Thanks to Sacred Satanism and GhostOfYou, who are the only ones reviewing… XD, but please do review! I know you want to… Just say what you think about my story. Please?
"Cause at five o'clock they take me to the Gallows pole,"
So here I am, Harry Potter, the boy who lived, well that is going to be for sure. The boy who lived. Lived but died, tragically, I know my death sentence, I know the place, and I know the … I do not want to think about it, I just cannot handle it, the wretched soul of mine, the tangled nails of devotion, my mind is absurd, I cannot focus on anything right at the moment. I am trying to hold on very tight, but it is hard, my knees are weak; I feel the hard stony and cold floor, ithit me just like that. I feel my face bash against it too.
The gallows pole, I thought, gallows…pole… I am going to have a noose around my neck, strangling me till I give into my destiny and …experience the truth of death… fly away from this cruel world I was born into, the wicked hands of the earth will stop holding my heavy legs, I will be free, no worries nothing… That is actually the point, nothing, nothingness, emptiness, darkness, meaningless, oblivion, unconsciousness what will I do with all of those expressions?
Who will be there to comfort me, or will I ever feel again? What if there really is an after life? What if? What if I am just there, feeling nothing, not thinking of anything? What if, yes the question shall always be there, floating in the air, haunting the people with questions no one can answer, the dead people cannot speak, not even the brightest men or women can answer these.
If there really is God, he cannot speak for those who seek the truth for these miserable and depressing questions, would he?
They are just there… haunting the humankind forever…forever and a day. Always, bothering your mind, making the weakest ones cry, they do not make me cry, they make me more likely depressed, angry and making myself lose control over my temper.
The iron door creaked open, and a face I could not recognize appeared and smirked at my poor conditions, nearly all of the time in this cell I had spend on the floor.
"I have a guest for you…" his tone was unsympathetic and aristocratic; he had an accent from Ireland. He had orange hair and a long beard that he was stroking with his left hand; he had a ring on his middle finger, a silver one, big and with an emerald oval stone in the middle finger.
Then it hit me as if some one had slapped some common sense to my face, I recognized his face now, I just looked at him, breathless, no words were able to come out.
It could not be, it was impossible I thought he was dead. Impossible, insane…
It could not be him.
Short, but sharp. Please review!