Author: sweetly-cruel PM
My body has been drained of blood and tears. It seems I've shed too many tears in my life, and there's been too much bloodshed.' Cho-Cedric. Very short, very vague.Rated: Fiction T - English - Tragedy - Cho C. - Words: 772 - Reviews: 2 - Published: 10-05-03 - id: 1547449
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Author's Note: I've had HORRIFIC writer's block recently, at least as far as HP is concerned. And, as they say in Disney movies, I've learned something… I'm going to stick to one-chapter stories from now on. I'm writing an ongoing story in my spare time and am focusing most of my energies on that.
Anyway. this is weird beyond words. It's set sometime after Cedric's death, and is really quite pointless, because instead of. giving some background into their relationship I just explore the aftermath. I might well write a companion piece at some point. There are themes of self-harm, too. So basically, it's very depressing. And Cho is less than coherent, given that she's, like, totally grief-stricken. (Sound of dozens of readers pressing 'Back' button.)
…And I'll shut up now. Please review, even though I know it's not very good.
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I've forgotten what it feels like to sleep. I've forgotten what it feels like to breathe, and I've forgotten what it feels like to have blood pumping through my veins.
The blood has ceased to be. It has stopped flowing; I've none left. My body has been drained of blood and tears. It seems that I've shed too many tears in my life, and there's been too much bloodshed. There is no liquid left in my body. I will not stop shrivelling up until I become completely dry.
Only then will they be satisfied.
I could bring the liquid to my body, though. I could delay the inevitable; I could toss drink down my stale throat and feel it become moist again. It would have to be Muggle drink, of course, for I cannot bear the sight, smell or taste of anything belonging to the world of magic. If wands didn't exist, if violent flashes of green light didn't exist. Then you wouldn't be gone. This would never have happened.
Or maybe it would have. Maybe the spell was a foil, maybe the Dark Lord was a mere instrument through which the predestined workings of karma were played. Maybe that wand could have been substituted for a knife, a gun, or even flames.
Maybe this is my fault.
I should never have let you get involved with me never it's my fault it's my fault I hurt everyone I always hurt everyone I should stay away from them all or God knows what'll happen to them it's me it's me I don't want it to be me I've always hated drawing attention to myself I want to blend in with the crowd I want him to be in the crowd I want to find him I'm sorry I'm sorry it's all my fault I'm sorry it should be me it should be me in that grave I wish it was me I'd give anything I'm sorry.
I reach down to pluck the rose. It isn't red, but yellow. I always wanted us to have yellow rose petals at our wedding. I wanted to carry a bouquet of pink and white but for the flower girls to scatter yellow petals. I told Marietta and she said it would clash.
I didn't ask you, naturally. I knew it would scare you, the fact that I was already deliberating over the colour scheme of our wedding when you hadn't even hinted towards proposing yet. We were still schoolchildren, with no idea of the alarming rate at which life can speed by, blurring the less significant moments.
If you could wake up, then I would ask you. If you could wake up, then I would risk scaring you with thoughts of rose petals.
I reach out one cold, numb finger and graze the flower. I do not want to delicately stroke the butter yellow petals – I do not wish to feel their mocking softness. In my eyes, my darkening, weary eyes, by far the most beautiful part of the rose is the thorn. It reaches out for me; it wants to touch me.
As my finger makes contact with it, a trickle of red oozes quietly from my skin. I feel relieved, somewhat, to know that I was wrong, that I am not bloodless. It stings but I cannot cry, for I have not found the tears yet.
I know that if I can bleed, I can cry. And cry I will.