Disclaimer:
I don't own anything to do with Harry Potter, including Severus Snape. J.K. Rowling does. I just like to play here, and hopefully don't mangle anything too badly.
Author's Note:
I haven't written anything in a really long time. Constructive criticism is appreciated. This started as a oneshot, but I have a plot bunny jumping around in my head begging to be set free on the world. Tell me what you think so far?
Prologue
The thing about dying that everyone neglects to tell you is that it takes forever. Even if you go "quick". Time is just a useless measurement in your last moments. It's pretty strange that something you've used to get through every single day fails you on the last few minutes.
You know how when you're in a car wreck, how everything seems to slow down and go in slow motion right before the moment of impact? Yeah. It's like that. Except much longer.
I've been laying here for what feels like years. I can't move but I know someone should have found me by now. I know.
And in the time while you're waiting for everything to finish up, your mind goes back over everything. Remember that time you ate a booger when you were three and your mom caught you and scrunched up her nose in disgust? That was the first time you felt embarrassment for doing something weird. Something you did all the time in private. That was the moment that you figured out some things you just couldn't do in front of other people and you still ate your boogers until you were six when no one was looking.
Dying is like every late night overthinking session you've ever had. So if you think it will be some sweet release where you aren't pained by what you've done or what you may do then you have another thing coming. It's not at all. It's all of those sleepless nights magnified times ten. It's every moment of your life, every embarrassment, every victory, every hurt, every love and every broken heart in realer than real life clarity.
I can feel the blood congealing on my neck. I long to reach up and scratch it, scrape away the cooling stickiness that itches. My hair is stuck in some of it. I can tell by the minute tugging sensation as it dries in the mess.
The other two left me ages ago, thinking me already dead I suppose. I feel like I'm going to go mad, waiting to die. I've suffered so many indignities over the years and now I feel the burning of tears pricking at the corners of my eyes as I'm forced to suffer this final one. At least no one will be here to witness it. No one but me will know that Severus Snape went mad before he died.