Porcelaine doll
Author: Gabrielle MoonBeam
Fandom: Harry Potter (Not mine, hers *points at J.K Rowling*)
Warnings: Angsty, Draco PoV, suicide
Archives: at Fanfiction.net, but if you like it, send me the URL and it's yours :)
Notes: I wrote this in about fifteen minutes, just laying my fingers on the keyboard and letting them create the story for me. It's very short, but then again, which of my works isn't? :)
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Can time change us? Can time take away all of our hatred, the evilness that resides in our souls?
I don't believe that crap.
You see, I'm the son of a Death Eater, the son of a man who is condemned for his actions by all of mankind. And even though the Dark Mark is not emblazoned on my skin, marring the porcelain surface as it's marring his, I'm still branded for the rest of my life. People automatically think: "There goes the evil kid with his slicked-back blond hair, grey eyes, arrogant posture"
I can hear their whispers when I pass them in the corridors, the malicious words laced with anger, fear, lust for my blood. They are stupid, so stupid.
How can my blood bring back the ones I have not killed? How can my death be the only justice in this world of lies?
Why am I not allowed happiness, a normal life, love?
It's because I'm evil, you see, even though they have seen the whip-marks on my back, have been told the excesses of the cruelty my own father has used upon me. They still whisper, whisper behind their hands about the natural evil inside of me.
They do not see that I am nothing more than a well-trained puppy, eager to please its master, living in constant fear of being punished for its actions. I am nothing more than a puppet, a marionette who's strings are held in the hands of evil.
When I look at myself in the mirror, I do not see me. I see something my father has created, calls his. And when I turn my head, I always see a flash of the real Draco, pounding his fists against the opaque surface of the mirror, tears streaming down his cheeks.
He is never there when I turn back.
So, tonight is the only night I will be free, free of every expectation of evil coming, oozing from every person surrounding me, including my father. He always wants to see me completely cold, a marble statue he can try to break.
Tonight I am the Draco in the mirror, and I am trying to find freedom where it will probably never be mine.
I tilt my head, an odd sense of calmness within the last, final threads of my whispery soul. I do not feel anything, I never have. I never have felt love, never have felt real hate, never have meant any of my vicious words.
And I know no one has cared for me, no one has loved me. No one will cry for me.
But still, it has become the time of my departure. I spread out my arms, palms facing the cooling breeze of night air, the tips of my fingers reaching, reaching out to touch the sky. I smile, just a little.
Ah, goodbye, cruel world.
My smile explodes into loud laughter as the thought forms, as I'm falling, falling like an angel from grace.
It is my final thought, my final emotion, the cold smile, the empty eyes they will find in the morning. It is the core of the fragile, broken porcelaine doll they will as the sun kisses the horizon.
Shattered.
Author: Gabrielle MoonBeam
Fandom: Harry Potter (Not mine, hers *points at J.K Rowling*)
Warnings: Angsty, Draco PoV, suicide
Archives: at Fanfiction.net, but if you like it, send me the URL and it's yours :)
Notes: I wrote this in about fifteen minutes, just laying my fingers on the keyboard and letting them create the story for me. It's very short, but then again, which of my works isn't? :)
-------------------------------
Can time change us? Can time take away all of our hatred, the evilness that resides in our souls?
I don't believe that crap.
You see, I'm the son of a Death Eater, the son of a man who is condemned for his actions by all of mankind. And even though the Dark Mark is not emblazoned on my skin, marring the porcelain surface as it's marring his, I'm still branded for the rest of my life. People automatically think: "There goes the evil kid with his slicked-back blond hair, grey eyes, arrogant posture"
I can hear their whispers when I pass them in the corridors, the malicious words laced with anger, fear, lust for my blood. They are stupid, so stupid.
How can my blood bring back the ones I have not killed? How can my death be the only justice in this world of lies?
Why am I not allowed happiness, a normal life, love?
It's because I'm evil, you see, even though they have seen the whip-marks on my back, have been told the excesses of the cruelty my own father has used upon me. They still whisper, whisper behind their hands about the natural evil inside of me.
They do not see that I am nothing more than a well-trained puppy, eager to please its master, living in constant fear of being punished for its actions. I am nothing more than a puppet, a marionette who's strings are held in the hands of evil.
When I look at myself in the mirror, I do not see me. I see something my father has created, calls his. And when I turn my head, I always see a flash of the real Draco, pounding his fists against the opaque surface of the mirror, tears streaming down his cheeks.
He is never there when I turn back.
So, tonight is the only night I will be free, free of every expectation of evil coming, oozing from every person surrounding me, including my father. He always wants to see me completely cold, a marble statue he can try to break.
Tonight I am the Draco in the mirror, and I am trying to find freedom where it will probably never be mine.
I tilt my head, an odd sense of calmness within the last, final threads of my whispery soul. I do not feel anything, I never have. I never have felt love, never have felt real hate, never have meant any of my vicious words.
And I know no one has cared for me, no one has loved me. No one will cry for me.
But still, it has become the time of my departure. I spread out my arms, palms facing the cooling breeze of night air, the tips of my fingers reaching, reaching out to touch the sky. I smile, just a little.
Ah, goodbye, cruel world.
My smile explodes into loud laughter as the thought forms, as I'm falling, falling like an angel from grace.
It is my final thought, my final emotion, the cold smile, the empty eyes they will find in the morning. It is the core of the fragile, broken porcelaine doll they will as the sun kisses the horizon.
Shattered.