Curiosity of Death
Chapter one:
Who is to say what friendship is? I define friendship as a bond between one person to another; others use it as a tool of evil. And some, well some have never experienced it enough to find a real meaning.
How would you feel if someone you knew died? How do you feel know that someone you know has died? I know I feel depressed, I know the feeling that eats you inside.
It's something you just want to get out of your system, for at least you want to get out of your system. But is there only one way to do that? What do you do when curiosity gets the better of you? You know it's dangerous and there'll be serious consequences, but you just can't stop yourself.
You can cry, you can bleed, but will it get you anywhere? Let's find out.
He lies on his second grade bed, crying. His head against his hard pillow. He wrapped the little blankets that he has around his body and looks down at the piece of paper in his hand. He'd written a poem, not a very good poem, but one from the heart.
The type of poem the makes you cry and makes you think. He slowly mumbles over the lines, as he reads it quietly to himself.
To Die?
How many times have you wondered why?
How would it feel if you were to die?
How does it feel?
When it's real?
When you die
Will others cry
Will they mourn?
When you're torn
Between life and death
without no breath
I wonder if I could know
Just to know which way I'd go
Down below or up above?
Which way will I find most love?
If I don't believe it's true
Can I come back down to you?
But if I die and don't believe
What torture will my soul receive
All because I would not try
To reach above the heavens and pry
I want to know if its real
Why is it that the clouds conceal
The truth behind their petty lies
What really happens when someone dies?
His tears continue to fall along the already wet trails along his pale cheeks. Crying seemed to be the one thing he was left to do. Everyday he'd cry himself to sleep, but today didn't seem to work. He just couldn't sleep.
Life had become too much; he just wanted to die. Curiosity seemed to be getting the better of him.
What would it feel like?
How would he do it?
Would anyone care if he died?
He knew the answer to that, No. No one cared. He was all alone. His friends dead, any family he had were evil muggles that spent their entire lives trying to make his a living hell.
It was all Voldemort's fault. If he hadn't killed his friend, he'd have at least one tingling of happiness. But he hit him where he knew it would hurt. His heart.
Seventeen year old Harry Potter began to shake as he cried. He looked at the wall as his poem fell to the floor. On his bedside table was one of the gifts he'd been given from his dear friend Remus.
A short-handed, sharp bladed dagger lay on the hard, over-polished table. He lifted his hand to take it. He knew what he wanted to do, he knew that he had to do.
He sat up, hold the dagger with an iron grip. He sighed.
"Goodbye life" he muttered through sobs. He drove the dagger towards his heart.
Blackness.
Was it over?
The answer to that was simple. Yes.
Yes, the torture of the life of Harry Potter was dead. No one to carry on the pain, his pain died, as did his body.
Doesn't this make you think? Think of the people that you know, has any of them suffered like this? Have you? Have I? Who knows?
No one knows the pain that someone else goes through, this lesson you will all learn. In life, everyone will die. Either at the hands of yourself, someone else or fate.
The real question is, when will you go?
Chapter one:
Who is to say what friendship is? I define friendship as a bond between one person to another; others use it as a tool of evil. And some, well some have never experienced it enough to find a real meaning.
How would you feel if someone you knew died? How do you feel know that someone you know has died? I know I feel depressed, I know the feeling that eats you inside.
It's something you just want to get out of your system, for at least you want to get out of your system. But is there only one way to do that? What do you do when curiosity gets the better of you? You know it's dangerous and there'll be serious consequences, but you just can't stop yourself.
You can cry, you can bleed, but will it get you anywhere? Let's find out.
He lies on his second grade bed, crying. His head against his hard pillow. He wrapped the little blankets that he has around his body and looks down at the piece of paper in his hand. He'd written a poem, not a very good poem, but one from the heart.
The type of poem the makes you cry and makes you think. He slowly mumbles over the lines, as he reads it quietly to himself.
To Die?
How many times have you wondered why?
How would it feel if you were to die?
How does it feel?
When it's real?
When you die
Will others cry
Will they mourn?
When you're torn
Between life and death
without no breath
I wonder if I could know
Just to know which way I'd go
Down below or up above?
Which way will I find most love?
If I don't believe it's true
Can I come back down to you?
But if I die and don't believe
What torture will my soul receive
All because I would not try
To reach above the heavens and pry
I want to know if its real
Why is it that the clouds conceal
The truth behind their petty lies
What really happens when someone dies?
His tears continue to fall along the already wet trails along his pale cheeks. Crying seemed to be the one thing he was left to do. Everyday he'd cry himself to sleep, but today didn't seem to work. He just couldn't sleep.
Life had become too much; he just wanted to die. Curiosity seemed to be getting the better of him.
What would it feel like?
How would he do it?
Would anyone care if he died?
He knew the answer to that, No. No one cared. He was all alone. His friends dead, any family he had were evil muggles that spent their entire lives trying to make his a living hell.
It was all Voldemort's fault. If he hadn't killed his friend, he'd have at least one tingling of happiness. But he hit him where he knew it would hurt. His heart.
Seventeen year old Harry Potter began to shake as he cried. He looked at the wall as his poem fell to the floor. On his bedside table was one of the gifts he'd been given from his dear friend Remus.
A short-handed, sharp bladed dagger lay on the hard, over-polished table. He lifted his hand to take it. He knew what he wanted to do, he knew that he had to do.
He sat up, hold the dagger with an iron grip. He sighed.
"Goodbye life" he muttered through sobs. He drove the dagger towards his heart.
Blackness.
Was it over?
The answer to that was simple. Yes.
Yes, the torture of the life of Harry Potter was dead. No one to carry on the pain, his pain died, as did his body.
Doesn't this make you think? Think of the people that you know, has any of them suffered like this? Have you? Have I? Who knows?
No one knows the pain that someone else goes through, this lesson you will all learn. In life, everyone will die. Either at the hands of yourself, someone else or fate.
The real question is, when will you go?