"When It's Cold I'd Like to Die"
Written by Aphrodisia Dreams
A/N: This character I am about to write about was never really one of my
favorite characters from the book. I find that I am able to relate
to him more than the rest of my preferred subjects from the Harry
Potter text. Flames will be used to flame up our grill, so do
try to keep your criticism to a minimum considering that this particular
work has some level of sentimental value to it. On the other side of the
debate, I simply love getting compliments, so if you feel so compelled
after getting through my fiction,review and tell me what you think!!
Speaking of fics I suppose I should go ahead and let you start reading
it. The following idea has been greatly overused, but I figured
I should just join the bandwagon nonetheless, to see what the hype is about.
Enjoy!
P.S: I don't own anything but the flower, so if you attempt to sue all I can
offer is pocket lent and abandoned school papers!
P.P.S: I know it looks like..really seriously long without any paragraphs,
but I couldn't find an appropriate place to break for paragraphs
so that the effect wouldn't be lost!gar!Anyhoo..it's really kind
of short, so don't let it fool you!..and I -do- know how to do
paragraphing..::blush,smile::
"Where were you when I was lonesome..
locked away with freezing cold.
Someone flying only stolen
I can tell this light so old.
I don't want to swim the oceans..
I don't want to fight the tide.
I don't want to swim forever.
When it's cold.. I'd like to die.
What was that, my sweet, sweet nothing?
I can hear you through the fog.
If I holler let me go..
If I falter, let me know..
I don't want to swim the oceans..
I don't want to fight the tide.
I don't want to swim forever..
When it's cold. I'd like to die.
I don't want to swim forever!
I don't want to fight the tide.
I don't want to swim the oceans..
When it's cold, I'd like to die."
-"When it's cold I'd like to die"
Mobysongs, Moby
Silky gatherings fell from the withering bud in
solemn capitulation. The once vibrant hues had dulled, giving away to lurid grays
and ebon corners where the water ceased to flow so verve was no longer offered.
Emaciated dress leaves had become dry and bitter in it's neglect of life so that
they too had fallen into lady death's contemptuous embrace. Like a wind chime
it spun between the pair of slightly pudgy fingers so that each angle might be
nostalgically observed. Violet leather of the pedals had bled cold brown from
the harsh winter and thus only barely retained it's juvenile beauty. But the
object's dutiful holder found the object exquisite in his childish fantasies.
The boy still noticed its glamour that had aged gracefully away from the
unforgivable elements. He wondered with chaste affection how such a lovely item
could be spoiled by the simple kiss of frost. He pondered why it could not be
strong upon its roots held so shallow in the dirt and why power was lost by the
negligent foot of elderly winter. A gasp of mild anguish escaped the child's
lips as, during his relentless spinning of the little flower, his plaything
and wondering object damaged itself. Delicate stem gave way in despair and
surrender so as to fall haplessly to the ground and the petals split into
shards of magenta glass. Broad, chocolate toned eyes examined the mere
conclusion of stem that remained in his grasp with sadness before depositing
the greenery atop it's other half. With pallid digits once again tucked safely
into sable garments, attention lingered upon his funeral exhibitwith bittersweet
fondness, if only to distract from the bleak surroundings that engulfed his form.
Reality soon bombarded his chimera of distraction as a nuisance forager bird
squawked from outside. Perhaps it was circling him? Perchance the creature knew
that bereavement was seducing his air and playing succubus to his sheltered home
from upon the stilted chair he rested. The call of the scavenger animal
pierced his ears like daggers before he stood with unnerved impatience.
As he took his steps across the bleak room, tennis shoes moaned against the wooden
planks of floor. The boards were already discolored from hungry termites and thus
with every footfall clouds of phantom dust would rise from the base of the room
like poltergeists that simply insisted upon following him to his destination.
