Well I haven't written anything in a loooong time due to me dropping my computer in the bathtub and an overload of homework. Curse the Jane Eyre analytical essay I should be writing instead of this...
Anyway: I own NOTHING except some pencils, papper, a computer, and some anime and mangas (pity me in my overprivelagedness)
Warning: disturbing concepts from a disturbed mind
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laughter pours from under doors
in this house and I can't understand the sound of it
Seems artificial, like a TV set...
-Bright Eyes
Harry lay on his sagging mattress listening to the sounds of jubilation coming
from downstairs. Dudley was taking advantage of his parents absence from home by
throwing a party and inviting all his sadistic friends. Vernen and Petunia were in
Ireland attending one of their corporate friend's weddings. They would be there for at
least another week.
Harry himself had been miserable. It had only been a month since Sirus had
been killed. Harry had bought a gun which he often pressed to his head and squeezed
the trigger. It was empty though.
It was his fault Sirius had died, his desire for glory and attention. Just like his
father. He often imagined Sirius rotting behind the black curtain, his eyes white pools,
his skin shrunken, his tongue lolling out, blue and swollen, maggots crawling on his
grey-green skin. Harry again, for the fourth time that day lifted up his loose floor board
and pulled out his gun, this time he loaded it, and pressed it to his dry cracked lips.
Foot steps thundered on the stairs and his door was pushed open Dudley stood
in the doorway surrounded by his thugs, evidently they were planning to beat the hell
out of him.
Hi Harry, practicing your blow job for Sirius? Dudley said in a mock pleasant
voice. His friends snickered.
SHUT THE FUCK UP! Harry bellowed as the gang advanced on him. Don't
touch me! He fired his weapon blindly into the mass. By the yell he heard he could tell
that he had hit someone. Tears were streaking down his pale face, he put the gun in
his mouth, and fired.
The world went gray and blurry, his room was vacated. Harry lay face down
sprawled halfway of his bed, carnadine blood staining the gray sheets. He realized
that it was raining. I wonder why it's raining, who makes it rain ? Half formed
questions flew through his mind, and he faded into black.
