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The record player; state of the art and a Muggle device, is switched on at the wall, causing the tiny scarlet
(blood)
LED to sputter into life. A hand, shaking, digs around in the chaos on the floor and places one of the only unsmashed discs onto the turntable, lifts the arm, and places it onto the record. The hair point zippppppps across the grooved plastic, and is hurriedly removed. Fingers, grimy and nail-bitten, brush ineffectually at the deep scored scratch that mars the disc, and tries again. This time…
Guitar and drums kick in, and the fingers start to tap along, slightly out of rhythm. The tune they beat out is raw and emotional, music written by someone scorched and tortured by love. As lyrics drift into the consciousness, a baritone voice, once pleasant but now tormented and agonised, whispers along…
You spurn my natural emotions
You make me feel like dirt
And I'm hurt
And if I start a commotion
I run the risk of losing you
And that's worse
Losing you. That's worse.
James and Lily. Lost forever.
Ever fallen in love with someone
Ever fallen in love
In love with someone
Ever fallen in love
In love with someone
You shouldn't've fallen in love with
Love. Doesn't have to be sexual. Never fall in love. You just get fucked over when you are deserted either in death or in antagonism or in betrayal.
In the background, a young child starts to wail.