Halt
by : epiphanies
A/N Supposed to be in Ron's POV, but you can take it as you will.
What can be so beautiful about death? About the sun setting a final time and your eyes dimming and the world suddenly coming to a gentle but steady ...halt.
As one lives through life, things change. Beauty and darkness coincide more than once, more than twice. Loveliness and lies, hand in hand. Smiles and tears. Blinking and falling asleep. Being darling one moment, being hated the next. Life.
Death sometimes seems so welcoming. So padded and final and comforting, of course, to know that it's coming. To know that a peace is out there, for someday it will be yours. Yours alone.
That the first fluffy pink cloud of the morning is settling outside of your bedroom window just for you, and that it's saying, "Enjoy this while it lasts." And then the thunder begins, and you think that the castle is going to fall to bits. But it doesn't, and everybody stops for a moment when the rainbow appears. Some things are more magical than wands and spells, and its only in moments such as those that one realizes it.
Some wish for death to come the way a child awaits his birthday. In excitement, anticipation, little fear except the initial one of becoming older, forgotten. Death is your pillow, every evening. You clutch to it, clutch to the idea of it always being there, looming with you, sleeping with you, ready when you are.
When your friends die and your parents die and your family dies. When your owl dies, and your girlfriend and her cat die. When you and your very best mate are all that's left, and then he dies, at the wave of a wand, and he's smiling.
Death is more often than not a comforting thought, is it not? In a world of violence and carnage and bloodshed?
What can be so beautiful about death? About the sun setting a final time and your eyes dimming and the world suddenly coming to a gentle but steady
...halt.
