I've just been disabled, I don't have a thing left to sell.
Who: Michael Corner, Pansy Parkinson (possibly Open).
What: Michael contemplates the worse-case scenario.
Where: The battlements of Hogwarts.
When: Wednesday, November 5th 1997. Mid-Morning (yes he is missing classes, specifically Potions).
Status: Ongoing
Michael looked on the world with watery grey eyes, marred by puffy dark bags. The wind whipped up from the northwest and the smell of winter was in the air. He closed his eyes, tilted his face ever so slightly up and felt the flesh on his face first prickle, then numb. He swore he could feel the barest hint of moisture in the air, meaning rain or worse was coming. He had come prepared for that eventually. He wore his heavy woolen overcoat, which gave him almost twice his normal bulk.
He couldn't face today. His eyes squinted before his washed out grey gaze. It barred the sting of the cold wind. Who was going to get hurt, die, face rejection or face prejudice today? He was fed up with the world and it's ugliness, which brought him into the deepest depths of melancholy. He actually considered numbing out, and for a moment wondered if that was why Professor Trelawney drank. To simply cease feeling. He feared that the first person to cross him would get a serious case of boils... conjunctivitis... or even worse, a good slash across their smug, sanctimonious faces.
Worse were those in love. "Ha..." Michael vocalized bitterly, stuffing his hands deeply into his pockets. He walked the ancient battlements of the school, peering out over the lake. He wondered if he would ever have to walk these in siege. In warfare, before his mind returned to the notion of love. He loved Ernie like a friend. He even begrudgingly had to admit that he cared about Megan despite the fact that she had been a beast to him in the past. He even liked her, and her direct, sarcastic side.
Right now though, he wanted to spit or vomit when he pictured them together. He wanted to give Ron Weasley a good deck in the face for not supporting him with Ginny. Ha! Ginny... He thought bitterly. That just tightened the rage in his gut.
I hate you all because you have what I want... he thought darkly, and then immediately felt guilt. He turned around, the cold, hard stone of one of the higher stones to his back. He sighed. "No I don't... I'm just an incredibly jealous...." With a sudden move of frustration, gritted teeth and a loud "urgh!" Michael knocked the back of his head against the stone. What had been his greatest ally was turning against him. Again he plowed his head into the stone, this time a wave of dizziness and ringing overtook him.
Turning around, he peered over the edge. He never understood why people would jump to their deaths. It was so... messy. But he supposed he was a step closer to understanding than usual. They couldn't face their lives anymore. Is that what I feel?
He peered down and then out across the lake and forest, then to the groove between the two large stones. Hopping up with his long and lanky legs, Michael stood between them, hands upon the two rises for support. Maybe thats why... a sense of power and purpose. Suddenly you are in absolute control... if even for a second. A life spinning out of control, ending in absolute certainty.
He looked down at the ground.
What: Michael contemplates the worse-case scenario.
Where: The battlements of Hogwarts.
When: Wednesday, November 5th 1997. Mid-Morning (yes he is missing classes, specifically Potions).
Status: Ongoing
Michael looked on the world with watery grey eyes, marred by puffy dark bags. The wind whipped up from the northwest and the smell of winter was in the air. He closed his eyes, tilted his face ever so slightly up and felt the flesh on his face first prickle, then numb. He swore he could feel the barest hint of moisture in the air, meaning rain or worse was coming. He had come prepared for that eventually. He wore his heavy woolen overcoat, which gave him almost twice his normal bulk.
He couldn't face today. His eyes squinted before his washed out grey gaze. It barred the sting of the cold wind. Who was going to get hurt, die, face rejection or face prejudice today? He was fed up with the world and it's ugliness, which brought him into the deepest depths of melancholy. He actually considered numbing out, and for a moment wondered if that was why Professor Trelawney drank. To simply cease feeling. He feared that the first person to cross him would get a serious case of boils... conjunctivitis... or even worse, a good slash across their smug, sanctimonious faces.
Worse were those in love. "Ha..." Michael vocalized bitterly, stuffing his hands deeply into his pockets. He walked the ancient battlements of the school, peering out over the lake. He wondered if he would ever have to walk these in siege. In warfare, before his mind returned to the notion of love. He loved Ernie like a friend. He even begrudgingly had to admit that he cared about Megan despite the fact that she had been a beast to him in the past. He even liked her, and her direct, sarcastic side.
Right now though, he wanted to spit or vomit when he pictured them together. He wanted to give Ron Weasley a good deck in the face for not supporting him with Ginny. Ha! Ginny... He thought bitterly. That just tightened the rage in his gut.
I hate you all because you have what I want... he thought darkly, and then immediately felt guilt. He turned around, the cold, hard stone of one of the higher stones to his back. He sighed. "No I don't... I'm just an incredibly jealous...." With a sudden move of frustration, gritted teeth and a loud "urgh!" Michael knocked the back of his head against the stone. What had been his greatest ally was turning against him. Again he plowed his head into the stone, this time a wave of dizziness and ringing overtook him.
Turning around, he peered over the edge. He never understood why people would jump to their deaths. It was so... messy. But he supposed he was a step closer to understanding than usual. They couldn't face their lives anymore. Is that what I feel?
He peered down and then out across the lake and forest, then to the groove between the two large stones. Hopping up with his long and lanky legs, Michael stood between them, hands upon the two rises for support. Maybe thats why... a sense of power and purpose. Suddenly you are in absolute control... if even for a second. A life spinning out of control, ending in absolute certainty.
He looked down at the ground.