Declaimer: These characters mentioned are NOT mine. They are J.K Rowling's.
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My name is Marietta Edgecombe.
People hate me. I don't know why. My best friend Cho doesn't tell me much anymore. She distrusts me now. I feel the glares and hostilities of others, but I do not know why. But it's the same people. There's Harry Potter and his two cronies. Cho, of course, occasionally gives me the dirty look. And it hurts, because I don't know why.
Cho and I used to be best friends. I giggled and laughed at her jokes, and we bantered and talked for hours. Sometimes, we would whisper to each other long through the night in the dormitories. Now she just shuts the hangings around her bed every night and tells me to go away if I approach her. I sometimes lay down on my bed, tears in my eyes, while I listen to her mutter and accuse in her sleep. Sometimes she mentions me. The hard words she uses moves cut through my soft and fragile soul inside like a knife. Inside my mind, I shriek and writhe and saturate my mind with hate and self-pity.
If I was a blade, I was dulling myself. The sickle, praise and talk and good times, was gone. Dulled one side from my parents telling me not to do anything that would displease Umbridge, and dull on the other from allowing myself to let Cho do whatever both of us wanted.
I feel the anguish and pain inside. I sense the hostility of the others, for no explained reason. I keep my head down. I don't talk anymore. Any time I ask them, "Why are you mad at me?" they just glare. "You know what you did wrong," they say sarcastically. "Go away, we don't want you anymore." I wanted to fight back. I wanted to say, "No! You don't understand! I don't remember!" I open my mouth to find out that whatever words I have evaporate out of my mouth.
My mother never told me to stand up to myself. Simply put, she was God, and I listened and followed whatever she said. I swallowed my own pain, inhibitions, and problems so I wouldn't be weak and be left behind. Now they left me behind, and I was weakly trying to follow along.
Nobody will tell me why, how, where, or when. I try to remember, but I only draw blanks. I remember that awful lady Umbridge shaking me, shouting at me why I was saying "no" to some meeting. I remember a bright light and being forced to the ground, and then being escorted to the hospital wing.
The hospital wing was horrible. I lay there for weeks, with Madam Pomfrey trying out all sorts of remedies that burned my face. If I could have, I would have taken a knife and stabbed myself right then, because those harsh treatments that scorched not only my face, but my soul as well. But alas, she was extremely safe. I had no blade, and I could not get one. So I sunk deeper into my own mind, mentally willing myself to survive, hoping that it would be better when I got out.
Nobody ever asks me about how I suffer. How I suffer the shame and humiliation of not knowing what I did. Nobody told me until I got home, and then it was too late to reconcile with the other students. There's no sympathy for the ugly scars that have mutilated my face, forcing me to wear the balaclava to hide my shame. I obviously tattled on someone, but then couldn't say what it was. I alienated my own friends and alienated the authority – Umbridge. My mother, who pressured me so hard to tell the truth, will now hate me. I took the middle path. I helped but didn't finish it. I made Umbridge angry, and her displeasure will cut through me like a whip. Hate is a strong word. But she has been so strict on me, refusing fun, pressuring me to tell, and she has ruined my life.
I used to cry every day in my own dormitory, watching as my own tears silently fell on to the warm velvet covers of my own bed, and not being able to stop them. The first day I got back, I shut my hangings and turned myself inwards to face the wall, to block out and hide from the other four roommates. Nobody asked how I was feeling...or even talked to me at all...
Instinctively, I touch my face. I do it every day, maybe more than that. I trace out the terrible scars, the fading marks of purple blisters that spell out the word "sneak." The day I got back to my dormitory I donned a balaclava, with my head down in shame. It was past midnight to avoid seeing anyone. I croaked out the password to enter the Ravenclaw common room so I wouldn't be recognized. Inside my room, I twisted and turned in my sleep, worrying about what would happen the next day...
There's a girl. Her name is Eloise Midgen. She thinks she has bad acne, and even tried to curse off her own pimples. But her acne problems pale in comparison to "sneak" carved all over my cheeks and nose. The first day back, I became the laughingstock, the running joke, of the whole class. Eloise even came to me and publicly laughed and insulted me. "I don't need to cover my face!" she beamed triumphantly. I told that bitch to shut up and go away, but the sting of the comment still hurt days afterward.
A week later, I found a Galleon in my special box. My hands shaking, I reached out to touch it, wondering why it was there. All my gold was in my gold bag. I slipped it into my pocket and felt it burn hot one day. I instantly looked at the Galleon, but I saw nothing change. Hours later, I was looking around for my best quill, which I had lost, on Cho's bed and found a Knut on her pillow. I heard her say there was Quidditch practice, but I knew she was lying. She didn't have practice that day. I never felt the Galleon burn hot again. On a later Hogsmeade trip, I spent it at Honeydukes on a bag of Acid Pops.
Those Acid Pops soon became my only source of curiosity. Lying in my bed at night, I would take one out and slowly lick it. I felt the tingling sensation of it burning my tongue. The first few times, I licked too quickly and burned my tongue through. I had to go to Madam Pomfrey, whose eyes furrowed as she stared at me, wondering what I was doing. I betrayed nothing, however, and stubbornly told her I took a Truth or Dare from my friends.
Now I stand and sit by Cho in body form only. I only stand near here. I no longer talk to her. She has been good enough to me to let me stand by her, which I am greatly thankful for. But I no longer live anymore. I only exist. My head is either bowed, I am crying in my own bed, or I am in class, solely focusing and concentrating on doing the incantation, and blocking out the chatter, dirty looks, and everything else.
Bad as Hogwarts may be, I'm terrified at what will happen when I get home...my mother has never been proud of me. In the deepest part of my heart, I know she won't be hugging and comforting me.
