Grief
Disclaimer: I, like everyone else, do not own a thing.
"Grief is a most peculiar thing; we are so helpless in the face of it. Its like a window that will simply open of its own accord. The room grows cold and we can do nothing but shiver. But it opens a little less each time, and a little less, and one day we wonder what had become of it." Memoirs of a Geisha- a novel
Chapter 1: The grief of a brother
This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. His eyes turned and gazed over the unbelievable. Time and time again he had played it out in his mind to see who the victor really would be. Never in his wildest dreams would he see this. The thought hadn't even occurred to him as he walked around the disaster area in a dream-like state. The world could never know the worthlessness of this place, or the anger and misunderstanding of human nature that had caused it. He could barely breathe from such intensity. He saw many others, who looked very much like him at that very moment, walking amiss, searching.
They seemed to be searching for answers much like himself. Answers that possibly would never be found no matter how hard they searched or for how long. Nothing seemed possible here, and yet this was the world that was created by his people, divided by hatred and ignorance. It wasn't possible, he, a man once so happy that he could find the life and laughter within anything and everything. He was no longer that man and, he realized, may never be him ever again.
He didn't even know what he would find as he approached yet another one. The unknown fighter lay there, frozen with a look of agony upon her pale face. She could have been beautiful once upon a time. She could have held the fire that had brought a smile to an entire room. Now she lay there, devoid of her soul, eyes gazing emptily into the distance. She was dead.
He stooped beside her and willed the tears to come to his eyes. But they would never reach his face. At that particular moment he was completely empty. He slowly raised his left hand and took her small, wilted hand in his. There was no pulse and her soft fingers felt cold to the touch. He took one last look at her cold, frozen gray-blue eyes, that had obviously seen something so terrible and horrifying that she kept that picture in the back of her mind as she died. He now moved his hand smoothly over her lids to close her eyes forever.
When he once again stood on shaky legs, he gripped his wand even tighter. He hoped that someone would come soon and claim the girl. He had no idea whom she was or why she had felt the need to fight for a cause that had seemed pointless now. She lost her life in the process and he thought that where ever she was now, that contentment had found her.
He stumbled as he walked along further. All around him he heard people shouting out names and tearful goodbyes. He paid no attention to who they called for, he doubted they would ask for his name. He felt so utterly alone. If one were to look around into the disarray of this tattered world where he stood, a chill in the air would be expected. There was no chill. It was warm and no breeze swept across the night.
He came across another body. Limbs were bent at awkward angles that instantly spoke of broken bones. He once again staggered forward. It was a man this time. His robes were torn and gravel lay on top of his immobile body as though someone had come across him and began to bury him with a handful of dirt. He crouched next to the man and looked for signs of life. He knew this man; he had known him well. Still the tears would not come.
Once again he dropped his hand to the limp one that lay beside him and searched for a pulse. He didn't think he felt a single thing and felt his heart grow heavy at the thought. He slowly replaced the hand upon the dead mans chest and began to rise. He suddenly heard a whisper coming from the stationary lips of the man.
Energized once again, he dropped to his knees and looked at the man. His lips were still not moving and he dropped a fraction further and pressed his ears closer to his face. Nothing.
Maybe hope had crept into his icy heart once again, he thought. He could have imagined the whisper. He had known Neville so well; that the thought now that he was dead was too much to be true. But sadly he resigned to the fact that it was.
"Goodbye, Neville. Goodbye. You fought well, I'm sure." Even as the words left his chapped and dry lips he could not summon the emotions to the surface that he felt so deep down.
He turned his back on the man and walked a few paces away. He couldn't breathe a single breath into his cold lungs. He dropped to the ground and sat not moving, if only for a minute. To him, a minute now could feel as though an eternity would pass. He could stand it if he tried. He took another look around him at the despair that was engulfing him. How could this be happening, he though repeatedly. He raised his arm to run his fingers through his long red hair, feeling the heaviness that now resided within his body. Every movement seemed to be pulling him down further. His body was altogether too heavy and he felt as though he was sinking into the earth below him.
He pressed his fingers to his brown eyes, closing them tightly. He began to will himself to another place that was not so destitute and tortured. He thought of his home, and his once happy and full family. Even this did not bring out the deep feelings that resided like a hundred-pound weight upon his chest. That life he had once known must have been a dream, fore it was too happy and too beautiful a world to have been real. If that had been real then this dreary place he was in now could never be really there. And yet he knew, in the pit of his empty stomach that this ground he now sat on, and the bodies that lay around him like discarded trash, were all too real.
He felt the exhaustion in his heart reach out as it struck every part of his body, from the roots of his hair, to the tips of his toes. At that moment he felt he could go to sleep and never wake up. Not waking up didn't bother him at all. What did was the knowledge that if he did, and he was sure he could, he would abandon everyone and everything in his world that still needed him. It may not have been much, but at that singular moment he knew he could not run away again. Most of his life he had run, laughing into the sunset, away from responsibility and fear. He could no longer run, because there was no where to run to.
Opening his eyes, he sighed deeply. Resigned to his fate he began to rise. His eyes drifted up, and he saw a girl much in his same position a few moments ago, rustling around the dead, looking for the living or the sign of someone she might know. He stepped closer, and in the moonlight he saw her small petite form... and messy red hair so much like his own. His heart leapt into his throat as he had been willing it to all night. Under the moonlight, tears poured from his eyes like salty water. In this new world that was destroyed he would not cry for the dead, but for the living.
"Ginny!" He began to call out, but his voice so choked, cracked within his throat and came out as a mere whisper. "Ginny," he said, again only a whisper. But this whisper, in the deadly quiet was enough. Quickly the woman turned and regarded where her name was coming from. Her face was smudged with dirt and dried blood, but he knew she was amazingly beautiful. He walked toward her, ignoring the stumbling limp that had bothered him before. For once, the hope that things would be okay leapt into his empty stomach again. He wrapped his arms around her weak and frail body that had once been strong and lean. She too, was struck with emotion and held him closely.
"George..." she whispered the name of her older brother and tried her hardest not to let him go.
Authors note: This is obviously a work in progress. I want to know how well it is received, kindly, and negatively. All reviews will be deeply helpful in knowing if I should continue. I should warn all readers that I intend to follow this story, because I feel deeply about the darkness of it. Please review and let me know what you truly think. Review!