Chapter 1 : Dream of Paradise
| ||Rating: 15+||Chapter Reviews: 2|
Background: Font color:
fire. @ tda
Once again, George Weasley found himself lying in the place where his brother had died beneath a stormy night sky. He was praying that it had been him instead, for the thought of living the rest of his life without his brother was almost too painful to bear. From this place he could see the sky above, clear as it was, there was nothing which excused the way the stars opened up before him as though they couldn’t recognise that he wasn’t missing the greater part of his existence. It was cruel the way the universe seemed to be mocking him, and it was here upon this very ground, in this very place the last breath of a man who had lived his life with incredible humour had dispersed into thin air, the ghost of his last joke still lingering upon his face. He has so easily been wiped away like the sweep of their, his mother’s wand clearing away a table, but this time by death, and nothing, not even their – his, mother’s warm embrace could bring him back.
He wished he could dream of paradise, anything aside from the consistency and predictability of his dreams in which the face of his brother – Fred – flitted in and out of his mind. He would often awake, lying amongst the rubble of the castle that had once been their home. Broken. The ambiance of the once grand castle gone. Long shattered by death, hate and another’s thirst for destruction that had ruined them all. He placed his hand against the ground hoping to feel something, anything, but all he found was the nothingness that awaited him. Not even a gentle sigh in the wind lingered, a last breath which had caught upon the endlessly echoing stone of the castle. All that could be heard were his own breaths and the desperate and wild beating of his heart which seemed to be pounding so loudly within his chest that it might have leapt free of his ribcage and found its way to the floor.
It was with a heavy sigh that man fell to his knees once more, raking his hands through his knotted red hair, which in the time since his brother’s passing had grown long and unkempt. His bitter screams did nothing to quell the fury he felt burning away within him, the uncontrollable anger he felt for a world that had taken the only thing that had ever truly mattered to him away, leaving him with nothing but memories of a time vanishing quickly like desert sands in the wind and the store they had worked to build together. Yet another scream escaped his lips and he fell forwards his head resting on his knees, his head in his hands, tears slipping between his fingers. He cried for his brother, a man who could have been him if one did not look closely enough, and finally, he cried for himself and the tears would not stop, they never seemed to until they all but dried up on occasions such as these.
George wanted to beg with whatever higher power existed out there, that was if one truly existed. He would scream until his lungs could produce no more sound, and run until he could run no more, if only it meant he could have his brother back, not just the reflection of a tired man who had once looked so similar to him. Each mirror in their - his home had been covered, not a single surface shone, for even but a brief glance at himself reduced him to tears. He was sinking without Fred; he needed him to keep afloat. To stay above the rising tides with threatened to pull him under, grabbing him by the foot with their long winding arms, dragging him further and further beneath the surface until not even a speck of light could be seen.
Their – his, father had once told him that eventually everything died, and as a child the concept seemed morbid, frightening even, so distant that he could hardly believe it. He never expected Fred to be the first to die for in his mind, he could hardly believe that fate, or whatever god existed out there could be so cruel as to take his twin from him. He had so foolishly believed they would be taken together to spare the other the pain, but no. He had been left here. Left to feel more pain and anguish than he thought one person could ever feel. Above all else, he was angry. Angry at Fred for leaving him. Angry at those around him for not protecting him and more than anyone else, angry at himself, for not being by his side in that final moment. Rolling over onto his back, he allowed himself to close his eyes. Unable to think of anything but his brother. He couldn’t shake the thought. Fred was – and would always be his other half, and he would sleep now, peacefully. Dreaming of the paradise in which they would be reunited until he awoke where once again, he would wait for the peace of sleep to find him so that perhaps he could have just a few more hours in the paradise his own mind had created.
Author’s Note: The title and the contents is based upon a single line from Coldplay’s – Paradise – “Dream of para-para-paradise.”
Other Similar Stories
An Epitaph -...