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Part 2 coming soon! Please review.
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My name is Marietta Edgecombe.
People hate me. I don't know why. My best friend Cho doesn't tell me much anymore. She distrusts me now. I feel the glares and hostilities of others, but I do not know why. But it's the same people. There's Harry Potter and his two cronies. Cho, of course, occasionally gives me the dirty look. And it hurts, because I don't know why.
Cho and I used to be best friends. I giggled and laughed at her jokes, and we bantered and talked for hours. Sometimes, we would whisper to each other long through the night in the dormitories. Now she just shuts the hangings around her bed every night and tells me to go away if I approach her. I sometimes lay down on my bed, tears in my eyes, while I listen to her mutter and accuse in her sleep. Sometimes she mentions me. The hard words she uses moves cut through my soft and fragile soul inside like a knife. Inside my mind, I shriek and writhe and saturate my mind with hate and self-pity.
If I was a blade, I was dulling myself. The sickle, praise and talk and good times, was gone. Dulled one side from my parents telling me not to do anything that would displease Umbridge, and dull on the other from allowing myself to let Cho do whatever both of us wanted.
I feel the anguish and pain inside. I sense the hostility of the others, for no explained reason. I keep my head down. I don't talk anymore. Any time I ask them, "Why are you mad at me?" they just glare. "You know what you did wrong," they say sarcastically. "Go away, we don't want you anymore." I wanted to fight back. I wanted to say, "No! You don't understand! I don't remember!" I open my mouth to find out that whatever words I have evaporate out of my mouth.
My mother never told me to stand up to myself. Simply put, she was God, and I listened and followed whatever she said. I swallowed my own pain, inhibitions, and problems so I wouldn't be weak and be left behind. Now they left me behind, and I was weakly trying to follow along.
Nobody will tell me why, how, where, or when. I try to remember, but I only draw blanks. I remember that awful lady Umbridge shaking me, shouting at me why I was saying "no" to some meeting. I remember a bright light and being forced to the ground, and then being escorted to the hospital wing.
The hospital wing was horrible. I lay there for weeks, with Madam Pomfrey trying out all sorts of remedies that burned my face. If I could have, I would have taken a knife and stabbed myself right then, because those harsh treatments that scorched not only my face, but my soul as well. But alas, she was extremely safe. I had no blade, and I could not get one. So I sunk deeper into my own mind, mentally willing myself to survive, hoping that it would be better when I got out.
Nobody ever asks me about how I suffer. How I suffer the shame and humiliation of not knowing what I did. Nobody told me until I got home, and then it was too late to reconcile with the other students. There's no sympathy for the ugly scars that have mutilated my face, forcing me to wear the balaclava to hide my shame. I obviously tattled on someone, but then couldn't say what it was. I alienated my own friends and alienated the authority – Umbridge. My mother, who pressured me so hard to tell the truth, will now hate me. I took the middle path. I helped but didn't finish it. I made Umbridge angry, and her displeasure will cut through me like a whip. Hate is a strong word. But she has been so strict on me, refusing fun, pressuring me to tell, and she has ruined my life.
I used to cry every day in my own dormitory, watching as my own tears silently fell on to the warm velvet covers of my own bed, and not being able to stop them. The first day I got back, I shut my hangings and turned myself inwards to face the wall, to block out and hide from the other four roommates. Nobody asked how I was feeling...or even talked to me at all...
Instinctively, I touch my face. I do it every day, maybe more than that. I trace out the terrible scars, the fading marks of purple blisters that spell out the word "sneak." The day I got back to my dormitory I donned a balaclava, with my head down in shame. It was past midnight to avoid seeing anyone. I croaked out the password to enter the Ravenclaw common room so I wouldn't be recognized. Inside my room, I twisted and turned in my sleep, worrying about what would happen the next day...
There's a girl. Her name is Eloise Midgen. She thinks she has bad acne, and even tried to curse off her own pimples. But her acne problems pale in comparison to "sneak" carved all over my cheeks and nose. The first day back, I became the laughingstock, the running joke, of the whole class. Eloise even came to me and publicly laughed and insulted me. "I don't need to cover my face!" she beamed triumphantly. I told that bitch to shut up and go away, but the sting of the comment still hurt days afterward.
A week later, I found a Galleon in my special box. My hands shaking, I reached out to touch it, wondering why it was there. All my gold was in my gold bag. I slipped it into my pocket and felt it burn hot one day. I instantly looked at the Galleon, but I saw nothing change. Hours later, I was looking around for my best quill, which I had lost, on Cho's bed and found a Knut on her pillow. I heard her say there was Quidditch practice, but I knew she was lying. She didn't have practice that day. I never felt the Galleon burn hot again. On a later Hogsmeade trip, I spent it at Honeydukes on a bag of Acid Pops.
Those Acid Pops soon became my only source of curiosity. Lying in my bed at night, I would take one out and slowly lick it. I felt the tingling sensation of it burning my tongue. The first few times, I licked too quickly and burned my tongue through. I had to go to Madam Pomfrey, whose eyes furrowed as she stared at me, wondering what I was doing. I betrayed nothing, however, and stubbornly told her I took a Truth or Dare from my friends.
Now I stand and sit by Cho in body form only. I only stand near here. I no longer talk to her. She has been good enough to me to let me stand by her, which I am greatly thankful for. But I no longer live anymore. I only exist. My head is either bowed, I am crying in my own bed, or I am in class, solely focusing and concentrating on doing the incantation, and blocking out the chatter, dirty looks, and everything else.
Bad as Hogwarts may be, I'm terrified at what will happen when I get home...my mother has never been proud of me. In the deepest part of my heart, I know she won't be hugging and comforting me.
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Part 2 coming soon! Please review.