The Fire Dies Within
Red eyes surveyed the room in a moment, but returned to something that glimmered pathetically. The small wisps of smoke floated upwards, as only heat can as the dying glow of orange-red flames. Who had but a few flickers left in them. A strong sense of compulsion pushed him forwards, to kneel before the grate, to watch the struggling last few breaths of oxygen the fire had left in it. The burning embers looked like it was struggling, just as the man had ever since his encounter. His fearful encounter. Eyes steeled over like they usually were, but this time in a new sense. Not from anger, but from pain. Pain he had thought was repressed, but had been brought back in an instant. He blew lightly on the dying embers. They begged to either be brought back to life, or put to their misery, and were starting accumulate again, due to the fresh breath of air. Just like his emotions had been brought back to life. A thing he could not afford now. But he was paying dearly for putting it aside.
One simple breath, one simple minute, nothing was simple anymore. Just as the oxygen fueled fire, fear fueled life, both reactions to become greater things. But at the same time destroy lives. One breath of oxygen and one life. His life had destroyed so many others, just because of him. The thing he detested, abhorred. What he was becoming. No, what he had become. He was a spiteful, hatred filled man, no just a shell of a man, void of a real, full life. Because of his father's own hatred. Which fueled like a breath of oxygen, a raging fire of hatred for anything un-pure.
He was exactly what he despised. Something that tortured others to the point of devastation. Taunting them for being different, for lacking certain appeal, or just plain old being different. Or for the fact that they had made his life miserable until he was old enough to grow a real backbone and stand up for himself. Wizards had been making muggles lives terrible by flaunting their magic in the early days, but so cruelly taking back the gift they had so commonly shared up to that time where both races had betrayed each other. His father hated his mother for being a witch, therefore leaving her, and him. He was abandoned by a man who need not know him before he left and forgot about him. Hatred was the reason, hatred for things different. Well, the two weren't so different were they? Like father, like son.
With a stronger breath, he blew the dwindling flames out. With everything good, there is always too much of a good thing. Too much oxygen and the fire went out. The fire in his soul to demolish everything he so detested was only deterred, the path of the deconstructive fire moved. Onto what he truly, and purely hated. The fire had not died yet, but the cold was coming, just as rapidly as the dark had when the embers glowed no more.
Red eyes surveyed the room in a moment, but returned to something that glimmered pathetically. The small wisps of smoke floated upwards, as only heat can as the dying glow of orange-red flames. Who had but a few flickers left in them. A strong sense of compulsion pushed him forwards, to kneel before the grate, to watch the struggling last few breaths of oxygen the fire had left in it. The burning embers looked like it was struggling, just as the man had ever since his encounter. His fearful encounter. Eyes steeled over like they usually were, but this time in a new sense. Not from anger, but from pain. Pain he had thought was repressed, but had been brought back in an instant. He blew lightly on the dying embers. They begged to either be brought back to life, or put to their misery, and were starting accumulate again, due to the fresh breath of air. Just like his emotions had been brought back to life. A thing he could not afford now. But he was paying dearly for putting it aside.
One simple breath, one simple minute, nothing was simple anymore. Just as the oxygen fueled fire, fear fueled life, both reactions to become greater things. But at the same time destroy lives. One breath of oxygen and one life. His life had destroyed so many others, just because of him. The thing he detested, abhorred. What he was becoming. No, what he had become. He was a spiteful, hatred filled man, no just a shell of a man, void of a real, full life. Because of his father's own hatred. Which fueled like a breath of oxygen, a raging fire of hatred for anything un-pure.
He was exactly what he despised. Something that tortured others to the point of devastation. Taunting them for being different, for lacking certain appeal, or just plain old being different. Or for the fact that they had made his life miserable until he was old enough to grow a real backbone and stand up for himself. Wizards had been making muggles lives terrible by flaunting their magic in the early days, but so cruelly taking back the gift they had so commonly shared up to that time where both races had betrayed each other. His father hated his mother for being a witch, therefore leaving her, and him. He was abandoned by a man who need not know him before he left and forgot about him. Hatred was the reason, hatred for things different. Well, the two weren't so different were they? Like father, like son.
With a stronger breath, he blew the dwindling flames out. With everything good, there is always too much of a good thing. Too much oxygen and the fire went out. The fire in his soul to demolish everything he so detested was only deterred, the path of the deconstructive fire moved. Onto what he truly, and purely hated. The fire had not died yet, but the cold was coming, just as rapidly as the dark had when the embers glowed no more.