Challenge #65: Rebirth
Title: Blithe and Benighted
Rating/Warnings: G.
Characters/Pairing: The Burrow
Summary: You started out so hopeful and so promising. And so ignorant.
Word Count: 534
Author's Notes: I've never written second person before, so if you have any critiques, I'd love to hear them! =D I've been needing to write something like this for a different challenge on fanfiction.net, and this really helped me write the first draft.
Registered purchases?: They're all sold out. =(
You started out so hopeful and so promising. Oh, the possibilities of your final creation. You would often lay there at night, waiting for work to resume, day dreaming of your future. Maybe you would be a manor house for a noble Lord and his family; maybe you would be a castle for the King of the land. Destined for great things, you decided, and so you waited. How ignorant you were.
Your craftsman laid your stones carefully, smoothing the mortar delicately like a baker ices his prize winning cake; every rock managed to weave together, and suddenly you were more than just a foundation - you were a building. No longer did you exist solely as poorly-scrawled plans on a rudimentary blueprint. You were whole.
As the craftsman brushed the dirt off his hands, you began to take inventory. How small you were, with no windows and a simple thatched roof. Surely he wasn’t finished? Surely this was just the base room? There was more he needed to build, obviously. There had to be more.
As you sat, waiting, watching other, more grand buildings develop around you, you began to let your ideals slip. You didn’t need to be a Lord’s mansion. You wouldn’t mind become a simple farm house. Anything had to be better than a windowless shack. You wanted lights; you wanted life. You wanted a purpose.
But you were never meant to house a noble family, and you didn’t even get that farmer you began compromising for. You were the lowest of the low - a pig pen. The beasts appeared seemingly overnight, and oh, how your tenants smelled! They ruined your perfectly clean walls; the shiny, smooth stones became covered in dung and mud, slowly beginning to erode away to dust. You were never destined for greatness; your fate lay in the dirty scrounges of the beast.
Years (decades? centuries? time began to lose all meaning) later, your vile tenants left as suddenly as they appeared, and you were alone again; but beast and bout left their respective marks, and you resembled nothing of that blithe and benighted structure you once were. Stones laid strewn across the ground, knocked from their deliberated places. You were crumbling to the ground, and your world was tumbling around you in shambles. You were shambles, and as time left you behind, so did the human race. You begin to tune out the earth around you, no longer caring to notice your surroundings.
“It’s…it’s perfect, Arthur,” you hear one day, but you neglect to notice just who has the audacity to utter such a phrase. You are far from perfect - you are a disaster, one that should be eradicated, just like the others from your time. (Isn’t it perfectly ironic how those grand manor houses fail to exist to this day, and yet a fiend like you manages to cling to the life you don’t want?) People have inspected you before, but they never stay. Why would they? You are nothing but ruins.
“It’s home, Molly-wobbles. We’ve found our home.”
Despite your cynicism, magical construction starts, and the humans stay. You can resist all you want, but it is all for naught. You have found your rebirth.
Wendy//Hufflepuff//10 pts
Rating/Warnings: G.
Characters/Pairing: The Burrow
Summary: You started out so hopeful and so promising. And so ignorant.
Word Count: 534
Author's Notes: I've never written second person before, so if you have any critiques, I'd love to hear them! =D I've been needing to write something like this for a different challenge on fanfiction.net, and this really helped me write the first draft.
Registered purchases?: They're all sold out. =(
You started out so hopeful and so promising. Oh, the possibilities of your final creation. You would often lay there at night, waiting for work to resume, day dreaming of your future. Maybe you would be a manor house for a noble Lord and his family; maybe you would be a castle for the King of the land. Destined for great things, you decided, and so you waited. How ignorant you were.
Your craftsman laid your stones carefully, smoothing the mortar delicately like a baker ices his prize winning cake; every rock managed to weave together, and suddenly you were more than just a foundation - you were a building. No longer did you exist solely as poorly-scrawled plans on a rudimentary blueprint. You were whole.
As the craftsman brushed the dirt off his hands, you began to take inventory. How small you were, with no windows and a simple thatched roof. Surely he wasn’t finished? Surely this was just the base room? There was more he needed to build, obviously. There had to be more.
As you sat, waiting, watching other, more grand buildings develop around you, you began to let your ideals slip. You didn’t need to be a Lord’s mansion. You wouldn’t mind become a simple farm house. Anything had to be better than a windowless shack. You wanted lights; you wanted life. You wanted a purpose.
But you were never meant to house a noble family, and you didn’t even get that farmer you began compromising for. You were the lowest of the low - a pig pen. The beasts appeared seemingly overnight, and oh, how your tenants smelled! They ruined your perfectly clean walls; the shiny, smooth stones became covered in dung and mud, slowly beginning to erode away to dust. You were never destined for greatness; your fate lay in the dirty scrounges of the beast.
Years (decades? centuries? time began to lose all meaning) later, your vile tenants left as suddenly as they appeared, and you were alone again; but beast and bout left their respective marks, and you resembled nothing of that blithe and benighted structure you once were. Stones laid strewn across the ground, knocked from their deliberated places. You were crumbling to the ground, and your world was tumbling around you in shambles. You were shambles, and as time left you behind, so did the human race. You begin to tune out the earth around you, no longer caring to notice your surroundings.
“It’s…it’s perfect, Arthur,” you hear one day, but you neglect to notice just who has the audacity to utter such a phrase. You are far from perfect - you are a disaster, one that should be eradicated, just like the others from your time. (Isn’t it perfectly ironic how those grand manor houses fail to exist to this day, and yet a fiend like you manages to cling to the life you don’t want?) People have inspected you before, but they never stay. Why would they? You are nothing but ruins.
“It’s home, Molly-wobbles. We’ve found our home.”
Despite your cynicism, magical construction starts, and the humans stay. You can resist all you want, but it is all for naught. You have found your rebirth.
Wendy//Hufflepuff//10 pts