A/N* I CLAIM NOTHING! NOTHING I TELL YOU! Well, maybe the plot. But you can
have everything else, I promise...
Some men are born great, some men achieve greatness and some men have greatness thrust upon them. But that isn't really true, is it? No. It is true that there are three types of men, or for those who are sensitive about such things, three types of people. The first type is someone who, whether by choice or by force stands squarely in the middle. They are always the center, always the focus of the world. Prime example, Harry Potter. He is the center of the world, the core of the community, but inside? Who is he inside? Who is anyone on the inside?
In the beginning I was a soldier. I did not enlist, I was drafted. Forced into a battle I did not start, but was expected to end. Like all soldiers I found war exciting at first. Before the first death. And the second. The third and forth, and on and on, so many lives lost without reason, so many parentless children, childless parents. I am Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived. I will fight on, for a reason I do not know.
A million times I lifted my wand to end it all and a million times I put my arm down again. Not for myself, I am a murderer; I do not deserve to live, but for the people who depend on my very existence to keep them alive. When you stand in the middle of the universe, when all eyes are looking to you, you cannot melt away quietly into yourself. You must remain there, pulsing, glowing, beating. You must stay alive, you must fight because that is what people have come to expect.
When you stand at the center you are loathed or you are envied. I envy those who loathe me, for they have freedom, I loathe those who envy me, for they are the reason I must continue to live.
Where I am in the center I live with the knowledge that my mother died for me. And why? So I could live this cursed life, this life where everyone I love is lost and everyone I hate rises to the top. Go figure.
I look out the window and view the beauty of the rugged coastline. Such beauty is wasted on me I can not appreciate it anymore than a blind person can appreciate colour.
Beauty only exists to be hated, it creates bitterness and envy, it causes power struggles and killing. Beauty is a wretched beast, it rears it's head at the most inopportune moments.
Self-loathing has curled its ugliness around my heart and I find myself turning away, my eyes do not deserve the sunset, they do not deserve to see another sun rise.
I am Harry Potter. I am the Boy Who Lived. But I am dead inside.
Some men are born great, some men achieve greatness and some men have greatness thrust upon them. But that isn't really true, is it? No. It is true that there are three types of men, or for those who are sensitive about such things, three types of people. The first type is someone who, whether by choice or by force stands squarely in the middle. They are always the center, always the focus of the world. Prime example, Harry Potter. He is the center of the world, the core of the community, but inside? Who is he inside? Who is anyone on the inside?
In the beginning I was a soldier. I did not enlist, I was drafted. Forced into a battle I did not start, but was expected to end. Like all soldiers I found war exciting at first. Before the first death. And the second. The third and forth, and on and on, so many lives lost without reason, so many parentless children, childless parents. I am Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived. I will fight on, for a reason I do not know.
A million times I lifted my wand to end it all and a million times I put my arm down again. Not for myself, I am a murderer; I do not deserve to live, but for the people who depend on my very existence to keep them alive. When you stand in the middle of the universe, when all eyes are looking to you, you cannot melt away quietly into yourself. You must remain there, pulsing, glowing, beating. You must stay alive, you must fight because that is what people have come to expect.
When you stand at the center you are loathed or you are envied. I envy those who loathe me, for they have freedom, I loathe those who envy me, for they are the reason I must continue to live.
Where I am in the center I live with the knowledge that my mother died for me. And why? So I could live this cursed life, this life where everyone I love is lost and everyone I hate rises to the top. Go figure.
I look out the window and view the beauty of the rugged coastline. Such beauty is wasted on me I can not appreciate it anymore than a blind person can appreciate colour.
Beauty only exists to be hated, it creates bitterness and envy, it causes power struggles and killing. Beauty is a wretched beast, it rears it's head at the most inopportune moments.
Self-loathing has curled its ugliness around my heart and I find myself turning away, my eyes do not deserve the sunset, they do not deserve to see another sun rise.
I am Harry Potter. I am the Boy Who Lived. But I am dead inside.