I don't usually write in e-diaries, so please understand when i say I haven't written in a year. I'm 17 now and will be 18 in June. I just got done with a missions trip to Jamaica and am just chillin' right now. I have a new story idea for a harry potter/original fanfiction, so I want to post the beginning here for those who care to read. (PS I don't rp, so don't ask me, I suck X)
I never thought this could be real.
I never thought much about these things.
Perhaps…I thought wrong.
“AAHHHH!” a hand came over my mouth with a sharp slap.
“Shut up, Boy!”
“Yes, sir.” I said, because all hell would turn loose if I refused. I rubbed my stinging mouth, my hand running over smooth jaw and high cheek bones, trying to soothe the ache.
My aunt ran by my cupboard, stopping and back peddling to screech a “Make breakfast!” before going to wake up her ‘precious Dudders’.
I groaned and sat up, running a hand through my messy hair and grabbing my glasses off a small wood ledge inside the cupboard. As my weight left the cot serving as my bed, it creaked and gave a dangerous shudder, causing a few spiders to scuttle around quickly to find another hiding spot.
I watched them, fascinated.
One spider, the smallest I had seen, struggled to overcome a fold in the thin sheet I slept with. Looking around quickly to make sure my aunt wasn’t watching, I picked it up and gently placed it in my palm.
“Hold on tight.” I whispered.
I climbed out of the closet, watching for Dudley, before closing the door to my room with a soft click and padding on down the hall to the kitchen.
Sun shone through the spotless windows above the sink, causing me to squint. Aunt stood near the frying pan, spatula equipped, hands glued to her hips, mouth pursed in eternal scowl.
“Come here, lazy boy!” she marched to me and held out the spatula to me between her fingers as though holding something unsavory, “Don’t you dare let it burn!”
She turned, heading toward the dining table in the next room, leaving me with a spatula in one hand and spider in the other (not that she could see it, of course).
I turned toward the window over the sink, reaching over to the sill with the spider in my hand and letting it crawl away, I opened the window and watched it go.
The heat outside was unbearable, the rays making my skin peel and blister as I sat, weeding and watering the garden. The window to the living room was open and the sound of the telly wafted through the moist air.
I turned my attention back to the rare Dark roses I was weeding, admiring their midnight buds and mysterious thorns. I loved my Dark roses the most and took care of them with back-breaking dedication, in return they bloomed beautifully every year at night without fail.
I straightened up from my position over the ground, and sighed, watching the purple-black heads flutter in the slight breeze. My emerald eyes were captured by a particularly lonesome bud, the stalk slightly separated from the rest of the bush. I reached out, feeling drawn to it, the inky blackness calling out to me.
“Don’t touch it.”
Startled, I pulled back, whipping my head around fast enough to give myself whiplash. “Who’s there?!”
“You might not like what you see.”
I scowled into thin air, “That shouldn’t stop those who seek the truth.” I was answered with a deep chuckle that faded on the wind.
Well, that's it for now, take care!
· Fri Feb 19, 2010 @ 12:59pm · 0 Comments