Disclaimer: (Sorry, I forgot it before, and this one counts for the entire story) All Harry Potter things belong to the one, the only, Ms. J.K. Rowling. (I know she is married, but that's her pen name) All that I "own" is the plot and some other...eccentricities.
Author's Note: This story is written from the made-up viewpoint of Harry Potter since that is how I started, and I believe in consistency, kinda...sorta...in a way. It starts out with what seems to be nonsense and ramblings, but I'm planning on having the true story start in the next chapter.
Chapter Two Each and every night it seems as if the world ventures off, out of its elliptical orbit into a blissful place of peace. A place of darkness, and of ample loneliness for all. We humans are left unguided with all our thoughts swirling forever in an unstoppable design. The good and the bad are mixed together. As are the happy and the sad, the wanted and the needed, the dead and the alive. It's almost as if life becomes one big jumble that no one could possibly sort out, and that no one would even dare try to organize in their lifetime if they were presented the opportunity.
Sometimes I feel as if that jumble called life communicates with me. You hear all these inspirational sayings about how "Life must go on" and "Life isn't fair," but not many people have the will to believe them. I don't. Not in the least! I am willing to face the challenges as I encounter them. I am willing to accept what happens as a part of my life. But I am not promising that I'll like all that passes my way.
I like to pretend that fate dealt me a hand of jokers, and of nothing else. It was naught but a joke that I ended up with a pack of elephant- like mules as a family to raise me. It was a joke that I —at the tender age of one— "defeated" the strongest and most influential dark lord at that time. It is a joke that I have had four more frightening endeavors with that pitiful Tom Riddle, and that I survived every single one of them. Basically, it is a joke that I am not dead. My life is nothing but a joke.
If I look into the swirling mass of colors that shall never diminish, fade, or become muted in their significance, I swear I see a joker looking back at me. He just sits there, staring at me throughout my voyage through the darkness every night. He sits and smiles. Trust a joker to be happy.
I hypothesize that everyone sees something different when his or her mind visits the image of life. Everyone has seen it, though it is unlikely that they realize it. A spinning ball of light, showing all, yet revealing nothing. All of life is there, but we meek people cannot even begin to comprehend any of its happenings. People say that they see a bright, white light at their death. I say they are all wrong. All that they truly see is really all that has been, all that is, and all that shall be. We are just not intelligent enough to get the jests of the joker, for he has many. Life gives what it wishes, but it takes much more.
The joker of life knows all. (Therefore, he is all knowing.) The joker makes his own random jaunts into our lives for no reason. This sad
creature is my symbolic life. He knows me, but there is no way in hell that I could possible know him.
I fell asleep tonight after many restless hours of pondering the world around me, and I will not wake up tomorrow morning feeling refreshed and ready to start the day. For the joker has been spotted, and he knows he is being watched, so now he shall put on the greatest show in all eternity. Now, life should become very interesting...