After he ceased his journey a flinch invaded delicate features like a plague
so that ample hand was able to rest upon the emaciated and fragile shoulder
of the other. He was able to feel himself tremble out of his own grief when his
action received no response, but continued in his macabre ritual so that he would feel
no penitence in his departure. He quickly gave a clumsy and unanticipated bend at the
waist so ashen lips could brush against the callous flesh in affection. Yet another
frown of expected disappointment crossed his features as such action received no
reaction,and thus turned to place another unsullied kiss upon the opposite, lined
forehead. A sigh pierced his lips, as his stature was uncurled and gaze cast
downwards towards the pair of older creatures that lapsed humble and stotic within
their own dreams.Sometimes he would fancy to dwell within those imaginings,
knowing that he could be with them for only an instant before unforgiving rays of
dawn broke his fantasies. The boy also knew that the two were together in those
thoughts, or at least thatis what he preferred to envision. He shuddered to try and
depict them lost within the shells that now acted as brain. One last glance over his
shoulder at the snapped flower by his chair and the rest of its brothers were lifted
into his arms. Dead leaves from thebouquet cried down upon his arms while a fresh
bundle of ruby tinted vegetation was placed in the windowsill. He would always come
back to bring life into the dead room before it was sucked away into the dark
fissure of his surroundings. The burning sting of teardrops threatened to obscure
his vision as he dutifully turned to leave, free hand grasping the latch to the
door while strained voice echoed out, unheard, into the hush
"I love you, mum and dad."
And he could almost dream that they had reciprocated his
sentiments with merry smile and giddy laugh. But he couldn't. It was death that
lingered in this room but demise refused to deliver and thus left them to dwell
in purgatory. But even this lingering was cold, so in fact that he only desired
to slip a warm blanket over himself that could never keep him insulated from the
world, but merely buffered it's effect. And with a small shake of his head as
silence dominated the area he pulled the latch and stepped out into the generic
ivory hallways of Saint Mungo's, dead flowers thrown despairingly upon the smooth
tile before he walked off in a hurry, tears burned his eyes like needles. No cries
could flow, for all his salty snuffles had been purged and he was left to merely
wish of relief.
But..it was still so cold, the air that frosted his lungs
and lusted for carnal premonition of his visit.The cinema eternally would spark
inside his brain like a picture show. So that he could not forget and passive
reprieve would forever refuse to arrive for his aid.
Yet he still wondered what could cause such beauty to be
crushed by such little matters..such insignificant words that would affect
his existence forever.. the words that were so cold.
"He will wipe every tear from their eyes.
There will be no more death or mourning
or crying or pain, for the old order of
things has passed away.."
revelations 21:4
Written by Aphrodisia Dreams
A/N: This character I am about to write about was never really one of my
favorite characters from the book. I find that I am able to relate
to him more than the rest of my preferred subjects from the Harry
Potter text. Flames will be used to flame up our grill, so do
try to keep your criticism to a minimum considering that this particular
work has some level of sentimental value to it. On the other side of the
debate, I simply love getting compliments, so if you feel so compelled
after getting through my fiction,review and tell me what you think!!
Speaking of fics I suppose I should go ahead and let you start reading
it. The following idea has been greatly overused, but I figured
I should just join the bandwagon nonetheless, to see what the hype is about.
Enjoy!
P.S: I don't own anything but the flower, so if you attempt to sue all I can
offer is pocket lent and abandoned school papers!
P.P.S: I know it looks like..really seriously long without any paragraphs,
but I couldn't find an appropriate place to break for paragraphs
so that the effect wouldn't be lost!gar!Anyhoo..it's really kind
of short, so don't let it fool you!..and I -do- know how to do
paragraphing..::blush,smile::
"Where were you when I was lonesome..
locked away with freezing cold.
Someone flying only stolen
I can tell this light so old.
I don't want to swim the oceans..
I don't want to fight the tide.
I don't want to swim forever.
When it's cold.. I'd like to die.
What was that, my sweet, sweet nothing?
I can hear you through the fog.
If I holler let me go..
If I falter, let me know..
I don't want to swim the oceans..
I don't want to fight the tide.
I don't want to swim forever..
When it's cold. I'd like to die.
I don't want to swim forever!
I don't want to fight the tide.
I don't want to swim the oceans..
When it's cold, I'd like to die."
-"When it's cold I'd like to die"
Mobysongs, Moby
Silky gatherings fell from the withering bud in
solemn capitulation. The once vibrant hues had dulled, giving away to lurid grays
and ebon corners where the water ceased to flow so verve was no longer offered.
