Disclaimer: HP no mine. I no make $$. I no get sued. I continue to live happil-er....I continue to live. ^_^'
Note: I don't know anything about this. I just wrote it. It means nothing. I do not endorse the failiure of these suicide meathods (unless it's certain people trying them). I like to fuck with peoples' head. I like Madam Death. It's one of my nicknames. I'm gonna shut up now. ~_^
Ron sat sullenly in his room, on his well made bed. The window was shut so that the happy noises that filtered up from Hogwart's Quidditch field didn't reach the young wizard's ears. He didn't want to hear other people being happy-not when he was so depressed.
The red head boy sighed and leaned back onto his bed. His eyes searched the cieling, but found nothing that could break his mood.
He wasn't sure why he was depressed-or, rather, he was sure but didn't want to think about it. He was depressed because he was lonley. Everyone seemed to have someone just then-Fred and Lee Jorden were together; George was with a pretty Hufflepuff; Hermione and Harry had started dating at the beginning of the semester, even Ginny had found someone to be with: Colin. And Ron was alone.
He was also tired of being ignored. Every accomplishment he had paled to those of his friends: famous Harry and brainy Hermione. Ron was much more average than that, and therefore was often overlooked.
He was tired of hand me downs, his family. He was tired of being picked on by Snape and Filch and numerous Slytherins. He just wanted everything to go away-or him to leave them.
A blank expression replaced his previously bleak one and Ron forced himself to stand. His legs were a little wobbly, from what, he couldn't say, but he carefully made his way over to his trunk and lifted the heavy lid.
Inside, nestled amoungst his clothing, were his books and personal things. He carefully drew out his Muggle shaving razor (he'd started shaving over the summer, and surprised both himself and his family by prefering the Muggle meathod to magic).
Holding it carefully by the handle, Ron used his wand to pry open the top and take out one of the small, skinny razors.
"Yow!" Ron exclaimed in startlement, dropping the offending blade that had cut him. Blood weld up against the pale of his finger, thick and red. "Damn, that hurts!" Ron grumbled to himself, sucking the blood of his finger before it could run down his hand. His blood tasted salty and odd and he could feel the deep cut that he'd accedantly created with his tongue.
"Okay," he murmered as he pulled his hand away from his mouth. The bleeding hadn't completely stopped, but had definatly slowed. Carefully, using the cut finger only stiffly, Ron replaced the razors back in his trunk, frowning slightly at the one that had a red stain on the edge, yet not wanting to wipe the blood off for fear of getting cut again.
Ron stood, thoughts of suicide racing through his mind. He peered out the window, eyes seeking the woods, where he knew there was a small beck. The stream was tiny, but still had enough water in it to drown a person, if they wanted to be drowned.
Ron shuddered. No, it was too cold out, and the water was likely to be absolutely freezing. He didn't want a cold death any more than a painful one.
With a sigh, Ron looked around his room in hopes to find something useful. His eyes fell on the small bottle of distilled Stomach Acid that Harry had for a potions project, and his eyes lit up with hope.
The tall wizard crossed the room in a few strides and took the bottle off the shelf. Carefully he twisted the cap....it wouldn't budge! Frowning, the red head tried again, but once again the jar's lid was on too tightly.
Grunting slightly with effort, his face contorting into a grimace, Ron twisted at the cap. With a sudden slide the cap turned and slid off, sloshing the greenish liquid all over Ron.
Ron yelped in surprise and tried to just out of his robes. He was wearing them, of course, so the effort was in vain, but none the less he tried. His robe started smoking silently, and where the liquid had touched the black turned a reddish brown color.
Without thinking, the youngest Weasly boy dropped the still-partially filled jar of acid and flung his robe off over his head. As the robe his the groudn-still smoking-Ron realized his mistake, and immediatly dropped to his knees beside the fallen jar.
"Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit," He chanted as a matra, as he uprighted the jar once again. There was under a half centemeter of liquid left, the rest was soaking through the carpet, turning it an ugly yellow color.
"Damn!" Ron slammed the jar on the floor in anger, accedently cracking the glass. He stared at it a moment, then moaned and leaned back, his hands covering his face as he murmered curses.
