I got the inspiration for this story from a special friend named Arielle.
It struck her like a bag of refuse dumped from the top of a skyscraper in a
town called Oconomowoc, WI. Enjoy. or not. There will be a second
chapter. An alternate ending. You'll probably like that one less or more,
depending on the strength of your psyche.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Sure, the dark lord Voldemort had been defeated, the wizarding world restored to its former peace, and glory gained, but at what expense? The only people who had gained any glory were herself, and those two annoying, whining, self-pitying prats, Harry and Ron.
This was the single train of thought that ran through Hermione's head as she cradled a muggle contraption in her delicate hand. She was in her parents' home, where she now lived alone. Harry and Ron were over for tea that afternoon, and through the glaze of their happiness they could not see how much this war had hurt their dear friend Hermione. They could not see or sense her thinly veiled grief through their own thoughts and emotions.
The two men were chatting in a jolly manner when their friend in life walked in and shot them each in the head with the handgun. She had been driven insane with her losses. She laughed like a madwoman as the bullets penetrated their skulls and imbedded themselves in their brains. The life was washed from their bodies in a flood tide of suffering and anguish. Then Hermione turned the gun on herself, with a silent hope that she'd join her parents wherever they were.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Sure, the dark lord Voldemort had been defeated, the wizarding world restored to its former peace, and glory gained, but at what expense? The only people who had gained any glory were herself, and those two annoying, whining, self-pitying prats, Harry and Ron.
This was the single train of thought that ran through Hermione's head as she cradled a muggle contraption in her delicate hand. She was in her parents' home, where she now lived alone. Harry and Ron were over for tea that afternoon, and through the glaze of their happiness they could not see how much this war had hurt their dear friend Hermione. They could not see or sense her thinly veiled grief through their own thoughts and emotions.
The two men were chatting in a jolly manner when their friend in life walked in and shot them each in the head with the handgun. She had been driven insane with her losses. She laughed like a madwoman as the bullets penetrated their skulls and imbedded themselves in their brains. The life was washed from their bodies in a flood tide of suffering and anguish. Then Hermione turned the gun on herself, with a silent hope that she'd join her parents wherever they were.
