Okay, so I wrote this weird little thing mostly after being forced into a car trip. Silly, I know, but if it works, it works. So i wrote most of this thing in a car. In the back seat. With almost no elbow room to type. Ouch.
Humans are all sadistic bastards. Cunning, sometimes, conniving, and manipulative. Dragging their own along just to watch and laugh at their discomfort and anger, and glares, and tears. We don't mean to, but everyone sees themselves first. Thus, we are sadistic, selfish creatures. None of us deserve to be alive. We're all – all – evil, in that we care only for ourselves and our own interests. Why, I ask, do I know and say these things? Well, lovelies, that's a pretty nonexistent story, if you ask me, and the world's too fucked up to give a damn. We're all damned, even the most beloved, treasured, and careful. We think we care – buy we don't. And I know enough to realize. Companionship you may have, but love… do we really know love? How do we know what it is? How do we know what it feels like? The answer? We don't. Simple. Humanity is too fucked up to realize that most of us are so simple, we manipulate our own feelings to solve the problem of loneliness. Loneliness that we don't even know. All so artificial, so sacrificial, so surreal, so… superficial. We're all fakes. Our masks we hold up. A lie every day.
We're all liars, and we don't deserve a thing. Betrayal. Pain. Thoughts. Anger. Happiness. Compassion. Sadism. Hidden. Under masks of false happiness, or nonchalance, or apathy. Apathetic monsters.
And worse of all, we're all the same.
Humanity is a cursed race. Angered the gods, or nature, whatever you believe, we angered them by our selfish and uncaring nature. We have falsified the world. Really, there isn't anything to worry about. We're all fakes, and we think we know, we like to see ourselves as omniscient, but, really, we. Are. Idiots. Book smart, street smart, logical, yes. But philosophically smart, we all have our own opinions, each as weak and unrealistic and false as the next. For all I know, my philosophies are the same, though I'd like to think of them as the blunt, hurtful, truth.
Thus, I can't bring myself to feel guilty for condemning the world to this fate. As I take my dying breath I see a vision of a desolate place, where nothing exists, and yet, all is peaceful. No human life anywhere, other than broken, bloody bodies, laying mangled on the bloodstained grass and staring blankly, wide-eyed up at the sky. Animals all around, mostly terrify ones, with red eyes and long teeth dripping with blood, and fur blurry as they jump from carcass to carcass. Phoenixes soar through the sky and screech sadly, and the merpeople are no more, as it had been for several centuries. Humans – no more, as all human-like creatures, save maybe trolls, and extremely stupid things. This place, the feeding ground of the dark, with the dark smoldering castle looming ahead just about a mile, is forever preserved, as a reminder to all human eyes that look down or up upon it. Forever preserved to show the flaws and downfall of the race. We brought this upon ourselves, you know.
Voldemort, I know, had long since tried multiple suicide attempts, however, as he had already achieved his coveted immortality, none of them worked. Now, he is nothing but a pathetic creature with nothing left. After he realized that eternity meant that even when everyone was gone, he wouldn't be. When that day finally came, he turned his want on himself and cast the Killing Curse that sped at him, glowing a sickly green color that sickened him to the roots of his soul, and when it hit, all he felt was pain. So much pain. He lay there for what seemed like years, but was only a fraction of a second, and stood up again before shooting dark glares around him. He had even tried such mundane methods that the muggles of old times past used, and by the time he had totally and completely withdrawn into the shriveled up thing he now is, his body was littered with heavy scarring. Ritual after ritual, curse after curse, knife after knife, rope after rope, pill after pill, drug after drug...! He could no longer attempt to count all of his suicide attempts, because trying to die happened at least once every two hours.
A thousand years ago, he had destroyed that Potter boy, and had been jubilant, and had even gotten so drunk, that he had found himself in a room with lots of scantily dressed Death Eaters. Shudder. After that, he had watched the world condemn itself further, and under his rule, he drove it to its demise. All his fault. Still, he couldn't help but think 'as it should be'.
Somehow, instinctively, I know that this is the future, and that everything is better off this way.
I smirk at Voldemort uncharacteristicly, and his eyes widen and his brow furrows a bit in confusion. I smile a bitter, sad smile, before the last breath escapes my lips, and they eventually turn blue from the cold air that so fitted the final battle.
LIke I said, this is really weird, and I'd feel so honored if you were to review and tell me what you think of this... btw... traces of slash, pretty much nonexistent, though in the last paragreph where it said he awoke in a room with lots of scantily clad DE's could be taken as slash... I think that's it...
Cher-nesssss