"Fine," the young wizard said at last, once again getting to his feet, ignoring the smoking mess on the floor that was beginning to smell a bit like rotten eggs and Crabb's arm pits. "Not that way either, I guess."
Ron sighed. He was beginning to get discoraged by these failed attempts to bring death closer to him. How else could he kill himself? Pills! Hadn't Seamus gotten some pain medicine when he'd broken his bone and Madam Pomfrey was ill?
Grinning for the first time in days (grinning at another way to kill yourself....Goddess....) Ron launching himself at his friend's trunk and began rooting through it, not bothering to worry about dumping the other boy's possestions on the floor.
Ah, at last! He drew out a little bottle half filled with white, Muggle tablets.
The red haired boy poured the tablets out into his cupped hand, tossing the empty bottle over his shoulder. Without a second thought, he put his hand to his mouth, tilting his head back, to take the medicine.
Ron nearly choked in his attempt to swallow the dozen or so pills at once, but he managed to get them down his throat. He grimanced at the dry taste in his mouth and the large lump in his throat, but thinking it would be better than living, he put up with it. Besides, he'd already taken them, it was too late to complain.
The young wizard got to his feet and walked over to his bed. He sat down on it, leaning back against the wall, and waited for the medicine to take some effect.
A sharp pain in his stomach made Ron's eyes snap open. His hand drifted to cover his tummy as it clenched in protest, a moan on his lip. Pain killers? he thought, looking at him middle with bleary eyes. They were more like pain BRINGERS!
Keeping one hand over his stomach, while the other one covered his mouth, Ron stood and ran to the window. He flung it open with great urgency, and stuck his head outside. Just in time too. With a wet, disguting retching noise, the young man threw up the pills he had taken, along with his last meal (which had been fish, by the way). Luckily, there was no one outside the window.
Wiping his mouth miserably with the back of his hand, Ron slowly retracted his head. "Oi," he hissed, staggering over to the bed. Maybe he wouldn't kill himself.....
He lay down, his eyes shutting, and began to think. About Hermione and Harry together; his brothers with their lovers; Snape's scolding scowl; his original dress robes........
Ron shuddered. Okay, maybe he would rather end his life. But what was there left to try? He couldn't get a gun very easily-he was, after all, still young and it was against the law. Wizard, and muggle.
What about hanging himself? He knew how to make a noose-he'd found instructions in a book he'd accently gotten one year......Ron nodded resolutely. Yes, he would hang himself. First, he needed a rope.....
Eyes skimmed the room and came to rest on his ruined robes. They would do.... There was a faint grunt followed by a loud ripping niose as Ron tore a large strip of black cloth off the garment. He held it before him, trying to remember the instructions.....ends together. Loop it twelve times. (Loop, loop, loop, loop, loop, loop, loop, loop, loop, loop, loop, loop) Up through the center.
Ron smiled as he appraised his handywork. The noose wasn't perfect, it was slightly lopsided, but it was a noose, and it would work. He glanced up at the cieling. He could attatch it to one of the beams..........
Standing on his bed, the tall boy was large enough to wrap one end of the cloth noose he'd made around one of the cieling beams and secure it with a tight knot. That done, Ron put the other end of the noose around his own neck.
"Goodbye cruel world!" he called out melodramtically, then jumped off his bed. A moment later he was hanging in the air, his feet mere inches from the ground, gasping as the black noose he'd created cut off his air supply. And then he was on the ground, red faced and gulping at air that was once again flowing through his windpipe.
Ron's eyes bulged out as he realized that that death attempt had failed as well. He glared up at the cieling-the knot he'd made was still there, but the other end was frayed. His weight had been too much for the makeshit noose.
"Fuck." he muttered, loosening the knot from around his neck and pulling it off. "Now what?"
He thought a moment, then it came to him. Gas! He could douse himself in gasoline, light a fire and BOOM! The depressed boy giggled at the thought. Now, where could he find gas? He didn't want to go anywhere far, but that was sure fire way (no pun intended) to kill himself.....
