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Chapter 1 : Myrtle
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Okay, so I usually don't write stories like this one. It certainly was out of my comfort zone. This was written for a challenge, and I thought that Myrtle's story fit the qoute very well. I've written this one from her perspective, as a ghost who people are not very fond of.
Disclaimer- JKR, all is yours.
The sun streams in through the few broken panels of the long windows and the whole room is bathed in golden light. I love mornings. The sunlight makes me feel alive again, because I am reminded of how glorious the warmth of the light feels on my naked skin. I step into the beams of light each morning, hoping that I will feel it once again. Just once, I pray.
As the light loses its virgin freshness, and the heat begins to shine through, I register vaguely that somewhere in this castle a thousand students are eating breakfast, laughing, talking, living their lives. It is soon after the first few minutes of breakfast that the first pair of girls enter my territory. For decades, they avoided it. But now, years after the second war, things have changed. I rejoiced, initially. I believed that my loneliness would vanish. How was I to know that seeing them would make me resent my present form more than ever before? I want to cry, slash my wrists, cause myself more pain than I can endure. I want to vanish. Alas, your cries won't pierce my ears more than your knife will make my blood run.
Two girls walk in, this fine morning. They talk and I listen. For they are all I have. I have no chance at making conversation anymore. One of them is weeping over a broken heart. The other has her arm firmly strapped around her shoulders, as she speaks in soothing, gentle tones. The former states her wish to die right then. The latter too succumbs to tears.
Come and take my empire of dust, and I'll take your breaking heart and your tears. I will take your pain and your misery, because it is all a part of life. But, I will also take your joys, your firsts and your lasts. I will take your life, if you would wish death over it.
The bell rings and they scurry out, wiping their tear-stained faces. I wish the bell would hurt my ears again. I wish it would make me jump. It affects me no more. Two girls come, and then another three. One leaves and then two more go. I've stopped keeping count, even though it really is all I can do in this cage of mine. Cursed to haunt bathrooms for the remainder of my life. What kind of life is this, I wonder. It is a doomed existence. Nobody should have to live like this. Another bell rings and my cubicles stand empty. Now I have no company, however involuntary or passive. Alone with my numerous taps and sinks, with only dripping water to listen to.
I sigh and perch myself on the window sill. Looking out is torturous. It reminds me of everything that I can no longer experience. So I look back in. I wish I had a way out. My soul is no longer unfulfilled, because I know that I did whatever I could when my chances were better. Now, what am I but a mere scrap of my former existence? Is an unfulfilled dream worth this life?
I remember it like it happened yesterday. A flash of morbid yellow and it was all over. It took me several days to come to terms with what was happening. My glasses are fine, Ms. Hornby. My face is not that round, my nose, not a perfect oval, as you waste no time in telling me. I am human after all, freckled and bruised, but still human. I have friends, in books and tales that you will never read. I have seen so many students pass through my chambers now, and so many of them are like me. But they get to live. But because of you, I'm here. I resent you.
Tears were mere wispy trails of white and grey on my pale, lactic face.
I would have been an old women with several grandchildren by now. I love children. They laugh all the time, like I used to. I don't even remember that time anymore. It has passed, and so have my tears. I can neither laugh, nor cry with conviction. What are emotions to a faded soul after all?
I was a happy person. Never bothered anyone, never meddle with anything. My books kept me company. I never sought anyone else. I had a boyfriend. My very first. It happened two days before the incident. He was the only one who was nice to me. I hadn't kissed him yet. In fact, I hadn't kissed a boy, and I died without kissing one. I never wrote my OWLs or my NEWTs. I never held a proper job. I never learnt how to cast a non-verbal spell. I do this often... Sitting and making lists and lists of all the things I've never done, till I feel like I simply cannot take it anymore. I can still feel some emotions... these extreme internal ones. I can feel anguish like someone stuck their hand into my chest and ripped my beting heart into tiny, unrecognizable shreds. I feel can despair, as if all my eyes can see is darkness. Black, white and grey. I can feel distant and broken. I can feel the loss of attachment and breaking bonds. But I cannot feel the physical pain that I so oddly long for. I want to feel human again.
It's sunny today, which makes me slightly happier. A girl walks in and she is alone. I float up to her and lay my heart on the ground. She gives me an odd look, and tells me that she cannot bear to hear me moan. That my voice fills her with the urge to run away. She tells me that for the sake of every magical being in this castle, I must remain quiet. My confidence, the bleak pieces of my battered and broken confidence which I managed to piece together after much effort, is shattered again. How many times can I go over this? It's all a cycle that I'm forced to live with forever. Maybe someday a Harry, Ron, Hermione or Draco may come. And for some inexplicable reason, they will show me some respect and talk to me out of whatever it is that they feel for me. They will give me seven years of insecure, faltering happiness, and then, they will go and probably never think of me again. And I will wait a hundred years more for another Harry, Ron, Hermione or Draco. I will moan and cry, because really, what is left for me?
The girl has called her friend and she whispers into her ears. They chuckle. As in life, I feel unappreciated after my death. Two more girls come in giggling. A few are laughing politely. Suddenly a bunch of boisterous fifth years fill my bathroom with raucous laughter. I look outside. The exams ended today. And more girls and boys are lounging about, laughing. Laughing without a care in the world. Their laughter, all of theirs, rings in my ears. Refusing to leave me alone, no matter how much I moan and scream. Their laughter, is to me, like a chalk screeching against the chalkboard. It's painful. It's maddening. It's jarring.
They laugh. Every single day. When did I last laugh?
I can't remember.
A single milky tear runs down my cheek.
The sound of their laughter had jarred on her; when had she last laughed?
Okay, so this was my first attempt at writing angst, so I would absolutely love some feedback. As I said, this isn't usually my style, but I want to know how I did.The quote given to me was- 'The sound of their laughter jarred on her; when had she last laughed?'- from the book- 'The Casual Vacancy' by JK Rowling. This story is for a challenge that was set by HeyMrsPotter.
Dee, thank you for this challenge! :) It really pulled me out of my comfort zone and I like being challenged.This was a lovely challenge :) I did enjoy myself.
Also, a huge thank you to both Sian and Nadia, who nominated this story for a Golden Paw (best quotes) :) *hugs*
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