Emaciated dress leaves had become dry and bitter in it's neglect of life so that
they too had fallen into lady death's contemptuous embrace. Like a wind chime
it spun between the pair of slightly pudgy fingers so that each angle might be
nostalgically observed. Violet leather of the pedals had bled cold brown from
the harsh winter and thus only barely retained it's juvenile beauty. But the
object's dutiful holder found the object exquisite in his childish fantasies.
The boy still noticed its glamour that had aged gracefully away from the
unforgivable elements. He wondered with chaste affection how such a lovely item
could be spoiled by the simple kiss of frost. He pondered why it could not be
strong upon its roots held so shallow in the dirt and why power was lost by the
negligent foot of elderly winter. A gasp of mild anguish escaped the child's
lips as, during his relentless spinning of the little flower, his plaything
and wondering object damaged itself. Delicate stem gave way in despair and
surrender so as to fall haplessly to the ground and the petals split into
shards of magenta glass. Broad, chocolate toned eyes examined the mere
conclusion of stem that remained in his grasp with sadness before depositing
the greenery atop it's other half. With pallid digits once again tucked safely
into sable garments, attention lingered upon his funeral exhibitwith bittersweet
fondness, if only to distract from the bleak surroundings that engulfed his form.
Reality soon bombarded his chimera of distraction as a nuisance forager bird
squawked from outside. Perhaps it was circling him? Perchance the creature knew
that bereavement was seducing his air and playing succubus to his sheltered home
from upon the stilted chair he rested. The call of the scavenger animal
pierced his ears like daggers before he stood with unnerved impatience.
As he took his steps across the bleak room, tennis shoes moaned against the wooden
planks of floor. The boards were already discolored from hungry termites and thus
with every footfall clouds of phantom dust would rise from the base of the room
like poltergeists that simply insisted upon following him to his destination.
After he ceased his journey a flinch invaded delicate features like a plague
so that ample hand was able to rest upon the emaciated and fragile shoulder
of the other. He was able to feel himself tremble out of his own grief when his
action received no response, but continued in his macabre ritual so that he would feel
no penitence in his departure. He quickly gave a clumsy and unanticipated bend at the
waist so ashen lips could brush against the callous flesh in affection. Yet another
frown of expected disappointment crossed his features as such action received no
reaction,and thus turned to place another unsullied kiss upon the opposite, lined
forehead. A sigh pierced his lips, as his stature was uncurled and gaze cast
downwards towards the pair of older creatures that lapsed humble and stotic within
their own dreams.Sometimes he would fancy to dwell within those imaginings,
knowing that he could be with them for only an instant before unforgiving rays of
dawn broke his fantasies. The boy also knew that the two were together in those
thoughts, or at least thatis what he preferred to envision. He shuddered to try and
depict them lost within the shells that now acted as brain. One last glance over his
shoulder at the snapped flower by his chair and the rest of its brothers were lifted
into his arms. Dead leaves from thebouquet cried down upon his arms while a fresh
bundle of ruby tinted vegetation was placed in the windowsill. He would always come
back to bring life into the dead room before it was sucked away into the dark
fissure of his surroundings. The burning sting of teardrops threatened to obscure
his vision as he dutifully turned to leave, free hand grasping the latch to the
door while strained voice echoed out, unheard, into the hush
"I love you, mum and dad."
And he could almost dream that they had reciprocated his
sentiments with merry smile and giddy laugh. But he couldn't. It was death that
lingered in this room but demise refused to deliver and thus left them to dwell
in purgatory. But even this lingering was cold, so in fact that he only desired
to slip a warm blanket over himself that could never keep him insulated from the
world, but merely buffered it's effect. And with a small shake of his head as
silence dominated the area he pulled the latch and stepped out into the generic
ivory hallways of Saint Mungo's, dead flowers thrown despairingly upon the smooth
tile before he walked off in a hurry, tears burned his eyes like needles. No cries
could flow, for all his salty snuffles had been purged and he was left to merely
wish of relief.
But..it was still so cold, the air that frosted his lungs
and lusted for carnal premonition of his visit.The cinema eternally would spark
inside his brain like a picture show. So that he could not forget and passive
reprieve would forever refuse to arrive for his aid.
Yet he still wondered what could cause such beauty to be
crushed by such little matters..such insignificant words that would affect
his existence forever.. the words that were so cold.
"He will wipe every tear from their eyes.
There will be no more death or mourning
or crying or pain, for the old order of
things has passed away.."
revelations 21:4