His eyes fell on the small, mechanical airplane that he'd been given for Christmas (his father, of course). He hadn't had a chance to try it out yet, not at Hogwarts, but it had come with gas! The tall wizard scurried over to the box with the plane and opened it excitedly. Yup, there, nestled in muggle packing material, was a smallish jug of gasoline.
Excitedly, Ron pulled the top off it-and immediatly recoiled at the stench that imerged. "Ugh!" he exclaimed, forcing the top back on the container, wiping at his running eyes with a bare arm (he still hadn't gotten dressed again after the acid fiasco). "No way am I being doused in THAT!" He exclaimed vehmently. "I'd rather LIVE!"
With a barely audible "hmph" the young man lay back on his bed, to think and sleep. In his sleep, he could be heard mumbling about how unfair everything was and what a rip off suicide turned out to be.
~*~
An infinate amount of miles from Ron's Room, Hogwarts, England, Earth, the Milky Way Galaxy, the poor galaxy cluster that the Milky Way was in, the Universe a young woman laughed. She was short, with long black hair, white skin, clad in a black dress covered with a black cape and cowl. She had fangs and claws, and clutched a bouquet of black roses to her with mirth. She was known as Madam Death.
Madam Death giggled so hard that thick black tears that tasted like blood formed at the edges of her eyes and trailed down her sallow cheeks.
"Razors pain you,
Rivers are damp,
Acids stain you,
Drugs cause cramps.
Guns arenÕt lawful,
Nooses give,
Gas smells awful,
You might as well live."
She said through her laughter, as she rocked in her cold thrown. "I just LOVE fucking with mortal minds!" She continued to giggle happily through the night until she got bored again and decided to pick on someone else. Bill Gates looked like a likely canidate, or perhaps Adolf Hilter (the primative concept of "time" means nothing to Madam Death) or even Princess Diana.....!
Disclaimer: the poem Resume ("razors pain you, rivers are damp etc etc), also known affectionatly as the "Anti-Suicide Poem" (tis my favorite piece of poetry in the world.....^_^) belongs to Dorothy Parker, not me. I make no money. I no get sued. :::glowers at lawyers::: Riiiight?
Please review.
Note: I don't know anything about this. I just wrote it. It means nothing. I do not endorse the failiure of these suicide meathods (unless it's certain people trying them). I like to fuck with peoples' head. I like Madam Death. It's one of my nicknames. I'm gonna shut up now. ~_^
Suicide Attempts
Ron sat sullenly in his room, on his well made bed. The window was shut so that the happy noises that filtered up from Hogwart's Quidditch field didn't reach the young wizard's ears. He didn't want to hear other people being happy-not when he was so depressed.
The red head boy sighed and leaned back onto his bed. His eyes searched the cieling, but found nothing that could break his mood.
He wasn't sure why he was depressed-or, rather, he was sure but didn't want to think about it. He was depressed because he was lonley. Everyone seemed to have someone just then-Fred and Lee Jorden were together; George was with a pretty Hufflepuff; Hermione and Harry had started dating at the beginning of the semester, even Ginny had found someone to be with: Colin. And Ron was alone.
He was also tired of being ignored. Every accomplishment he had paled to those of his friends: famous Harry and brainy Hermione. Ron was much more average than that, and therefore was often overlooked.
He was tired of hand me downs, his family. He was tired of being picked on by Snape and Filch and numerous Slytherins. He just wanted everything to go away-or him to leave them.
A blank expression replaced his previously bleak one and Ron forced himself to stand. His legs were a little wobbly, from what, he couldn't say, but he carefully made his way over to his trunk and lifted the heavy lid.
Inside, nestled amoungst his clothing, were his books and personal things. He carefully drew out his Muggle shaving razor (he'd started shaving over the summer, and surprised both himself and his family by prefering the Muggle meathod to magic).
Holding it carefully by the handle, Ron used his wand to pry open the top and take out one of the small, skinny razors.
"Yow!" Ron exclaimed in startlement, dropping the offending blade that had cut him. Blood weld up against the pale of his finger, thick and red. "Damn, that hurts!" Ron grumbled to himself, sucking the blood of his finger before it could run down his hand. His blood tasted salty and odd and he could feel the deep cut that he'd accedantly created with his tongue.
