(Poem- Bangin' my Rusty Cage written by suicide denied)
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(Beat my spirit raw
tore my insides out
dejected my soul
left my heart to rot)
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chains...
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blood...
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a dirty dank cold stone cell...
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(Choking on failure
sullen tears of madness
drowning in sorrow
dying from this sadness)
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harsh cold laughter...
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a hissing voice...
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"You knew I would come for you. You knew you couldn't hide behind Dumbledore forever. You knew you would have to face reality someday, didn't you boy?"
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something whistling through the air towards a grounded figure
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swiiiish-CRACK!
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(Torn and bitter
dwell in realms of hate
Suffocating fears
that you helped create)
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"You are nothing without your friends to save you. You cannot defeat me. Fourteen years. Fourteen years of hell you put me through, and here's my chance to get a little, compensation..."
a flash of blue light, a crumbling wall.
a leg caught in the way.
CRUNCH!
"AAAAAAAAAAAGH!"
silence...
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...cold red eyes staring through the dark, getting closer. closer. closer...
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...closer...
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...closer...
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..."You. Will. Pay."
CRACK!
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(In my sea of misery
I bang my rusty cage
Years of acid tears
Made it this way
I'm gonna bust out
one of these days
learn how to swim
and you'll fuckin' pay...)
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FLASH!
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I sat up straight, panting, gasping for breath. My lungs felt like they were on fire.
A cool breeze blew against me, and I suddenly shivered. My clothes were plastered to my body by cold sweat.
Something caught my eye, and I looked down at my hand. it was covered in a dark crimson substance.
Blood.
I stared at it a moment as realization of what it was sunk into my foggy mind.
But where did it come from?
I looked up and around me. There were headstones all around me, and I was puzzled for a moment until I realized I was sitting in a graveyard.
A graveyard? But- how?
It was sunny out, and I had to squint to see my surroundings.
I tried standing up, but fell with a cry of pain as my back seemed to erupt in agonizing, burning pain.
When my vision cleared and my breath returned, I looked down at my torso, only to see that nothing looked wrong. I reached a hand around tentatively and rubbed my back. With a hiss of pain I retracted my arm and looked at my fingers. There was fresh blood.
And then I remembered the scar.
The scar.
And with this revelation came back memories of the past year and a half or so of my life; it was as if a dam had crumbled in my mind and these images rushing past behind my eyes were floodwaters desperate to escape.
I put my hands over my face to slow the onrush of images, but it only seemed to speed them up.
A house in ruins.
Rushing figures in white.
Cell after cell after cell of screaming bleeding dying captives.
Pain.
Torture that would sometimes last all day and well into the night.
Sorrow.
Loss.
"You can never see them again, boy. NEVER. Let's see how long you can go without breaking. Without your precious friends..."
Anger.
Hatred.
A burning desire to get away, then come back more powerful than anyone would ever expect and kill the demon who put me through hell. Who put so many people through hell.
Determination.
Sitting in a cold cell plotting, planning, wishing.
Teaching myself to disapperate.
Breaking wood.
Shattering stones.
Flying spells and curses.
Pain.
Anger.
Screams and shouting.
Getting far enough away to disapperate.
Running.
With constant hissing laughter echoing in the back of my mind.
Running for days to get away from everything.
My pain.
My fear.
Myself.
Never looking back, never looking forward.
Never daring to use any magic in case it led anyone to me.
Faces. So many faces.
Walking into Glasgow.
Meeting Sam, Derrin, and Tom.
How Sam and Derrin had always reminded me somewhat of the friends I had left behind.
Then Ron and Hermione's faces appeared in my mind, so bright and clear that everything else became meaningless.
But then, another, more hazy memory bubbled up to the surface.
Slowly, I opened my eyes. My lips parted in molasses-like motion.
They were there. Last night. I saw them. Right before I passed out. But--how? Why?
Well, the 'why' was easy enough. They were my best friends. But----
So many questions and thoughts raced through my mind it hurt.
It all stopped suddenly as I heard a soft moan beside me.
Looking over, I saw Derrin lying on his back on the ground next to me. He was unconscious, but waking up.
I slid myself over until I could touch him. My back still hurt terribly. The scar must have ripped open or something. But that wasn't important now. I reached over and touched Derrin's shoulder lightly.
"Derrin," My voice seemed even more strained and scratchy then before. "Derrin, wake up, mate."
He groaned again and opened his eyes reluctantly. As he seemed to become more aware of his surroundings, he sat up suddenly, making me jump.
"What the bloody 'ell 'appened?" He said so fast I had to think about what he said before I understood a word of it.
"Uh, I dunno." I shrugged slightly, winced and sat still. I hadn't completely lied to him. I knew what caused whatever happened, but I sure as hell didn't know what had happened to us.
"I swear to God," he murmured, looking around. "I am never, ever goin' to a graveyard EVER again!"
He proceeded to ramble on about 'bloody ghouls tryin' to kill us all' as he slowly got to his feet. He stopped when he saw me still sitting on the ground.
"What's up? Don't you want to get the hell out of here? Why're you still on the ground?"
I looked up at him and thought for a second before saying slowly, "Well, I would love to waltz right out of this mess, but it seems I got the rotten end of the deal."
he gave me a wyrd look. "What're you ta--" He noticed the now dried blood on my hand. "Where'd that blood come from?" he asked tentatively.
I pointed to my back. Derrin slowly stepped around me, almost scared of what he would find. When he saw the patterned bloody rips in the back of my shirt he gasped, jumped backwards, then swore as he landed in a bush with spikes.
"'the hell happened to you!"
I chuckled a little at his reaction, then said. "It must be those bloody ghosts, eh?" And then, after a pause, "Does it look bad?"
Derrin was staring at my back.
"We need to get you to a hospital, mate. It looks deep. But, how is it in a pattern like this? I mean, I know we're in Scotland and all, but what's withthe celtic runes cut into your back?"
I shrugged again. The pain was starting to ebb away. Slowly.
"Come on mate. I'll help you." He stepped towards me and put out his hand. "We need to get out of here and get you some help."
I slowly reached up and grasped his hand. The pain couldn't be too bad once I got up, could it?
He pulled me to my feet, which was an excrutiating process in and of itself. But once I was on my feet, leaning against Derrin for support, the pain seemed to dull a lot, proving my predictions right.
Me: 1. Voldemort: ... Never mind.
Derrin held me up as we hobbled together out of the graveyard.
After what seemed hours, we arrived at a street. Cars drove by, people walked down the sidewalks, all seemingly too interested in their own affairs to notice us. Derrin tried calling out to a few, but they all ignored him.
We both glanced up as we heard a large group of people walking straight toward us. They were all American.
"Oy! Think you could give us a hand?" Derrin waved at those leading the group. They continued chatting on.
"Oh my God! Did you see how cute that tour guide was when he led us through that castle? And that accent! Whew! I love it here!"
One of the girls was talking animatedly to her friend.
"HEY! WE COULD USE SOME HELP HERE!" Derrin shouted, now completely frustrated. I was silent, my mouth slightly agape. A thought had just occurred to me. A horribly frightening revelation.
Derrin grew wide-eyed as the group came so close they were bound to run us over if hey didn't move.
"Watch where you're goin', people! Can't you see I have an injured friend here?"
They continued to ignore him.
My breath was coming in short gasps now. I was beginning to hyperventilate.
Derrin winced as the front line of people came, expecting an impact.
But none came.
They were walking through us.
Derrin yelped in shock.
We were ghosts.