This story is dedicated to my teacher at my school, who has always been there for me and motivated and inspired me. He's my role model.
The dangerously thin boy aimlessly wandered around the park for a third time, emerald eyes downcast. He wore a mere shirt and jeans, along with a pair of passably fair shoes; at least in the boy's eyes it was. The clothes held several large, gapping holes, allowing the rough cold air to run through the body, ferociously giving the boy's insides an everlasting chill. On his jeans were a few slashes, all from the knife slashes he had received from his so-called relatives. Dried blood caked part of it, but wasn't too evident to result in curious questions and peculiar ideas.
However, the teen's clothing was barely noticeable when taking into account the boy's natural appearance. His face possessed several large and ugly bruises, ranging from shades of blue and purple, indicating how severe they were. His nose was in a rather awkward position, noticeable, yes, but no one had bothered to query him of it. It was obviously broken.
But still, that wasn't all, the glasses. The one thing that gave him sight to his world. These glasses generously gave him a scant bit of what the world was to him. He could barely make things out for what they are, for they were too old, but miraculously survived with this flaw. If this was not worse enough, the left glass was cracked: it had been stepped on. Cracks in the glass made things appear differently as to what it truly was, and this only led to the boy's disadvantage. The frame was slightly damaged, resulting in it being in an awkward position when placed on the boy's face.
But, there was one thing that possessed so much significance to be made worthy of competition of all the boy's flaws. And that was his eyes. If you were to merely look into them, you would see. See a scant bit of what pain he had miserably experienced, the things he witnessed that some elderly would not be able to handle, the sights he endured. You would see all that if you were to merely make eye contact with him. See all that in a mere second. What he witnessed in hours and days at a time, you would see in a mere second.
If you were to extensively search his eyes, you would know. Know that he saw just too much for one his age. Know that he witnessed what he should not have. Know that some of his experiences immensely towered yours. Know that he never got the childhood he had been denied of, so long desired for. Know that he experienced powerful emotions beyond his control of every second of every minute of every hour of every day of every week of every month of every year. You would become knowledgeable of all this. And for this to become accomplished, especially with one as young as him…it's simply amazing. Amazing that the boy possesses so much. So much that it exceeds all his classmates' if put into one.
His eyes were so worn out. They had seen the meaning of life, what life has in store for one, and what life can do to you. He was existing proof of what life could do to you if you were not strong enough to endure it. His eyes were enveloped with lines. Deep, permanent lines that only arrive to a person when they have experienced so much.
This boy suffered immensely inside. Inside his heart, his soul, his mind. But he simply refused to allow it to show. Out of pure willpower, he had created walls around his emotional side. These protected his thoughts, feelings, emotions, ideas…all of that. These walls possessed such great strength, toughness, and endurance that the boy was reassured that no one would ever break through them. The walls strength was what the boy wished he had, desired for. He wished he himself possessed this much power. He craved for it. He held inside a thirst so powerful that screamed at him for this power. But, he was not sure if he would ever get the power and quench the everlasting thirst.
The boy continued to walk around the park, not oblivious to the fact that he would not be granted permission to walk freely for a long while. He was aware, he merely wanted to breathe in fresh, clean, cool air. Allow his lungs to breathe deeply, taking in deep breaths, holding them in for as long as humanly possible, then methodically releasing it with a heavy sigh.
He needed help. Emotional help, physical help, mental help. He was like a person in the middle of the desert, regretfully possessing a great thirst for water. He was so broken, so broken inside. Life had crudely done this to him. He now understood that life was not a game. Life was unfair. Oh yeah, he learned that a long time ago…when he was barely a year old. Yes, life was unfair. Cruel, cold, heartless, mercilessly eating away at his soul till barely anything remained, and that soon would disparate without help. He needed help. He just hoped he would get it soon enough. Before it was to late.
This boy, believe it or not, is 16-year old Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived.
So what do you guys think? I worked pretty diligently on it. I personally think it's a lot better than my other fics…which I may be removing, so you know. I really need help with this, I'm just starting with no real plot in mind. But tell me something…how is this, considering this was written by a 12-year old? I'm sorry I haven't been updating my stuff lately…my life's been outta control, literally, ups and downs and all that.