right arm. It was harder to do this one. I dropped the blade and gaped in horror at what I had done. There was no turning back now.
Still wrapped in a soft white cotton towl, I sat on the toilet, letting the blood drip all over everything. No longer would I be a dissapointment. With renewed determination, I picked the blade back up and did my left arm. No longer.