It's really fun not to be noticed.
It's really fun to sit there alone by yourself day after day and savor the smiles that come your way but they never sit beside you. It's really fun to see her--laughing as the boys surround her--her two best friends, and it's really fun to write in the pages, scribble down notes of something that happened yesterday or a year ago, and when you rip the page out, you crumble it and eat it just to taste the damp ink. Oh, and Ginny did this everyday.
December was going, and would go. She knew exactly how to say goodbye to it, just raising her wrist, looping it around her dangling fingers and letting it dangle, letting it swing as if it had died a many century ago. And it was very fun, being this way, feeling this pain and think about the things she had never said in her life, the things she wanted to say, the things she wanted to wrench.
Like Harry's hair. Like Hermione's neck. Like Ron's ears. Like her own heart---oh, no too late oh no too late.
She knew her flaws, all of them. Inconsideration, selfish, cruel, evil, shy too ugly too pretty too too too outstanding too too too and over and over again. It was like her favorite song--she sang it beneath her breath everyday and never let it go from the tugging of her dead little flushed fingers.
If I left---she told herself, day after day of December. If I left, if I walked out of here right now and never came back again, they wouldn't notice because because because nobody ever did.
~
The white snow freckled across the windows, a symphony never letting down that night. He touched the windows, hearing the breaths of his dormmates, and opening it, struggling to seperate the window from the ledge rather then sit by and watch it without going down and drowning itself.
He undid his pajama buttons. His front. He ran his hands through his skin, disturbingly so, the little girl saying happy birthday to herself and blowing out that candle with her own mouth her own tongue--how, how, how in eternity had she ever done that? He had been walking around aimlessly, not expecting to find something this real--but he had at last, and he wanted to throw it away.
Ginny, was her name. He had vaguely saw her around, following Harry in her first year, second year disappearing, third year she was shy and fourth year--somehow she had changed in fourth year, somehow, somehow. He did not care a bit about her, and wished not to think about her at all. His head slammed against the window, the open peak he had managed to gnaw upwards, and brought his hand outside, and felt the snow tremble like it was frightened in a whisper of white as he brought it to his chest and poured it all over his bare chest, feeling damp and white and cold.
He felta heated flush grow in his neck as he looked down---somehow, it seemed to make no difference, none at all, none at all.
~
It's really fun to sit there alone by yourself day after day and savor the smiles that come your way but they never sit beside you. It's really fun to see her--laughing as the boys surround her--her two best friends, and it's really fun to write in the pages, scribble down notes of something that happened yesterday or a year ago, and when you rip the page out, you crumble it and eat it just to taste the damp ink. Oh, and Ginny did this everyday.
December was going, and would go. She knew exactly how to say goodbye to it, just raising her wrist, looping it around her dangling fingers and letting it dangle, letting it swing as if it had died a many century ago. And it was very fun, being this way, feeling this pain and think about the things she had never said in her life, the things she wanted to say, the things she wanted to wrench.
Like Harry's hair. Like Hermione's neck. Like Ron's ears. Like her own heart---oh, no too late oh no too late.
She knew her flaws, all of them. Inconsideration, selfish, cruel, evil, shy too ugly too pretty too too too outstanding too too too and over and over again. It was like her favorite song--she sang it beneath her breath everyday and never let it go from the tugging of her dead little flushed fingers.
If I left---she told herself, day after day of December. If I left, if I walked out of here right now and never came back again, they wouldn't notice because because because nobody ever did.
~
The white snow freckled across the windows, a symphony never letting down that night. He touched the windows, hearing the breaths of his dormmates, and opening it, struggling to seperate the window from the ledge rather then sit by and watch it without going down and drowning itself.
He undid his pajama buttons. His front. He ran his hands through his skin, disturbingly so, the little girl saying happy birthday to herself and blowing out that candle with her own mouth her own tongue--how, how, how in eternity had she ever done that? He had been walking around aimlessly, not expecting to find something this real--but he had at last, and he wanted to throw it away.
Ginny, was her name. He had vaguely saw her around, following Harry in her first year, second year disappearing, third year she was shy and fourth year--somehow she had changed in fourth year, somehow, somehow. He did not care a bit about her, and wished not to think about her at all. His head slammed against the window, the open peak he had managed to gnaw upwards, and brought his hand outside, and felt the snow tremble like it was frightened in a whisper of white as he brought it to his chest and poured it all over his bare chest, feeling damp and white and cold.
He felta heated flush grow in his neck as he looked down---somehow, it seemed to make no difference, none at all, none at all.
~