Chapter 2
Yes, I'd like to thank the people who reviewed. But also, I now have MSN. If you are intrested in being a part in my contact list, please e-mail me. Also, the plot of the story is real. Harry's ghost? That's Trinity's belief- form.
Note to disclimers: I'd love to own Harry Potter, too bad I don't.
He knew she couldn't go on living like this.it was just too hard for her. Every day he saw her stray more from the other kids. She felt seperated, going threw what no one else had. Why was it her? No one knew. But he sensed it. He knew it. He had overheard her, read her things. Snooping? Perhaps. But not to him.
Trinity finnished the last line on the page. She put it into her zip-up binder, the special one. The one with the picture of Harry in it. Where was he? She had been looking for him, yet she couldn't sense him. There were times when the human was there, and there were times when there didn't seem to be.... anything. So she sat, waiting for the sensing feeling to come, lying on the floor of her room. She reviewed what she had written. It was OK, but she didn't know she was writing facts. She was basing this book on her life, but who was this 'he'? She didn't think he existed. He did. But not like Harry existed. He existed to all.
The door creaked.
"Harry?" she called softly. He had come.
Suddenly, the magic, the thrill, the whole life came into her as the friend she longed for entered the room. He walked across from the door to the wooden bed, past the wooden boxes to her little space in the closet, her favourite hiding space. In it was her club house, he knew that. He liked her. Many her age believed in him, but not in a real way. They read him, they didn't feel him.
But her, oh, she was different. She still climbed trees and had her closet clubhouse. Her teddy bears sat at the end of her bed. Her room was still a baby pink. Teased as she was, she was what was considered childish. Childish or wiser than the rest, though? She saw what no other saw, yet was regarded as one with less wisdom. Perhaps she had more.
"I need more money, Harry," she whispered, and he nodded sympathetically. The looked at one another before she continued. "More, then me n' Mom, we'll have a place of our own. But can she survive without Dad's support? I mean, she's been a stay at home Mom since I was born. But she can get a job as a waitress or something if all else fails.... and I could start a paper-route or something........ I guess."
There was a long pause, in which one who heard the truth of myth could hear not one set of lungs breathing hard, but two. They rose and feel, one after the other. In unison, like they were both 'real' for the moment, and one was equal to the other.
"Yeah, maybe," she said finally, and he looked up into her eyes. He never spoke. Wiser than words, characters were.
He nudged the blanket, and she looked down at its frayed knitt. She comprehended immidiately.
"Yeah, I'll sleep a bit. I've only got twenty minutes, but I guess I'll kill myself with worry if I don't," she sighed.
He came back once, and as he watched the blankets rise and fall, he wondered what exactly she felt. He could sense it, but not put it into words. He wondered why she was plagued by this misery, and when she had such a chance to be happy, why had that chance been taken away? Why had someone placed her in a pit? Where were her wings when she needed to fly?
He didn't know it, but her wings were close-by. They were the exact wings that had created Harry himself. Yes, they lay. The binder, zipped up, containing no answers for her, but urging her to find her own. And ontop lay the pen, the way to find them.
********************
He knew she couldn't go on living like this.it was just too hard for her. Every day he saw her stray more from the other kids. She felt seperated, going threw what no one else had. Why was it her? No one knew. But he sensed it. He knew it. He had overheard her, read her things. Snooping? Perhaps. But not to him.
He was Collin Jackson, standing in his crowd of popularity, wondering why he cared. Why did he care about childish Trinity, when he had all that he wanted? Plenty of friends, good looks, top of it all. Others ate his remains, while he feasted on the glory of beating them. So why did he care about the fact that he knew Trinity's problem? It was hers and her mothers, not his.
"Collin?" Natasha, another popular grade seven, demanded.
"Uhh... yeah, I'm off today....." he excused himself very lamely.
Natasha rolled her eyes towards him, then looked over and snorted.
"There's poor, poor Trinity. What's her problem? All she does is sit there and.... sit. She has no friends, no looks, no nothing. Why does she wake up in the morning? Why doesn't she just stay in bed? It would be not only my pleasure," she said cruely.
Natasha was wrong, Trinity had friends. Friends who thought they knew all about her. They didn't know the begining. They didn't know about the abuse, or her savings, or anything. Yes, they knew she liked cats. That was nothing.
The bell for the begining of school rang. The students hurried in a large mob, all pushing and shoving to get out of the frosty air and into the warm building. Their breath fogged up the windows as they ran to their homeroom. But the thought still stayed in Collin's mind, Why did he care? Why about stupid Trinity?
Why did he care? He had never talked to her, and likewise. They hadn't even been in the same school before junior high. They had never been together in the same club or outing, or even in the same room, other than the classroom. His handsome face had never dared look into the dark brown eyes of they shy, silent classmate. Until now.
Their lockers, meters apart, clanged as a clumsy student banged them all.
Bang! Trinity looked towards the crash. Bang! Collin did, too. They both removed their eyes from the odd seem, and then they met. His eyes were a silver-blue, more electric looking and bright, yet it was her eyes that were piercing. Haunted and on the verge of tears. Bright and glassy, yet they gazed into you like they could see right into your soul and beg the diamond in the ash for help. But Collin didn't have a diamond. He had a copy of Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. And there is always a bit of Harry in the soul, even when the soul doesn't know it.
OK, the latest chapter! How do you like it? Please review!
