A/N: Words Like Knives was originally my English project, but I wrote that with my version of Lucy Weasley in mind. So here it is...


{Words Like Knives}

"In an extroverted society, the difference between an introvert and an extrovert is that an introvert is often unconsciously deemed guilty until proven innocent."- Criss Jami

"Humans are social creatures and those that do not participate are different" - Unknown

.:.

that dreamer girl with infinity inked in layers on her wrist, playing and leapfrogging between imagined stars was carefree and kind, but just a little bit mad. and she was sometimes from the future, but always stuck half in the past, mind jumping to impossible conclusions that nobody could ever follow.

and dreamer children, mature for their age, were ostracised, their place minimised, talents never really prized. The 'normal' children form their cliques; from childhood banding together, from a young age emulating their societal views. and the adults never notice, too caught up in their fast-pace worlds of work to ever really bother about the children except to make sure that they're worth something to them, that their talents lie in something useful, something that will get them far.

from a young age, it's very clear that the quiet ones are the abnormal ones, who should be avoided, so the children do. children are just as capable of causing pain as adults are, but in different ways, you understand. they're not so innocent, not so harmless as they used to be, in a changed society, and a meek and mild little child is an underappreciated rarity, but their voices get lost among the cacophony of calling out, and they're left behind and in the cold dark land of isolation.

soon they realise that lucy's not really bothered, she likes to be alone in her dreamland, her fantasy world of imagination and adventures that never happen in reality, that add that spark of excitement to a monotonous world. and then the words began to pour, a scathing remark here and there, just enough to keep her quiet, but also just enough to make her reserved and wary of people in general. loneliness is a weak excuse, never real, just one of her make-believe worlds in a bubble in her head, and nobody ever truly accepts an introvert if they're an extrovert, because introverts are just the minority of society, and their existence has never been really proven.

so her mother and her father and her perfect sister try to fix her shyness because of course she's doing something wrong, of course there's something wrong with her- she's not normal, because she isn't social. but the psychiatrists never get her to say a word at all, so her family simply force her into interaction 'for her own good', but little do they know that every new person they talk to makes lucy just that little bit more scared, because she's learned, you see, from all those children who mocked and teased and still do now, even when they're all grown up compared to then, at thirteen, at fourteen, at fifteen. but lucy hasn't changed at all, even after a decade.

but when the words begin to fade, as dreamers never really listen, then the cuts and bruises begin to show- but it's only ever accepted as 'clumsy lucy', just another reflection of an imperfect child who doesn't fit the parent's mould like her sister did, and lucy could never live up to the expectations set for her. for lucy was only ever lucy, just a little sister struggling to show that her quick-sharp brains and swift wit hidden behind a mask wasn't just a taxing burden. and lucy's family is such an example of society where only one in four are introverts, condemned for being shy, and blamed for being themselves.

behind the scenes they hit and they thrashed lashings of lyrics into her head that rhymed and stuck there in infinite layers, and they roughed her up and smashed her spirit into a thousand million pieces and scattered them amongst the stars in a twisted reality than what she'd always hoped. little lucy, whose very nature she was born with and could not change made her vulnerable to sensitivity, to taunting words, to being betrayed by a society that prides itself on supposed diversity, but the cold hard reality is that all those images are a false fa├žade .

and then the violence and the words became all too much for one little dreamer girl to have to ever endure, and the constant repetition of

"LOSER LUCY" and "FRIENDLESS FAIRFIELD" and "LONER" every day of her life got just a little

too hard to bear, and so she wrote her final, final goodbyes, not that she'd really miss the torture she would leave behind. and she waited for a perfect time to finally fly, and washed her wrists clear of ink, because her infinity was broken, and her eternity was ending.

.:.

And then one day, her family finds that Lucy's gone grown wings to fly, her wrists clean of any infinity. {She weakened under fierce attack, and now the dreamer won't come back. Words can do a world of hurt; to a quiet, thinking introvert.}


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