runaway
I'm just experimenting with a new writing style and it's obviously not perfect yet.
Title: Runaway
Characters: Harry Potter
Notes: Dark, Series of Drabbles
It’s easy to hide here with your eyes closed, your fingers flying under this drab sky like lost silk in raging seas, the screeching mandolin echoing down a pavement with wet cobblestones and the air is thick and gray and you’re choking but laughing too because this is the way you want it. If you close your eyes, you could bleed darkness, you could spew hate and pain and tears and nobody would see, if you just close your eyes you could dissipate somewhere, no where, everywhere; you’ve never been able to do it before but you can now, it’s your choice, your life and you feel safe under this sky with no eyes, in this city with no heart, where everything gray and piercing and it’s so easy to forget, to just forget, because this is how you want it to be and nobody can tell you otherwise.
All Harry wants to do is run and choke on his sobs in the semi darkness and when he cries, he wants it to be for himself, not for some ancient prophecy you don’t know or for shadows plastered on your walls you can’t even name, and when he cries he wants to wash his soul out, because that’s what he wants and is it so much to ask, when you’ve never had anything of your own anyway, there’s always another assignment lined up, like a never ending roll of paper that’s frayed and scribbled with ink but you didn’t bloody see that did you; the only thing you ever saw was someone who could pay your debts, someone who helped you sleep better at night, someone who fought the dragons with blood and guess what- you’re all empty, all out, there’s nothing left, not for you, not for anyone.
He knows it really isn’t all like that, that his mind is twisted and he’s sliding now, sliding into some sort of dark oblivion and he doesn’t know what to think anymore and it’s easy to think of running away, that endless pulsating need to run because that fills his brain like some sort of air balloon until there’s nothing left for anything else, until there’s nothing really there anymore, except the urge to run under these dark gray skies, to run to the ends of this earth and dive into the dark fathoms of the sea without ever looking back- knowing that whatever you left behind isn’t worth remembering and maybe one day, someday, the scars will fade and you’ll emerge healthy and whole and glistening with the sea and the skies will be blue and Harry will be able to look and laugh- yes laugh and not remember, not remember a thing at all.
Title: Runaway
Characters: Harry Potter
Notes: Dark, Series of Drabbles
It’s easy to hide here with your eyes closed, your fingers flying under this drab sky like lost silk in raging seas, the screeching mandolin echoing down a pavement with wet cobblestones and the air is thick and gray and you’re choking but laughing too because this is the way you want it. If you close your eyes, you could bleed darkness, you could spew hate and pain and tears and nobody would see, if you just close your eyes you could dissipate somewhere, no where, everywhere; you’ve never been able to do it before but you can now, it’s your choice, your life and you feel safe under this sky with no eyes, in this city with no heart, where everything gray and piercing and it’s so easy to forget, to just forget, because this is how you want it to be and nobody can tell you otherwise.
All Harry wants to do is run and choke on his sobs in the semi darkness and when he cries, he wants it to be for himself, not for some ancient prophecy you don’t know or for shadows plastered on your walls you can’t even name, and when he cries he wants to wash his soul out, because that’s what he wants and is it so much to ask, when you’ve never had anything of your own anyway, there’s always another assignment lined up, like a never ending roll of paper that’s frayed and scribbled with ink but you didn’t bloody see that did you; the only thing you ever saw was someone who could pay your debts, someone who helped you sleep better at night, someone who fought the dragons with blood and guess what- you’re all empty, all out, there’s nothing left, not for you, not for anyone.
He knows it really isn’t all like that, that his mind is twisted and he’s sliding now, sliding into some sort of dark oblivion and he doesn’t know what to think anymore and it’s easy to think of running away, that endless pulsating need to run because that fills his brain like some sort of air balloon until there’s nothing left for anything else, until there’s nothing really there anymore, except the urge to run under these dark gray skies, to run to the ends of this earth and dive into the dark fathoms of the sea without ever looking back- knowing that whatever you left behind isn’t worth remembering and maybe one day, someday, the scars will fade and you’ll emerge healthy and whole and glistening with the sea and the skies will be blue and Harry will be able to look and laugh- yes laugh and not remember, not remember a thing at all.