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averygoodun42It was inevitable that I would write something like this at some point... I know it's cliched and overdone and not attractive and all that, but, well, I'm going to consider it practice for one of my future (original) projects.
So...
Title: The Monster
Rating: *?* Probably R. Not for the younger kiddies, anyway.
Character: Hermione
Genre: angst, angst and oh, doubly so angst
Word Count: approx. 500
Warnings: suicide
Disclaimer: First, these characters do not belong to me, they belong to Ms. Rowling. Second, the feelings in this piece are not a reflection of my mental state. It is only a story.
Hermione leaned against the sink and gazed at herself in the mirror. She tried to see the person she knew she was, the person she had been, but all that gazed back at her were empty holes where her personality should've been. She didn't look like herself anymore, in fact, the person she most reminded herself of at the moment was Professor Snape.
She laughed without feeling at the bitter irony.
She didn't know who she was anymore. Over the course of the war, she'd subverted the person she had been. She had shielded herself from the atrocities and terror. And now she couldn't find her way past the shields. She was lost. Gone. Hopeless.
She couldn't remember how many times she had held back the tears over the last year. She had tried to keep a calm face and outlook. It was only right and proper, after all. But the pain just kept getting worse and worse. The last few days it had been difficult to breathe through the pain in her heart. It had felt like a monster had taken up residence, squatting on her soul. It was a parasite, eating her away until today, when there was nothing left.
Only hollowness. Only pain. Hopeless.
She looked at her eyes one last time, trying to find some spark of recognition, something to hold on to, but nothing existed. Her soul was gone. It might as well have been sucked out by Dementors.
She couldn't decide whether she was relieved or not that nothing was left. With nothing left inside her, she wouldn't be depriving anyone else of anything. Her friends might not understand that she was empty, that she was already gone. They couldn't see her as the Inferi she'd become, wrecking everything she touched.
There was no reason to fight, to hold on.
She looked up at the mirror again, and nodded at her reflection. Having eaten her soul and essence, the only thing left for the monster to consume was her tears.
That was why her eyes were dry now.
She ran the water for her bath, taking care to make it hot. It couldn't hurt her, after all. The only pain she could feel was the place where her heart had been. And it didn't matter, anyway.
She settled herself in, lying back as if she were simply relaxing, and thought of Professor Snape. How empty his eyes were, how bitterness tainted everything he touched. No, it was better that she avoided his fate.
She closed her eyes and tried to picture him again. Her imagination swam with images of him, but he was always so far away that she couldn't see his eyes. It wasn't until the dizziness was about to overcome her that he looked her way. His shape grew clearer, and more focused until she imagined he could be in the room with her, at her side.
And it was only then that she saw behind the hollow front of his eyes, into the pain, compassion and love that was his soul.
It wasn't empty eyes that looked down at her. It was her eyes – the eyes of her lost self.
She laughed at the bitter irony.
And then... she cried.
So...
Title: The Monster
Rating: *?* Probably R. Not for the younger kiddies, anyway.
Character: Hermione
Genre: angst, angst and oh, doubly so angst
Word Count: approx. 500
Warnings: suicide
Disclaimer: First, these characters do not belong to me, they belong to Ms. Rowling. Second, the feelings in this piece are not a reflection of my mental state. It is only a story.
Hermione leaned against the sink and gazed at herself in the mirror. She tried to see the person she knew she was, the person she had been, but all that gazed back at her were empty holes where her personality should've been. She didn't look like herself anymore, in fact, the person she most reminded herself of at the moment was Professor Snape.
She laughed without feeling at the bitter irony.
She didn't know who she was anymore. Over the course of the war, she'd subverted the person she had been. She had shielded herself from the atrocities and terror. And now she couldn't find her way past the shields. She was lost. Gone. Hopeless.
She couldn't remember how many times she had held back the tears over the last year. She had tried to keep a calm face and outlook. It was only right and proper, after all. But the pain just kept getting worse and worse. The last few days it had been difficult to breathe through the pain in her heart. It had felt like a monster had taken up residence, squatting on her soul. It was a parasite, eating her away until today, when there was nothing left.
Only hollowness. Only pain. Hopeless.
She looked at her eyes one last time, trying to find some spark of recognition, something to hold on to, but nothing existed. Her soul was gone. It might as well have been sucked out by Dementors.
She couldn't decide whether she was relieved or not that nothing was left. With nothing left inside her, she wouldn't be depriving anyone else of anything. Her friends might not understand that she was empty, that she was already gone. They couldn't see her as the Inferi she'd become, wrecking everything she touched.
There was no reason to fight, to hold on.
She looked up at the mirror again, and nodded at her reflection. Having eaten her soul and essence, the only thing left for the monster to consume was her tears.
That was why her eyes were dry now.
She ran the water for her bath, taking care to make it hot. It couldn't hurt her, after all. The only pain she could feel was the place where her heart had been. And it didn't matter, anyway.
She settled herself in, lying back as if she were simply relaxing, and thought of Professor Snape. How empty his eyes were, how bitterness tainted everything he touched. No, it was better that she avoided his fate.
She closed her eyes and tried to picture him again. Her imagination swam with images of him, but he was always so far away that she couldn't see his eyes. It wasn't until the dizziness was about to overcome her that he looked her way. His shape grew clearer, and more focused until she imagined he could be in the room with her, at her side.
And it was only then that she saw behind the hollow front of his eyes, into the pain, compassion and love that was his soul.
It wasn't empty eyes that looked down at her. It was her eyes – the eyes of her lost self.
She laughed at the bitter irony.
And then... she cried.
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Date: 2007-09-27 05:31 am (UTC)Love Sonia :)
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Date: 2007-09-27 11:07 am (UTC)Regardless, this is a great story, and I think it's well written enough to avoid being called 'cliche.'