Desert Rose By Dreamer's Dream
Prelude: Believe me...
The Malfoy manor was cold and empty. The creatures that lurked around it were indeed empty figures. Bodies without soles. Slaves forever to serve my wicked father. This is my story. The story of my despicable and embarrassing life. I shall tell all. Nothing to hide anymore. I have once feared Lucius, now I am fearless. I do not care what they all will say. I will tell you all about my child hood and how I meet her. The desert rose I have been aching to feel. The thorns make her beautiful. Believe me.... she is my life. Her existence is the only thing that took me away from the Malfoy Manor. The sound of her voice was my lullaby when I could not sleep. Her eyes were my light when I was consumed by darkness. Please listen.
Chapter 1: Painful artist
I was three when it first started. When I first felt pain. My father had his "guests" over to see me. To congratulate my mother and father of their new addition. I was the perfect son when I was two, at three I was nothing. I was in my room, my nanny reading her black lace romance novel close by. I had always been gifted in the arts, yet no one seemed to notice. I had just drawn my first portrait. It was messy and poorly drawn, by at three I thought it was the most beautiful thing two human hands could make. It was a portrait of the family. My gorgeous and innocent mother next to my strong and bold father and I. It looked like the perfect family and I wanted to show off my creation to everyone. I stood from the carpeted floor of my dark room and ran toward the door. My nanny didn't even notice. I believe she was still captivated by her sex novel. I ran down the stairs as fast as my week legs could go. My smile could have been measured. It was the first time I had smiled and apparently the last. I did not smirk and I didn't frown , I smiled. As I got to the parlor, my mom and dad were laughing at a joke Mr. Parkinson made a minute ago. As I ran through the entrance, the laughter stopped. Every eye in the room was on me. I didn't care. All I cared about was to show my father and mother the creation. I ran up to my father with a broad smile on my face and held up the picture. I could see my mother smile for a split second before her face turned stern. My father didn't even bother to look at it. His face was cold and unforgiving. My smile slowly vanished. I was still holding up the picture desperately trying to show my love for them. Tears welled up in my eyes but my father never glanced down. I turned to my mother. I attempted to show her the picture. She looked over at my father's mean face and knew that she could not look at it. Tears were now freely rolling off my eyes. I shock the picture in front of her face. Why won't she look at it?
"Mommy?" I said quietly through my tears. I turned to my father.
"Daddy?" and then it happened. It struck me like lighting. It hurt like hell. I had just been smacked in the face for drawing a picture. I was now his slave. I was on the floor, grabbing my cheek. I felt like crying out in pain. I felt like screaming and yelling, but that moment o learned the most important thing ever. Never cry. It will only come worst.
That night I almost died. For a three year old to experience so much pain wasn't healthy. My sweat, innocent blood was everywhere. I could see my mother at the door crying her jade eyes out. She was trembling and her hands were covering her mouth. I wanted so much just to be hugged. That is the reason I drew that damn picture. I wanted to be hugged. I wanted to be loved, but it never came. All that followed that drawing were punches and kicks and cuts.
As my father left my room, blood all over his cloak, I looked up to see my mother being dragged off. I could hear her screaming all the way down the hall. I wanted to help her. I wanted to do anything but lay motionless on the tile floor. I could hear strong, violent kicks. I was scared, alone, and innocent.
That night was a nightmare, and I wanted to never wake up, but I did. I woke up over and over and over again.
Prelude: Believe me...
The Malfoy manor was cold and empty. The creatures that lurked around it were indeed empty figures. Bodies without soles. Slaves forever to serve my wicked father. This is my story. The story of my despicable and embarrassing life. I shall tell all. Nothing to hide anymore. I have once feared Lucius, now I am fearless. I do not care what they all will say. I will tell you all about my child hood and how I meet her. The desert rose I have been aching to feel. The thorns make her beautiful. Believe me.... she is my life. Her existence is the only thing that took me away from the Malfoy Manor. The sound of her voice was my lullaby when I could not sleep. Her eyes were my light when I was consumed by darkness. Please listen.
Chapter 1: Painful artist
I was three when it first started. When I first felt pain. My father had his "guests" over to see me. To congratulate my mother and father of their new addition. I was the perfect son when I was two, at three I was nothing. I was in my room, my nanny reading her black lace romance novel close by. I had always been gifted in the arts, yet no one seemed to notice. I had just drawn my first portrait. It was messy and poorly drawn, by at three I thought it was the most beautiful thing two human hands could make. It was a portrait of the family. My gorgeous and innocent mother next to my strong and bold father and I. It looked like the perfect family and I wanted to show off my creation to everyone. I stood from the carpeted floor of my dark room and ran toward the door. My nanny didn't even notice. I believe she was still captivated by her sex novel. I ran down the stairs as fast as my week legs could go. My smile could have been measured. It was the first time I had smiled and apparently the last. I did not smirk and I didn't frown , I smiled. As I got to the parlor, my mom and dad were laughing at a joke Mr. Parkinson made a minute ago. As I ran through the entrance, the laughter stopped. Every eye in the room was on me. I didn't care. All I cared about was to show my father and mother the creation. I ran up to my father with a broad smile on my face and held up the picture. I could see my mother smile for a split second before her face turned stern. My father didn't even bother to look at it. His face was cold and unforgiving. My smile slowly vanished. I was still holding up the picture desperately trying to show my love for them. Tears welled up in my eyes but my father never glanced down. I turned to my mother. I attempted to show her the picture. She looked over at my father's mean face and knew that she could not look at it. Tears were now freely rolling off my eyes. I shock the picture in front of her face. Why won't she look at it?
"Mommy?" I said quietly through my tears. I turned to my father.
"Daddy?" and then it happened. It struck me like lighting. It hurt like hell. I had just been smacked in the face for drawing a picture. I was now his slave. I was on the floor, grabbing my cheek. I felt like crying out in pain. I felt like screaming and yelling, but that moment o learned the most important thing ever. Never cry. It will only come worst.
That night I almost died. For a three year old to experience so much pain wasn't healthy. My sweat, innocent blood was everywhere. I could see my mother at the door crying her jade eyes out. She was trembling and her hands were covering her mouth. I wanted so much just to be hugged. That is the reason I drew that damn picture. I wanted to be hugged. I wanted to be loved, but it never came. All that followed that drawing were punches and kicks and cuts.
As my father left my room, blood all over his cloak, I looked up to see my mother being dragged off. I could hear her screaming all the way down the hall. I wanted to help her. I wanted to do anything but lay motionless on the tile floor. I could hear strong, violent kicks. I was scared, alone, and innocent.
That night was a nightmare, and I wanted to never wake up, but I did. I woke up over and over and over again.