It was horrible, you know, seeing the same sights for fourteen years.
It was horrible, hearing the same screams.
It was horrible, having to sit and sit and sit, and only dream about what might have been.
It was horrible.
It wasn't as if he couldn't slip away-and by slip away, he meant into wishing.
He could easily dream himself back at school, where the biggest problem was winning the next Quidditch match, and the smallest, failing Divination.
He could easily fall into the image of lazy afternoons by the lake, shaking his hair for the benefit of the throngs of girls, barking a laugh at James' antics.
He could easily wish.
And wish, and wish.
He could lie there for hours at a time, unmoving except for the gentle rising and falling of his chest, his eyes tightly screwed shut as he tried to believe that where he was was the dream, and where he wanted to be was the reality.
And then, every time the metal door scraped open, every time a hooded figure passed by, the cold, sick feeling would return, and he would fall mercilessly back into the present, the grimy walls and dripping ceilings his only reminder.
He had struggled, at first.
Claiming that he was innocent, that he hadn't done what they said he had, that he didn't deserve to be here.
And then, as he slowly quieted down, he realized that everybody in this godforsaken place said the same thing.
That none of them deserved to be here.
That it was a pattern, this was, and by looking around, he could see each and every stage of the life he was set to live.
Denial.
Quietness.
More Denial.
Silence.
Silence for years.
Then laughter.
Oh, the laughter.
It was the worst, he knew.
When they started to laugh, it meant that it had happened.
That they were finally broken.
And it pained him, in a way, to see these broken men and women, no matter that he himself had helped to put some of them behind these bars.
Perhaps because he knew that he was destined to be one of them.
And perhaps because he realized it meant there was no hope.
And after the laughter-there was silence.
Silence that was dead.
Until they themselves echoed it.
And then a new victim would be brought in, and a new pattern would start, and he would lie there and watch it, see it happen time and time again, vowing that it wouldn't happen to him-ever.
And in the end, it was that vow that gave him the energy to break free, that vow that strengthened his resolve to do the impossible.
It was for that dream he wished for with his entire being that he decided to leave.
It might not be his dream any longer- but he would make that dream stay true for James' son.
Whether or not he died trying.
Whether or not he died.
But in the end, it was horrible, you know.
Seeing the same sights, hearing the same sounds for fourteen years.
Truly, it was horrible.
Heyyy again. :) Yes, slightly depressing, a lot weird, and more of that creepy poetry thing, haha. But yeah, I was reading a Sirius/OC fic on harrypotterfanfiction and it was seriously AWESOME (for those of you who will ask, it's called Fall For Anything by RoxyRose) and I suddenly wanted to write. :P
So please please please review, since I kinda live off em, and flame all you want, because criticism is the key to becoming a better writer! :D
Thanks so much!
~Fanta-Faerie