Author: RaineCloud
Pairing: Hints at ?/Percy
Rating: R
Warning: This is kind of disturbing. I wrote this when I felt like dying.
Thanks to: JKR,and my sick, demented mind.
Summary: This is just a little reflection. PWP.
Disclaimer: I OWN NOTHING.
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Torture
He hated to think of it. To think about the day he was forced to walk those streets, watching it happen, right before his very eyes. Never before had he seen so much horror or blood. The stench of death consumed him. He couldn't think. He couldn't breathe. He walked along the street, careful not to step on the dead bodies that surrounded him. He heard a scream. Another girl was dead. A baby cried out in pain. the sick bastards were killing children, infants, toddlers. Anything that they could find to torture, to kill. The reason of all of this was more horrendous than anything he'd ever thought of. They killed because they liked it.
They liked watching innocent people die. Defenseless children were their favorite. They liked to watch the horror on their faces. They liked to watch them cry as they broke the bones, one by one. When they cut the little ones, they would watch the blood run from the wound. They would make the children drink their own blod. The tiny faces of the infants were the worst to watch. They would trick them. They would pretend to play with them, to nurture them. Then they would do like the Nazis did. They would throw the babies into the air and shoot them. Good target practice, they said it was. The screams. The horror. The death. Children were forced to shoot their parents. Parents forced to shoot their children. Infants tortured.
He could still smell it. Still hear it. Still see it. It was too much. It had been two years since all of it had happened. They were all gone. Everyone he'd ever cared for. Percy, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Alicia, Angelina, Katie, George, Fred, his mum, his dad. . . He could still remember the pained looks upon their faces. Percy. . .he was forced to shoot his only love. . .never would he forget the last thing Percy said to him: "I love you. Please remember me, my love." It hurt. Under the Imperio Curse, he was forced to kill them all in different ways. Violent, horrible ways. He'd been made to slit wrists, cut throats, shoot, strangle, maime, rape, torture. . .the people he loved.
Now he tended to let his mind wander. Was he going insane? He thought that he was losing it. Perfectly justifiable, if he said so himself, for a person who had gone through what he had. There was blood of other people inside of his body. Sometimes if he was quiet enough he could hear their voices. They would talk to him. They would scream and cry. They would moan in pain. He knew what his future held. Oliver Wood was going to rot away. His soul was dead. It had died a long time ago. When he killed Percy. Now, he hoped, his body would die. It would waste away in the dark, dank corner of a cell. He had been driven mad. He would die, listening to the voices talking to him. Telling him to join them. Goodbye, world. He pulled the knife across his throat. For a few brief seconds, he watched his blood pour out. Now they were free. Now he was free.
Pairing: Hints at ?/Percy
Rating: R
Warning: This is kind of disturbing. I wrote this when I felt like dying.
Thanks to: JKR,and my sick, demented mind.
Summary: This is just a little reflection. PWP.
Disclaimer: I OWN NOTHING.
____________________________________________________________________________ ___
Torture
He hated to think of it. To think about the day he was forced to walk those streets, watching it happen, right before his very eyes. Never before had he seen so much horror or blood. The stench of death consumed him. He couldn't think. He couldn't breathe. He walked along the street, careful not to step on the dead bodies that surrounded him. He heard a scream. Another girl was dead. A baby cried out in pain. the sick bastards were killing children, infants, toddlers. Anything that they could find to torture, to kill. The reason of all of this was more horrendous than anything he'd ever thought of. They killed because they liked it.
They liked watching innocent people die. Defenseless children were their favorite. They liked to watch the horror on their faces. They liked to watch them cry as they broke the bones, one by one. When they cut the little ones, they would watch the blood run from the wound. They would make the children drink their own blod. The tiny faces of the infants were the worst to watch. They would trick them. They would pretend to play with them, to nurture them. Then they would do like the Nazis did. They would throw the babies into the air and shoot them. Good target practice, they said it was. The screams. The horror. The death. Children were forced to shoot their parents. Parents forced to shoot their children. Infants tortured.
He could still smell it. Still hear it. Still see it. It was too much. It had been two years since all of it had happened. They were all gone. Everyone he'd ever cared for. Percy, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Alicia, Angelina, Katie, George, Fred, his mum, his dad. . . He could still remember the pained looks upon their faces. Percy. . .he was forced to shoot his only love. . .never would he forget the last thing Percy said to him: "I love you. Please remember me, my love." It hurt. Under the Imperio Curse, he was forced to kill them all in different ways. Violent, horrible ways. He'd been made to slit wrists, cut throats, shoot, strangle, maime, rape, torture. . .the people he loved.
Now he tended to let his mind wander. Was he going insane? He thought that he was losing it. Perfectly justifiable, if he said so himself, for a person who had gone through what he had. There was blood of other people inside of his body. Sometimes if he was quiet enough he could hear their voices. They would talk to him. They would scream and cry. They would moan in pain. He knew what his future held. Oliver Wood was going to rot away. His soul was dead. It had died a long time ago. When he killed Percy. Now, he hoped, his body would die. It would waste away in the dark, dank corner of a cell. He had been driven mad. He would die, listening to the voices talking to him. Telling him to join them. Goodbye, world. He pulled the knife across his throat. For a few brief seconds, he watched his blood pour out. Now they were free. Now he was free.