Do not question.
Story....
In life I often question, amid the screams and such, what next, what could life possibly do to me that is worse than this.
In this state, how can I save the world? I used to cry, then the tears left me as did the hope and the joy every kid my age should have.
I am a brooding, serious, and mature person. Am I supposed to be happy, hopeful and carefree?
In my dreams, in my nightmares, I only hear laughter in green lit sky of darkness. This laughter is not some past memory of some early happy memory. This laughter is cruel and mocking.
When all else fails, at night I know I'll hear the screams, the laughter and....the failure. Then I'll wake up...and stare at smiling faces. They torment me, I love them, though I know them not, yet they torment me.
Is eleven years old too young to have a death wish. To imagine a tall dreary tower to fall- to plummet from the sky into dark oblivion?
That raced my mind when he kept beating me, as the blood smeared into my clothes sticking to my battered skin. I am child, a torn soul a small frame, a hero.
I'm not supposed to know this, yet it was easy to deduce. My uncle rips me apart from the inside and before I called out to some kindly outer force to take me away from this Inferno. No one came.
They come every night. Like a puppet I am left on the stage to please strangers. Do they know my name? Can't I walk off and leave this tormented hell?
They take me away. And I almost prayed, I nearly cried as I saw the thick envelope. The green letters so plain yet they were my ticket. My freedom.
I'm more than a face. I am more than what they want me to be. I am Harry Potter. I'm not the "Boy-Who-Lived". The boy they ignored, the one they left to fall into a dark hell, what they have in their hands will be their own demise.
I am the light of this world and the darkness in the shadows of my own beacon. They will trust me. I laugh, I can do nothing more. Yet I know the power withing lurks. So I could stop all the pain.
Yet....
He takes me again. In pain I murmur a wish. The power lurks I know, yet to use it is betrayl into a world I don't wish to know. A world I want to hide in.
And Yet...
That small streak of hope showed up as I was left in London. That hope swelled a bit when in Diagon Alley. I can control my power, so Harry Potter was not at Diagon Alley. And it was not Harry Potter who bought a snowy owl and a serpent.
It was Harry Potter who died.
Because Harry Potter is not the "boy-who-lived.
He is only an enigma
and he is the darkness
that light seeks to hide.