"Okay," he murmered as he pulled his hand away from his mouth. The bleeding hadn't completely stopped, but had definatly slowed. Carefully, using the cut finger only stiffly, Ron replaced the razors back in his trunk, frowning slightly at the one that had a red stain on the edge, yet not wanting to wipe the blood off for fear of getting cut again.
Ron stood, thoughts of suicide racing through his mind. He peered out the window, eyes seeking the woods, where he knew there was a small beck. The stream was tiny, but still had enough water in it to drown a person, if they wanted to be drowned.
Ron shuddered. No, it was too cold out, and the water was likely to be absolutely freezing. He didn't want a cold death any more than a painful one.
With a sigh, Ron looked around his room in hopes to find something useful. His eyes fell on the small bottle of distilled Stomach Acid that Harry had for a potions project, and his eyes lit up with hope.
The tall wizard crossed the room in a few strides and took the bottle off the shelf. Carefully he twisted the cap....it wouldn't budge! Frowning, the red head tried again, but once again the jar's lid was on too tightly.
Grunting slightly with effort, his face contorting into a grimace, Ron twisted at the cap. With a sudden slide the cap turned and slid off, sloshing the greenish liquid all over Ron.
Ron yelped in surprise and tried to just out of his robes. He was wearing them, of course, so the effort was in vain, but none the less he tried. His robe started smoking silently, and where the liquid had touched the black turned a reddish brown color.
Without thinking, the youngest Weasly boy dropped the still-partially filled jar of acid and flung his robe off over his head. As the robe his the groudn-still smoking-Ron realized his mistake, and immediatly dropped to his knees beside the fallen jar.
"Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit," He chanted as a matra, as he uprighted the jar once again. There was under a half centemeter of liquid left, the rest was soaking through the carpet, turning it an ugly yellow color.
"Damn!" Ron slammed the jar on the floor in anger, accedently cracking the glass. He stared at it a moment, then moaned and leaned back, his hands covering his face as he murmered curses.
"Fine," the young wizard said at last, once again getting to his feet, ignoring the smoking mess on the floor that was beginning to smell a bit like rotten eggs and Crabb's arm pits. "Not that way either, I guess."
Ron sighed. He was beginning to get discoraged by these failed attempts to bring death closer to him. How else could he kill himself? Pills! Hadn't Seamus gotten some pain medicine when he'd broken his bone and Madam Pomfrey was ill?
Grinning for the first time in days (grinning at another way to kill yourself....Goddess....) Ron launching himself at his friend's trunk and began rooting through it, not bothering to worry about dumping the other boy's possestions on the floor.
Ah, at last! He drew out a little bottle half filled with white, Muggle tablets.
The red haired boy poured the tablets out into his cupped hand, tossing the empty bottle over his shoulder. Without a second thought, he put his hand to his mouth, tilting his head back, to take the medicine.
Ron nearly choked in his attempt to swallow the dozen or so pills at once, but he managed to get them down his throat. He grimanced at the dry taste in his mouth and the large lump in his throat, but thinking it would be better than living, he put up with it. Besides, he'd already taken them, it was too late to complain.
The young wizard got to his feet and walked over to his bed. He sat down on it, leaning back against the wall, and waited for the medicine to take some effect.
A sharp pain in his stomach made Ron's eyes snap open. His hand drifted to cover his tummy as it clenched in protest, a moan on his lip. Pain killers? he thought, looking at him middle with bleary eyes. They were more like pain BRINGERS!
Keeping one hand over his stomach, while the other one covered his mouth, Ron stood and ran to the window. He flung it open with great urgency, and stuck his head outside. Just in time too. With a wet, disguting retching noise, the young man threw up the pills he had taken, along with his last meal (which had been fish, by the way). Luckily, there was no one outside the window.
Wiping his mouth miserably with the back of his hand, Ron slowly retracted his head. "Oi," he hissed, staggering over to the bed. Maybe he wouldn't kill himself.....
He lay down, his eyes shutting, and began to think. About Hermione and Harry together; his brothers with their lovers; Snape's scolding scowl; his original dress robes........
