DISCLAIMER: In its use of intellectual property and characters belonging to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., Bloomsbury Publishing, et cetera, this work is intended to be transformative commentary on the original. No profit is being made from this work.

BETA READER: silverbluewords

CHALLENGE: Write a fragment of a story that is made up entirely of imperative commands: do this; do that; contemplate the rear end of the woman who is walking out of your life. 500 words.

SHORT STORY #1: IMPERATIVE

Stop staring.

Look away.

Quit making a bloody fool out of yourself.

Remember that you're in the library.

Lean back. Stretch out. Yawn as if you own the place and everything in it. Ignore the murderous glares of your classmates, especially her. Give them the two-fingered salute. Smirk at your mates as they snicker at how cool and confident you are. Return to your textbook. Turn the page. Reread it another fifty times without absorbing a single word.

Forget it. Snap the blasted book shut. Pack up your things. Let your followers know that you've had your fill of the common rabble. Say that you're heading back to the dormitories to rinse your hands of this filth. Sling your schoolbag over your shoulder. Get out.

Strut down the aisles. Put your books away. Take three steps past the shelf with the dusty compendium that no one but her would ever read. Turn left. Stifle the madness that's pounding against your chest. Wipe the clamminess from your hands. Remember to breathe. Swagger past her table and the lanky boor sitting beside her. Contemplate the pros and cons of decking the bastard straight in his pasty, freckled face.

Restrain yourself—barely. Quake as your blood boils and your vision blackens with envy at the despicable fondness that glistens in her eyes. Suffer the irony of witnessing the clot that has nothing bask in the glory of the one thing that you, the elitist, will never have.

Pull up a chair. Act as if you have every right to be there, even as she and her "friend" narrow their eyes at you in distrust. Wait for it.

Resist the urge to bolt when she finally stops scribbling her novel-length notes and demands to know what the hell you want. Hold your ground. Remember that you brought this upon yourself.

Banish your fears. Don't think about what your parents would say if they knew. Pay no heed to the prying eyes that surround you, awaiting your next move.

Remember what you're here for.

Open your mouth. Tell her the truth. Admit that you were wrong. Take back every cruel, twisted word you've ever said to her. Remind her that not everyone is as brave and good and strong as she is. Make her see that your time here is almost over and you just can't lie to yourself any longer. Say that she belongs with you.

Sneer instead. Give in to your bitterness. Give in to your cowardice. Spit hateful words at her. Pretend that it makes you feel better. Insult her family. Insult her friends. Insult her unruly hair without mentioning that it's one of the many things you love about her. Start a fight, because it's the only way that you'll ever have her undivided attention. Harass her until she hates you almost as much as you hate yourself. Walk away, and don't you dare look back.

Return to an empty room. Lie upon your bed. Search the ceiling for guidance. Write her letters that she'll never read. Burn them. Watch your courage shrivel up in flames.

Change.

TO BE CONTINUED