Title: Green
Nights
Author Name: Kithwynn
Rating: T: for dark
subject matter, I guess. It's really not that bad; almost
everything is implied.
Spoilers: None
Genre: Horror, Tragedy? I don't know.
Era: During one of the wars.
Character(s):
OMC
Ship(s): None
Summary: "He measures his
days by the number of bodies in the foyer."
Wordcount:
213
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and
situations created and owned by J. K. Rowling, various publishers
including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and
Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no
copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author's
Notes: Taken from one of my favorite images in a now-defunct
piece, Studies in Happiness.
He measures his days by the number of bodies in the foyer.
He can't remember the last time he has crossed the expanse of gilt and marble without needing to step around the sad-looking white bundles, and give a respectful berth to huddled groups of black-robed and -veiled mourners making their slow and stately way up and down the rows.
The Ministry's morgue is full within the first six months: they simply can't bury them fast enough. The morgue is now reserved for those who have been particularly stubborn in giving up their identities; everyone not horrifically mutilated must make do with not-quite-good-enough refrigeration spells.
The smell permeates everything, from the elevators to the restrooms to the air trapped between the papers that build up on his desk like a geological record. When he shifts one, the smell of that day wafts lazily upward to join today's miasma, almost like memories.
At first, he couldn't stand it; covered his mouth and nose, kept his office door firmly closed. His hours at the ministry waxed and those at home waned, and now he only notices it in its absence, and only with a mild surprise.
And then there was the green night he opened his front door and didn't notice the change at all.