Lily sat on her bed and let her eyes wander about her room. The walls were a pale orange color, a stuck place between pink and yellow. Coral, some called it, but Lily could see the individual pigments of color... and that's why she never painted over it, even as her favorite color changed, and faded to a dull gray, reminiscent of the sky outside of her window so often.
She had watched the weather of the world scroll about her television screen. It hit ninety with blazing sun in New York and was a pleasant eighty-three and partly cloudy in California. But not in London. No, here it was seventy-two and cloudy, with thunderstorms, and hail, and all these other things. It was hurricane season, and England had the brunt of it. How much did that suck?
You want to feel pain, Evans?
Give me your best shot.
Everything was gray now. Colorless. Boring. Dead. Her hair had faded to a dull maroon for lack of sun. She was paler than usual, if that's possible. Her parents were really starting to seem old. Her small garden out front was dead. Petunia had faded from existence with her new husband. No owls to or from her friends could get out through the constant storms– and at that, her owl was at Alice's place. Lily would've even welcomed a stalker-esque love letter from James!
But she wasn't getting that. She wasn't getting anything. She couldn't even get through her summer homework. There was nothing that could keep her occupied. So often, she lay on top of her grayscale blanket on her bed and turned on her radio, and just listened. Whether the music was crappy or awesome, lyrical or instrumental, deep or shallow. She just listened. She breathed it.
It was all she breathed for these days. She couldn't stand listening to her parents gossip about other family members, friends, and coworkers. She couldn't stand not seeing Petunia, even if her sister hated her. She couldn't stand the constant gray. She couldn't stand being alone. She couldn't stand the silence. Silence, as one song said, is a scary sound.
One night, there was a blackout. Her parents fussed for the first hour, and soon Lily found herself trapped in their living room, the entire place lit up by candles and well-placed flashlights. It was hot and musty, and Lily did not like the overkill smell of twenty different scented candles all lit at once, though her mother was enjoying it. To amuse themselves without the television, they talked and chattered and gossiped about everyone under the sun.
You want to feel pain, Evans?
Give me your best shot.
At about midnight, when her parents were getting tired and going over things they had already said twice, Lily decided that she had had enough of this. She could not get her music, her only radio being electric, and what her friends and classmates were doing during this weighed heavily on her. Was it different in the Wizarding World, when your parents were magical? Did they even know there was a blackout?
Lily knew she belonged there. She knew this was not her place, suffering from boredom and being ignored. Her only source of fun was gone. It was a weak source at that. Vulnerable. She needed her friends. She needed sunlight. She needed to laugh at a prank on a Slytherin before reprimanding the Marauders. She needed to be chased after by James. It was a part of her life, and she felt empty without it.
Empty. Cold. Grey. Dead. Dead? Hibernating, asleep surely. Not dead. It wasn't dead until it couldn't be reawakened. Lily knew that eventually her old, fiery spark would come back. One day, when the clouds parted and the owls flew through, she would be her old self again. She would be back to the old, rule-abiding, extremely humored, optimistic Lily.
But not now. Now she was in a state of depression, and blue skies did not seem very near. Sighing, she stealthily moved up the stairs and into her bathroom. She took a razor... the kind she used to shave her legs, and gently brushed it against the either very fine or nonexistent hair of the inside of her left wrist. It was warm against her skin, but sent a chill up her arm. It felt like danger... what she lived by in the Wizarding world.
You want to feel pain, Evans?
Give me your best shot.
That had been pain. It was her first taste of Cruciatus pain. But why could she not remember writhing on the floor? How could she not recall the throbbing that ran through her veins? Why had her mind blockaded against that? All she felt now was numbness. Lily hadn't seen blood or felt pain in a while. She was always tripping, but she hadn't been running. Always nicking, but always wearing pants, and having no need to shave.
She took her aim, and loaded the stats of it in her mind. Inside, left wrist. Just right of major veins. Steady... and she got her taste of blood, in a small cut, an inch long, three thin lines, one on top of the other. There was blood this time. There was proof of her pain. It would scar. But where was the pain? Why did she still feel numb? She counted the seconds. One... two... There it was. Sharp and metallic, it surrounded the area, went up her fingers, and jumped into her brain.
For now, the grey had ceased. Lily dripped blood down her wrist, and wondered at it. Blood was such a bright red. The color had returned to her life, ever momentarily. It was addicting, and heart-wrenching, and she loved every minute of it. After that night, the clouds cleared, and there was never a time Lily needed more pain than she got.
You want to feel pain, Evans?
Give me your best shot.
Author's Note: Yes, I know. I haven't updated anything. Well, I haven't been writing any fanfiction but hopefully that will change. Here's your strange little oneshot. Well, review please!