Chapter Eleven

Into the Abyss.

The lights have gone out.

Its dark.

I believe I've read somwhere that the darkness comes when evil arrives.

It must've been a good book if I'd bothered to remember it.

When I close my eyes the black disappears and my mind and all of my senses are completely taken over by red flames.

Sometimes I make a picture with these flames. A face with nice familiar features is what I like.

Sometimes I make believe to myself that that face is real and will come and touch my own face. Give me a reason to stop gashing wounds into my flesh until I bleed.

Red Crimson.

The Wine of the Immortal.

My eyes are closed and that face of flames is there. Smiling in a kind sedative smile. Eyes that are clear and normal brown. The way the earth is when I'm taken to walk outside.

Hands that are softer than mine. With the ink-stained delicate fingers.

Lips that should be stern and thin, such as the strict repressed horn-rimmed glasses that rest upon the cheek bones. Lips that are plush red and full, seductive and so completely untainted.

I want to be able to touch this vision and fill it with the filth that is etched on my hands.

There is someone calling me.

They move clumsily in the dark.

I don't really want to think of anything.

So I won't.

I'll sit here until the darkness consumes me.

Works for me.

The lights have come on again.

They blinded me at first.

People were apparently shocked to see me sitting so calmly still and same without a difference as they had left me.

My eyes feel as if they're burning.

There are people trying to explain to me as to why the lights, which are candles went out.

I want to scream at the top of my lungs that I don't care.

But that would require energy that I do not have.

That woman with the red hair is back.

She has that haunted drowning look that I think I share, about her. She seems so sad and troubled, as the awkward silence wehave become accustomed to settles in.

The other people have told me the War has begun. Seeing this disturbed woman proves it.

I venture to ask a question.

"Who are you?"

My vocal cords feel as if they've been oxidized with the lack of use.

She lookes stunned.

"Your mother..." Softly as if breaking a spell.

"...no, who are you?"

Does she even know?

Is she like me?

"I... I... I've never... thought about it before."

She leans toward me.

"Is this why? Why you don't speak, don't eat, don't sleep... because you don't know who you are as a human being?"

I can't help but stare at her.

If that was as simple as what she said I would run into her arms and be a tearful child once again.

I wonder if I ever did that.

She's staring still, waiting for an answer.

"No... I know who I am... I know who I've been... and who I will become. It is not a matter of choice nor that foul 'Fate'..."

My throat tightens.

"... I ... I ... I'm tired."

I wonder if she understands.

She stares at me, then shakes her head. The flames dance and I wish to be dead.

No more words are spoken.

A kiss on the forehead.

An unsaid goodbye.

the man witht the astrained mustache and freaky accent has told me that due to the War-with-the-Death-Eaters, I mustn't stay at St. Mungo's anymore.

I told him I hope that people wouldn't die of laughter when reading the history books on the name.

I recieved a funny look.

I had meant the "War."

The woman or rather "Mother" is here alone to collect me.

She explains that too many different people all at once may rehabilitate me.

I don't care, so I am not bothered.

She tells me that we're going to take a "Portkey"...

Silence. Until I asked

"Is that suppose to get me to reveal some sort- of repressed memory or something? Because its not."

Sarcasm. Like a razorblade for the suicidal.

Her blue eyes narrow. But reaches out to touch me as the clock on the Ward's wall goes insane.

A sudden shift on the earth and it is as though the colours and elements collide together.

When the sensation around my navel and the whirling halts, I stagger and fall flat on my face.

The cool tile feeling wet and sticky makes it apparent I obviously broke something.

It hurts.

It really hurts.

Getting up on my feet I sway.

Dizzy.

Pain.

Fuck. No wonder I went crazy.

A/N: To be a bitch, I will not write anymore until I recieve ten more reviews.