Drat! I Seclude Completely all Literature and Admit all Ingenious Monomaniato Entertaining Rowling.
Unlike You
I died once.
But that's not something I can tell people. They think I'm weird enough. But it's true. I had no heartbeat. I wasn't breathing. I was dead.
This happened years ago of course. On the day I was born. I was actually born dead. But somehow, I'm not dead any more. There must've been a really good healer that day.
Unfortunately, there were some physical side-effects to my death. Due to a lack of oxygen, my eyes bulged out of my head. They've never gone completely back to normal. People often make fun of my eyes, but it's not as though they understand why they're like this in the first place, so I don't let it bother me.
People are cruel. It's a fact I learned to accept long ago, when I was a very small child. People are cruel.
I am abnormal. I am odd, strange, and unlike you. Regardless of who you are and what you're like, I'm not like you. I am a freak. And people are cruel. The two facts I've never questioned, always known.
My mother, before she died, was a wonderful woman. A brilliant witch, talented, strong. Beautiful and powerful. Everyone loved her. She was also an amazing actress.
She was normal. And she was fake. She lived in a world of her own, really. She could never accept the fact that I wasn't like her. I wasn't talented, or outgoing, or popular. I was odd. She couldn't accept that. So she went crazy.
To the rest of the world, nothing changed. She was just Anita. But that was our act, you see. We were normal. In public we acted like a family. It was what I knew. Be an actress to the world. To me, it was normal to say "Bye Mummy, I love you," in public, to keep up appearences, but never any other time. If you asked anyone about us, they would say we were normal. Maybe we were, at first. But she hated me. She couldn't take it anymore. She went crazy.
I'm fourteen now. I'll be starting my 4th year of school in a few days. Until then, I have only this notebook to occupy my time. It isn't as though I have friends to talk to.
I wish sometimes that I could see Skyler again, my baby sister. But Darren (Or "Daddy," as he is refered to in public) didn't want to have to take care of a baby. And I was so young. I was only nine, I couldn't raise a child on my own. I could take care of myself, as I always had, but I couldn't keep her too. I hope the adoption agency found her a nice family. A family that loves her.
("Mummy NO! Don't, no, stop it Mummy you're hurting her! She's only a baby!")
Anita was a wonderful woman. In the eyes of the world. I only ever called her "Mummy" when she was hurting me, or hurting Sky. But that hurt me too.
I was a victim as a child. I was singled out, teased, alone. I was so young. But people are cruel. I got used to it after a while. But my soul was already broken.
("Freak")
That's all I'll ever be. That's what the kids used to call me in primary school. It's what my mother called me. It's what I am.
But why should I try to conform to how people want me to be? It's what my mother did. It's what my mother wanted me to do. And I hated my mother.
("Mummy what are you doing? No, Mummy, stop, you're hurting me!"
"I'll teach you to disrespect me you little brat!"
"I was asleep Mummy! What did I say? Let go of me, you're hurting me!"
--Apparently, Anita had been trying to wake me up, and I had said something offensive in my sleep. I awoke with her dragging me out of bed by my hair, completely confused as to what I had done.
XxXxX
"Bye sweetheart, have a great day at school!" she smiled sweetly at me as though I wasn't lying at the bottom of the stairs, bleeding where my head hit the banister.
"Bye Mummy, I love you." She had opened the door. We slipped into our roles. Loving mother and daughter. On the floor there were piles of the hair that had ripped from my head. My body was already starting to bruise from being thrown down the stairs. I had to be careful not to bleed on the carpet. I didn't have time to clean it up. I was feeling a little dizzy.
She blew me a kiss and walked out the door.)
I was fine with it when she was hurting me. That I could cope with. That was normal. It was how things were. But Skyler was born when I was eight years old. She was an angel. I remember calling her my dislexic mushroom. Anita was already going crazy though. She would hit baby Skyler as though it would make her stop crying, or make her listen and obey my mother. She was only a baby. Less than a year old. She deserved better.
I'm almost a fourth year. It's been five years and nobody's figured it out. A few people know that my mother died when I was nine, and that I was there. They say "Sorry," as though it's something I'm upset about. Nobody's figured it out.
Of course I was "there" when my mother died. I couldn't let her hurt Skyler the way she hurt me.
Nobody's figured it out. I would've thought it was obvious.
My name is Luna Lovegood. I am a freak. I am writing this in invisible ink, charmed to only be visible to me. I killed my mother.