Lego: Hello everyone! Unfortunately, Tears of a Lotus is still being difficult. In the mean time, I decided to pick up the 100 themes challenge in order to motivate myself to write (heavily influenced by the fact that one of my favorite fanfiction authors, Joey Taylor, is doing it). I've decided to post the canon ones I write (no OCs and such) as separate oneshots here on my account to show that I actually am writing. I hope you enjoy this one! I sort of want to continue it, but I'm out of ideas. I can't decide if I want to do something in canon, make it a crossover, or what, but yeah. Thinking about expanding it.
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter franchise belongs to J. . I own only the story.
Abandoned
A chilling fog settled over the abandoned park. It captured the light shed by the bright moon and twinkling stars, and twisted it, casting an eerie glow over the creaking metal of swings and slides.
One lone figure lay curled up underneath one of the larger slides. He wore nothing more than a pair of tattered jeans and only half of a torn T-shirt, no shoes, no socks, nothing to warm him in the chill breeze and dank cold of the night. He no longer had the strength to stay awake, so his bright green eyes—dulled by pain and cold—hid behind closed eyelids.
Then he dreamed.
He sits in a crib. A man with a scary face points a stick at him, then shouts something. Green light fills his vision.
Another scene jumps before him. He recognizes the darkness of his cupboard. On the other side of the locked door, he can hear furious shouting—his bellowing uncle, followed by the timid but still scared voice of his aunt. They can't keep him. He's a pointless extra mouth. A baby starts crying. He registers that the sound is coming from his own mouth.
He's two now. His uncle holds his arm in a tight grip and it hurts. He pleads for the older man to let go. Instead he's shoved into his cupboard. He won't be getting food for the rest of the day. The door locks. His stomach growls. He begins to cry.
Flashes begin, covering the next three years of his life. His cousin pushes him and steals what little he has. His aunt screams at him for leaving his cupboard. His uncle locks him up over and over again for no reason.
The flashes stop to cover a scene when he's six. His uncle's sister is visiting. She allows her bulldog to chase him around the house and yard. He frantically scrambles up a tree belonging to a house down the street. He refuses to come down, struggling to hold back tears.
They start up again then suddenly he's ten. His uncle's yelling at him. They can't stand him anymore, they don't want him. After that freak accident in the kitchen when he burned his cousin's hands, they won't put up with it any longer. His aunt shrieks at him to get out, get out and never come back. He's not allowed anything before he goes. He can only run. His uncle has his shot gun out. So he runs, runs as fast and as far as he can.
When it gets too cold and he can't move anymore, he finds the best shelter he can, a slide at an abandoned park, and curls up.
The boy woke as his dreams and memories caught up with reality. The cold kept his tears from coming, but he wanted to cry anyway. They'd never really wanted him. That was why they'd stopped feeding him and refused to let him out of his cupboard anymore.
Until now, anyway. Now he was alone and cold and hungry and probably wouldn't last the night. He drifted off again, his soul pleading with anything listening—wishing for warm arms to hold him and tell him everything would be alright. Then he knew no more.