Vincent Crabb: The Forgotten One
By: The Red Haired One

Authoress Note: Don't bother asking me where this came from. Because I don't know. I wrote this out of pent-up anger, and thought...this could work. And so it did. Unlike my other stories, no one has read this before this is posted, so who ever reads this first, you are the first one to read it besides me.

Disclaimer: I highly doubt JKR would make Crabb a crazy person.

Dedication: To my Anger Notebook.

I wonder how long it will take them to discover that I don't care. Or that I never have. See, I have a bit of hatred towards society at large, and it had hated me back. I wonder how long it will take them to realize that cutting is just another thing that they drove me to. Because really, it's their entire fault. If they had listened, I wonder if I would be writing this right now. Probably not, I would most likely be talking to a shrink, not writing a suicide note in my blood. Yeah, it's my blood. Shocking, isn't it? Oh well, they will probably fall over in shock that I could write this anyway. And it's not like I care, because I don't.

I wonder whose reading this. I wonder who reads suicide notes...it must be a pretty morbid job, reading those. And I know the other dorms with their doors open are going to complain because the music is too loud, but I don't give a shit, I really don't.

But anyway, I don't know what drove me to do this, so don't bother asking, because even I don't know. Only that my arm is aching to be cut. And it will be, for the last time. For the last time, I will feel the blood run down my arm, not trickle, like it has for so many people before, but gush down, in a river of scarlet redemption.

Anyway...I heard that some people who write these things cry while doing this, and that all of these are usually just people saying goodbye. But I don't want to say goodbye. I want to say hello. Hello to death. Because I hear it's sweet. And yes, I know what I am doing is wrong. But all I did was look menacing anyway. At least now people will think of me now as more than a thug for a stuck-up Mummy's Boy.

So, hello Death.

Vincent Claec Crabb

Vincent took the blade, and made several deep cuts across his arms, and settled down on his bed, welcoming the darkness as it crawled over him, and devoured him.

The next morning, Draco Malfoy walked in, to find his left-hand man, dead, on his bed. Draco then started screaming like the true Mummy's Boy that he was, and Vincent's soul cackled from the depths of Hell.

Fin

End Notations: Yes, that was a tad morbid, and you can tell me so in a review.