Chapter 1: The Start
She sat there, motionlessly, staring out into the dark, cloudless sky, reflecting about her dark and agonizing life and fantasizing on what could have been if.
About a year and a half ago, when she was 13, her mother passed away. It was hard on her and her father but she coped with it by excelling in what she did best, reading. Her father, on the other hand, coped with it by becoming an alcoholic and abusive. About three months after the tragic accident, bruises and cuts began to appear on her smooth and now pale skin. Her father started beating her to take out his anger. And if that wasn't enough, eventually, her father decided that if he was going to suffer, she was going to suffer with him. He locked her books and her wand up in the drawer in his room with the master key that only he had. Little by little, her room became empty of all the thing that made her who and what she was until nothing was left but her bed and a drawer. Her soul changed from the carefree soul to the painful soul that wanted to hurt herself. The small dagger that she kept in her locked drawer was for the time when even the bruises weren't enough to keep her hurting. If only.. If only.
An hour ago, Hermione Granger, a young girl of 14 sat on the floor in her bathroom, vomiting food from her mouth after being beaten by her father.
"Girl, what are you doing there?"
"I'm sorry, father. I won't do it again."
"You certainly won't, and I will make sure of that." The strong, drunken man walked closer to the girl on the floor.
"Please, I didn't mean to do it! I-it was-I didn't-please.not again.please." She tried to edge away but-
The man took a fast slap across the girl's face. "GET UP!"
Holding on to the sink, the girl held herself up only to meet another strong kick in the ribs and fall back down again, knocking her head on the bathtub. "Please.I've.already.cracked.rib.father.please."
"This should teach you!" The muscular man bend down and started kicking and punching the girl with a mad face. The girl curled into a ball in defense but the man took two ropes from the drawer and tied up her leg and her hands and continued to kick and punch her. Tears started to roll down the girls eyes.
"Please, father.stop.I cant." But the man continued. After what seemed like forever, the man dropped a knife on the floor and slam the door shut, leaving the bruised and bleeding girl on the floor, crying. Eventually the girl stopped crying and started to crawl toward the knife to cut herself free. It didn't take her long; it wasn't the first time. She sat in the corner of the bathroom, just breathing for awhile, then took the knife and placed it on her wrist. Without a moment's hesitation, she sliced the knife across her hand and felt a moment of sensation, a moment in which all her troubles were gone. It felt good. But when she came back to reality, watching the blood drip slowly down her arm, she started to cry. She reached for the toilet and vomited freely into it, throwing up the dinner that she didn't eat.
She didn't know how she got into her bed, but she did. Leaning against the window, she sat there, motionlessly, staring out into the dark, cloudless sky, reflecting about her dark and agonizing life and fantasizing on what could have been if.
She sat there, motionlessly, staring out into the dark, cloudless sky, reflecting about her dark and agonizing life and fantasizing on what could have been if.
About a year and a half ago, when she was 13, her mother passed away. It was hard on her and her father but she coped with it by excelling in what she did best, reading. Her father, on the other hand, coped with it by becoming an alcoholic and abusive. About three months after the tragic accident, bruises and cuts began to appear on her smooth and now pale skin. Her father started beating her to take out his anger. And if that wasn't enough, eventually, her father decided that if he was going to suffer, she was going to suffer with him. He locked her books and her wand up in the drawer in his room with the master key that only he had. Little by little, her room became empty of all the thing that made her who and what she was until nothing was left but her bed and a drawer. Her soul changed from the carefree soul to the painful soul that wanted to hurt herself. The small dagger that she kept in her locked drawer was for the time when even the bruises weren't enough to keep her hurting. If only.. If only.
An hour ago, Hermione Granger, a young girl of 14 sat on the floor in her bathroom, vomiting food from her mouth after being beaten by her father.
"Girl, what are you doing there?"
"I'm sorry, father. I won't do it again."
"You certainly won't, and I will make sure of that." The strong, drunken man walked closer to the girl on the floor.
"Please, I didn't mean to do it! I-it was-I didn't-please.not again.please." She tried to edge away but-
The man took a fast slap across the girl's face. "GET UP!"
Holding on to the sink, the girl held herself up only to meet another strong kick in the ribs and fall back down again, knocking her head on the bathtub. "Please.I've.already.cracked.rib.father.please."
"This should teach you!" The muscular man bend down and started kicking and punching the girl with a mad face. The girl curled into a ball in defense but the man took two ropes from the drawer and tied up her leg and her hands and continued to kick and punch her. Tears started to roll down the girls eyes.
"Please, father.stop.I cant." But the man continued. After what seemed like forever, the man dropped a knife on the floor and slam the door shut, leaving the bruised and bleeding girl on the floor, crying. Eventually the girl stopped crying and started to crawl toward the knife to cut herself free. It didn't take her long; it wasn't the first time. She sat in the corner of the bathroom, just breathing for awhile, then took the knife and placed it on her wrist. Without a moment's hesitation, she sliced the knife across her hand and felt a moment of sensation, a moment in which all her troubles were gone. It felt good. But when she came back to reality, watching the blood drip slowly down her arm, she started to cry. She reached for the toilet and vomited freely into it, throwing up the dinner that she didn't eat.
She didn't know how she got into her bed, but she did. Leaning against the window, she sat there, motionlessly, staring out into the dark, cloudless sky, reflecting about her dark and agonizing life and fantasizing on what could have been if.