Raining In London - A really scark dark fic that I used to get some of my feelings out.
BabyBlueMorningStar
I am not doing this for reviews. Flame me and I'll agree with you, 'cause this has to be the worst fic I ever did.
I want so bad to tell you that I am better.. smarter... than you, but I know that to do so would be sucide. I want to tell you that you are wrong and always had been but I don't... and I don't know why.
I prowl the streets, lurking in dark alleys. I don't want to run into anyone, innocent or dark. I want to be alone. I want it peaceful on this last time.
There is this little piece of faith in me that tells me every day that this is wrong, what I'm doing. It burns, eating me from inside. This pain that I create unto me, kills me. Slowly. I forget Heaven and Hell and knives and razor blades and suicide and just let it burn. I don't care anymore.
Wondering... now what I'm doing here. I don't belong with anyone. I never did. It's a lonely world in this occupation and I crave some sociality. A aquaintince, to just sit and chat over a few beers. But I'd be recodnized and thrown in Azkaban before I could step onto a crouded street or empty bar, one in the same.
I curse my life and wonder, Draco, how did you end up here? I see a falling reminat of red before I slide down the wall to the cobblestone. And I lie there, dying of this self-inflicted punishment, while it rains in London. I lay my head upon the slick rocks, and prepare to die, without a friend in the world. And I remember one last rule before I am lost.
Death Eaters aren't aloud to have friends.
BabyBlueMorningStar
I am not doing this for reviews. Flame me and I'll agree with you, 'cause this has to be the worst fic I ever did.
I want so bad to tell you that I am better.. smarter... than you, but I know that to do so would be sucide. I want to tell you that you are wrong and always had been but I don't... and I don't know why.
I prowl the streets, lurking in dark alleys. I don't want to run into anyone, innocent or dark. I want to be alone. I want it peaceful on this last time.
There is this little piece of faith in me that tells me every day that this is wrong, what I'm doing. It burns, eating me from inside. This pain that I create unto me, kills me. Slowly. I forget Heaven and Hell and knives and razor blades and suicide and just let it burn. I don't care anymore.
Wondering... now what I'm doing here. I don't belong with anyone. I never did. It's a lonely world in this occupation and I crave some sociality. A aquaintince, to just sit and chat over a few beers. But I'd be recodnized and thrown in Azkaban before I could step onto a crouded street or empty bar, one in the same.
I curse my life and wonder, Draco, how did you end up here? I see a falling reminat of red before I slide down the wall to the cobblestone. And I lie there, dying of this self-inflicted punishment, while it rains in London. I lay my head upon the slick rocks, and prepare to die, without a friend in the world. And I remember one last rule before I am lost.
Death Eaters aren't aloud to have friends.