Yes, I'd like to thank the people who reviewed. But also, I now have MSN. If you are intrested in being a part in my contact list, please e-mail me. Also, the plot of the story is real. Harry's ghost? That's Trinity's belief- form.
Note to disclimers: I'd love to own Harry Potter, too bad I don't.
He knew she couldn't go on living like this.it was just too hard for her. Every day he saw her stray more from the other kids. She felt seperated, going threw what no one else had. Why was it her? No one knew. But he sensed it. He knew it. He had overheard her, read her things. Snooping? Perhaps. But not to him.
Trinity finnished the last line on the page. She put it into her zip-up binder, the special one. The one with the picture of Harry in it. Where was he? She had been looking for him, yet she couldn't sense him. There were times when the human was there, and there were times when there didn't seem to be.... anything. So she sat, waiting for the sensing feeling to come, lying on the floor of her room. She reviewed what she had written. It was OK, but she didn't know she was writing facts. She was basing this book on her life, but who was this 'he'? She didn't think he existed. He did. But not like Harry existed. He existed to all.
The door creaked.
"Harry?" she called softly. He had come.
Suddenly, the magic, the thrill, the whole life came into her as the friend she longed for entered the room. He walked across from the door to the wooden bed, past the wooden boxes to her little space in the closet, her favourite hiding space. In it was her club house, he knew that. He liked her. Many her age believed in him, but not in a real way. They read him, they didn't feel him.
But her, oh, she was different. She still climbed trees and had her closet clubhouse. Her teddy bears sat at the end of her bed. Her room was still a baby pink. Teased as she was, she was what was considered childish. Childish or wiser than the rest, though? She saw what no other saw, yet was regarded as one with less wisdom. Perhaps she had more.
"I need more money, Harry," she whispered, and he nodded sympathetically. The looked at one another before she continued. "More, then me n' Mom, we'll have a place of our own. But can she survive without Dad's support? I mean, she's been a stay at home Mom since I was born. But she can get a job as a waitress or something if all else fails.... and I could start a paper-route or something........ I guess."
There was a long pause, in which one who heard the truth of myth could hear not one set of lungs breathing hard, but two. They rose and feel, one after the other. In unison, like they were both 'real' for the moment, and one was equal to the other.
"Yeah, maybe," she said finally, and he looked up into her eyes. He never spoke. Wiser than words, characters were.
He nudged the blanket, and she looked down at its frayed knitt. She comprehended immidiately.
"Yeah, I'll sleep a bit. I've only got twenty minutes, but I guess I'll kill myself with worry if I don't," she sighed.
He came back once, and as he watched the blankets rise and fall, he wondered what exactly she felt. He could sense it, but not put it into words. He wondered why she was plagued by this misery, and when she had such a chance to be happy, why had that chance been taken away? Why had someone placed her in a pit? Where were her wings when she needed to fly?
He didn't know it, but her wings were close-by. They were the exact wings that had created Harry himself. Yes, they lay. The binder, zipped up, containing no answers for her, but urging her to find her own. And ontop lay the pen, the way to find them.
********************
He knew she couldn't go on living like this.it was just too hard for her. Every day he saw her stray more from the other kids. She felt seperated, going threw what no one else had. Why was it her? No one knew. But he sensed it. He knew it. He had overheard her, read her things. Snooping? Perhaps. But not to him.
He was Collin Jackson, standing in his crowd of popularity, wondering why he cared. Why did he care about childish Trinity, when he had all that he wanted? Plenty of friends, good looks, top of it all. Others ate his remains, while he feasted on the glory of beating them. So why did he care about the fact that he knew Trinity's problem? It was hers and her mothers, not his.
"Collin?" Natasha, another popular grade seven, demanded.
"Uhh... yeah, I'm off today....." he excused himself very lamely.
Natasha rolled her eyes towards him, then looked over and snorted.
"There's poor, poor Trinity. What's her problem? All she does is sit there and.... sit. She has no friends, no looks, no nothing. Why does she wake up in the morning? Why doesn't she just stay in bed? It would be not only my pleasure," she said cruely.
Natasha was wrong, Trinity had friends. Friends who thought they knew all about her. They didn't know the begining. They didn't know about the abuse, or her savings, or anything. Yes, they knew she liked cats. That was nothing.
The bell for the begining of school rang. The students hurried in a large mob, all pushing and shoving to get out of the frosty air and into the warm building. Their breath fogged up the windows as they ran to their homeroom. But the thought still stayed in Collin's mind, Why did he care? Why about stupid Trinity?
Why did he care? He had never talked to her, and likewise. They hadn't even been in the same school before junior high. They had never been together in the same club or outing, or even in the same room, other than the classroom. His handsome face had never dared look into the dark brown eyes of they shy, silent classmate. Until now.
Their lockers, meters apart, clanged as a clumsy student banged them all.
Bang! Trinity looked towards the crash. Bang! Collin did, too. They both removed their eyes from the odd seem, and then they met. His eyes were a silver-blue, more electric looking and bright, yet it was her eyes that were piercing. Haunted and on the verge of tears. Bright and glassy, yet they gazed into you like they could see right into your soul and beg the diamond in the ash for help. But Collin didn't have a diamond. He had a copy of Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. And there is always a bit of Harry in the soul, even when the soul doesn't know it.
OK, the latest chapter! How do you like it? Please review!