a/n: I... don't know what this is, or where it came from. It's so much more... intense (and depressing) than my others but in a way, I kind of like it.
26.7.11
toasted chestnut
lysander
volume & spiral
He's stuck in this up-down-twistandturn spiral of a life that he doesn't quite fit into — wide-eyed, skin sweat-slicked and mouth trembling — twistingturningfalling into he doesn't know where. He's trapped in this ("Look at them, Ly. It's so strange that they don't need broomsticks, don't you think?") strange and lonely world that rips the bones straight from ("Let's count them, okay? Count the red ones, or maybe the silver because there's a lot of them.") his ribcage, one by one by one.
He's screaming — oh, how he's screaming, but no one seems to hear so he'll turn the volume up and ("Is there something wrong, Ly?") shout a little louder but there's still no one listening and why can't anyone see how lost he is — why can't anyone see he's wandering around, hands bound, eyes blindfolded ("Ly? Hey, Ly, look at this, it's so cool!" — and hold on, he knows that voice, childish and blue-eyed and innocent, so like his but not quite the same, and then there's a screech of—) and mouth shut tight.
There was a girl who smelled of toasted chestnut, he remembers, and maybe she could make it all better. Molly was her name — wise, quillandink Molly who was sensible and practical and would slap him silly until he got his head on right. Molly, with her smiles and her eyes and that red, red (—tires and a swerve and he's screaming because he doesn't know what's happening and Mum told them not to go on the Muggle roads and Lysander is running but he knows he knows he knows—) hair that catches in the sun like it's on fire.
He stumbles, out the door down the path why didn't he just Floo? Foot in front of foot, and again, and again, and he's running to Molly, all parchment and don't-do-that-you'll-break-it and freckled shoulders in sunny gardens, and again, and again, and there's the garden with its sunflowers high and tangled bushes, he wants to stop reliving this (—he's one half of a whole and he should have known better than to let him play near there, he's the two-minutes-older brother who's supposed to protect him from everything bad and he's never known anything worse than this, LorcanLorcanLorcan—) and the name bursts from his lips.
Molly! — and the gate opens, he knew she'd be there, and she's looking worried and sensible and practical and she's everthing he needs and she's holding him like he's delicate and broken — he supposes he is — and he's caught up in a whirl of ishouldhaveknownbetter and Molly's arms and whywasntitme? and Molly's whispering it's okay and he's saying no, no it's not but maybe it will be, maybe it will be because Molly's here with her quills and her ink and her smiles and maybe it'll be okay —
one day.