Ron shuddered. Okay, maybe he would rather end his life. But what was there left to try? He couldn't get a gun very easily-he was, after all, still young and it was against the law. Wizard, and muggle.
What about hanging himself? He knew how to make a noose-he'd found instructions in a book he'd accently gotten one year......Ron nodded resolutely. Yes, he would hang himself. First, he needed a rope.....
Eyes skimmed the room and came to rest on his ruined robes. They would do.... There was a faint grunt followed by a loud ripping niose as Ron tore a large strip of black cloth off the garment. He held it before him, trying to remember the instructions.....ends together. Loop it twelve times. (Loop, loop, loop, loop, loop, loop, loop, loop, loop, loop, loop, loop) Up through the center.
Ron smiled as he appraised his handywork. The noose wasn't perfect, it was slightly lopsided, but it was a noose, and it would work. He glanced up at the cieling. He could attatch it to one of the beams..........
Standing on his bed, the tall boy was large enough to wrap one end of the cloth noose he'd made around one of the cieling beams and secure it with a tight knot. That done, Ron put the other end of the noose around his own neck.
"Goodbye cruel world!" he called out melodramtically, then jumped off his bed. A moment later he was hanging in the air, his feet mere inches from the ground, gasping as the black noose he'd created cut off his air supply. And then he was on the ground, red faced and gulping at air that was once again flowing through his windpipe.
Ron's eyes bulged out as he realized that that death attempt had failed as well. He glared up at the cieling-the knot he'd made was still there, but the other end was frayed. His weight had been too much for the makeshit noose.
"Fuck." he muttered, loosening the knot from around his neck and pulling it off. "Now what?"
He thought a moment, then it came to him. Gas! He could douse himself in gasoline, light a fire and BOOM! The depressed boy giggled at the thought. Now, where could he find gas? He didn't want to go anywhere far, but that was sure fire way (no pun intended) to kill himself.....
His eyes fell on the small, mechanical airplane that he'd been given for Christmas (his father, of course). He hadn't had a chance to try it out yet, not at Hogwarts, but it had come with gas! The tall wizard scurried over to the box with the plane and opened it excitedly. Yup, there, nestled in muggle packing material, was a smallish jug of gasoline.
Excitedly, Ron pulled the top off it-and immediatly recoiled at the stench that imerged. "Ugh!" he exclaimed, forcing the top back on the container, wiping at his running eyes with a bare arm (he still hadn't gotten dressed again after the acid fiasco). "No way am I being doused in THAT!" He exclaimed vehmently. "I'd rather LIVE!"
With a barely audible "hmph" the young man lay back on his bed, to think and sleep. In his sleep, he could be heard mumbling about how unfair everything was and what a rip off suicide turned out to be.
An infinate amount of miles from Ron's Room, Hogwarts, England, Earth, the Milky Way Galaxy, the poor galaxy cluster that the Milky Way was in, the Universe a young woman laughed. She was short, with long black hair, white skin, clad in a black dress covered with a black cape and cowl. She had fangs and claws, and clutched a bouquet of black roses to her with mirth. She was known as Madam Death.
Madam Death giggled so hard that thick black tears that tasted like blood formed at the edges of her eyes and trailed down her sallow cheeks.
"Razors pain you,
Rivers are damp,
Acids stain you,
Drugs cause cramps.
Guns arenÕt lawful,
Nooses give,
Gas smells awful,
You might as well live."
She said through her laughter, as she rocked in her cold thrown. "I just LOVE fucking with mortal minds!" She continued to giggle happily through the night until she got bored again and decided to pick on someone else. Bill Gates looked like a likely canidate, or perhaps Adolf Hilter (the primative concept of "time" means nothing to Madam Death) or even Princess Diana.....!
Disclaimer: the poem Resume ("razors pain you, rivers are damp etc etc), also known affectionatly as the "Anti-Suicide Poem" (tis my favorite piece of poetry in the world.....^_^) belongs to Dorothy Parker, not me. I make no money. I no get sued. :::glowers at lawyers::: Riiiight?
Please review.