Disclaimer: Characters belong to J.K. Rowling; not I. I wish...
AN: This fic is set in the mind of Sirius Black during his time in Azkaban. A look into a mind touched by a Dementor.
"I think you fail to realize the magnitude behind all of this." He stated with a sneer. His dark eyes laced with hatred and fear of the world around him. "You and I are wanted men. Cast out by society for crimes they believed we committed."
Bitterness. That's what was sewed into those words. Strung together with the need to rip out of his skin. Giving to them what they claimed he was. What I was. A murderer.
As simple as that. We were cold, blooded killers. But I wouldn't. Won't allow myself to believe it. I am innocent. The man with such despair and regret in his eyes wouldn't hurt a fly. Not consciously.
"And that's the point you fail to see." He was barking at me. "I'm not always consciously aware of my being. My state of mind. For all I know, I could have..." He shuddered. I knew he couldn't say the words. He is not a murderer.
"I am!" His dark pupils are larger than life. "I am. You weren't there. You were never there. You could have been, but you chose not to be." His syllables cut deep. Deeper than any self mutilation I could ever do to stop the pain I brought upon him.
"I've changed." He continued, those deep blue eyes sober as the day he was born. "I'm not the boy, the care-free idiot, you once knew. I've done things I'm not proud of, but content with. Things I had to accomplish, for reasons I know you will not comprehend."
That's when I punched the wall. Blood splattered from my broken knuckles and flowed freely down the white paint; pooling at my feet. How dare he tell me he knows I will not understand. I've been in prison for years! For crying out loud. To hell with his superior knowledge on how the human mind works. Fuck that shit! I was streaming out smoke that would have brought any normal man to his knees; begging, pleading, crying to make me stop such an attack of words and emotion.
But he wasn't even fazed.
Didn't bat an eye.
Didn't break down were he sat.
Just continued to stare, unmoving, taking one gulp after the other of his Firewhiskey.
When I finished, he smiled. A wicked grin that lit up those almost black orbs he called eyes. This light dwelled both in cheer and devastation, and for a brief moment I thought he was going to kill me. I could picture him leaping off the mattress. Feel the pain course through my spine as it collided with the wall. Taste the dryness that etched my lips from the lack of air flowing down my windpipe. Then there was blood. The crimson liquid dripped into my eyes as sharp claws dug into my flesh.
My vision blurred, and it dawned on me that he never moved from his position. His lips parted; he was speaking again. I knew I had to listen. His words meant whether I would live or die.
"Stop being a fool, relax. Why would I kill my creator?"
a/n I'm going to do something I normally don't do...and that is have an author's note, so tell me what you think. I wrote this in a spand of two hours and at work. I just couldn't stop. There might be more that pop up every once in awhile, depending on my mood, but for now, this is the only one. It's complete. Unless you all want some more. :O) Thanks for reading.