SK - #5 Forever - I'm Not Going To Last Much Longer...
Name: I'm Not Going To Last Much Longer
Prompt: #5 Forever
Genre: Tragic? Well, as tragic as I could make it...
Characters: Rodolphus Lestrange, Bellatrix Black-Lestrange, Rabastan Lestrange (not telling you who else but a few others are mentioned.)
Rating: PG? Or PG-13 for s... something >.<
Word Count: 1021
The monotonous music stopped.
“I’m leaving you.”
“You’re delusional.”
“I’m not.”
“Indeed, Bellatrix, you are.”
“And you think this is going to stop me leaving you?”
Everyone was seated. Very few were in tears.
“I HATE YOU!”
“THEN LEAVE!”
“I AM!”
A stout looking man with a moustache stood and began a long solemn speech. A man in the row second from the back slouched in his chair and rolled his eyes. How morbid.
“I’m here. For you.”
“And what is it you have to say?”
“I love you, my lord.”
At a sharp look from the woman beside him, the man in the second row from the back sat up in his chair and began to listen half-heartedly.
“You said you loved me.”
“I did not.”
“But, you -”
“I merely said that there could be a place in my heart for you.”
“But -”
“After years in my service, how could you have not noticed my lack of heart? You are foolish, Bellatrix.”
The woman pulled out a handkerchief, despite the fact it was painfully obvious that she wasn’t going to shed any tears.
“Why are you still here?”
“I - I - I’m.”
“-Incapable of coherent English. I see.”
The armchair creaked as a face distorted from years of internal torture peered around the side of it, his face lit up on one side from the glow of the fire.
“Let me make myself clear for you then. Leave.”
One tragically dull man finished his piece, a tall somewhat handsome man of his late sixties replaced him. His speech was infinitely better.
“And why are you back? Wait. Bella? What are you do- BELLA! NO!”
The wife he still loved fell to the floor. Lifeless.
The handsome man sat down again. Another man stood. This one was Russian. The man in the row second smiled slightly to himself.
- She’s gone. She’s never coming back. -
= You wrote last that she was dead to you. What has changed since then? =
- I wrote last out of rage. I was not in the right state of mine. -
= Are you in the right frame of mind now? =
- Perhaps not. -
= You wish to tell me something. =
- Yes. -
The Russian finished his speech. The crowd was still laughing as he sat down. There was more monotonous music and yet, despite the horrendous sound of it, a little voice was humming along, quite happily.
= Say it, man. You write so little. =
- It hurts to write. My wrist can’t take it. I’m serious. This is my last. -
= Again? You were serious last time. Prove yourself. =
- The ink in which I write. -
= What about it? =
- My blood. Thus it hurts my wrist to write. -
= Don’t say anymore. I’m coming for you. =
The man shifted uncomfortably in his seat, unable to concentrate on the ceremony as the little voice hummed a little louder. Even though the piece of music was quite dire, the voice seemed unable to sing it sadly, indeed it was quite the opposite. The tune seemed to have a sweet ring to it now.
“You’re a fool, brother.”
“I know.”
“I hadn’t realised your love for her was quite so intense.”
“I know.”
There was a pause as heavy breathing slowed and became more disjointed.
The woman frowned at her partner from the corner of her eye, astutely aware of why he was squirming.
“Rabastan?”
“Yes, Rod?”
“Was I such a fool to fall for her?”
“No man is not foolish when in love.”
“Rabastan?”
“Yes, Rod.”
“I’m sorry.”
Aurelia gave her husband a quick glance as if to say, “Please don’t turn around.” Rabastan nodded and kept his eyes to the front. A tiny hand slipped into his.
“Sorry? What for?”
“I’m sorry I drove Rosalind away.”
“None of that, Rod, please.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t let you marry her.”
“Rod, stop.”
“I’m sorry I told Aurelia.”
“Rod, STOP.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
“Rabastan?”
“Callie, no,” a worried voice directly behind Rabastan whispered as the tiny hand in his did not leave. A moment later, the hand withdrew, leaving a little object about an inch wide there.
“Yes, Rod?”
“I’m not going to last much longer.”
“I know.”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Letting me die.”
“You would have only tried again.”
“I know. But thank you for giving me the dignity of not being stopped.”
“You don’t have to thank me.”
“I know.”
The disjointed breathing changed to sharp breathes.
“Rabastan?”
“Yes?”
“I - I - I think -”
Rodolphus struggled to get his words out. His shallow breathing was not allowing him to.
“I know.”
“Never - told - you - be - fore.”
“You don’t have to talk.”
“I - know - but -”
“I know, Rod.”
“ - Good -”
The breathing stopped suddenly. Rabastan sat there a while, his brother’s lifeless form still held in his arms.
Rabastan squeezed the object in his hand but his face had its usual lack of expression. Aurelia had not yet suspected a thing. As the last of the music ended, Aurelia stood and began to weave her way through the crowd, most likely to speak with Calliope and Rashnu. She didn’t want to be anywhere near the people behind her. Not now. Not ever.
Rabastan did not stand.
“Callie, come on,” a voice he had dreamt about since he had first heard it urged.
“But, mama -”
“I know, but I don’t want you near him.”
“Shouldn’t have sat behind him.”
There was a pause.
“Daddy?”
Rabastan stiffened.
“Calliope!” The other voice hissed.
“Mr Lestrange, then.” The small voice was a persistent one.
Rabastan stood but did not turn around. Instead he unclenched his fingers and stared at the tiny silver locket that met his eyes.
“He doesn’t like it.”
“Hush, child!”
“I like it,” Rabastan stated to the locket.
He would not turn around.
He would not look.
He would not gaze into the small grey eyes he knew he would find.
He would not see his daughter.
He wouldn’t.
Prompt: #5 Forever
Genre: Tragic? Well, as tragic as I could make it...
Characters: Rodolphus Lestrange, Bellatrix Black-Lestrange, Rabastan Lestrange (not telling you who else but a few others are mentioned.)
Rating: PG? Or PG-13 for s... something >.<
Word Count: 1021
The monotonous music stopped.
“I’m leaving you.”
“You’re delusional.”
“I’m not.”
“Indeed, Bellatrix, you are.”
“And you think this is going to stop me leaving you?”
Everyone was seated. Very few were in tears.
“I HATE YOU!”
“THEN LEAVE!”
“I AM!”
A stout looking man with a moustache stood and began a long solemn speech. A man in the row second from the back slouched in his chair and rolled his eyes. How morbid.
“I’m here. For you.”
“And what is it you have to say?”
“I love you, my lord.”
At a sharp look from the woman beside him, the man in the second row from the back sat up in his chair and began to listen half-heartedly.
“You said you loved me.”
“I did not.”
“But, you -”
“I merely said that there could be a place in my heart for you.”
“But -”
“After years in my service, how could you have not noticed my lack of heart? You are foolish, Bellatrix.”
The woman pulled out a handkerchief, despite the fact it was painfully obvious that she wasn’t going to shed any tears.
“Why are you still here?”
“I - I - I’m.”
“-Incapable of coherent English. I see.”
The armchair creaked as a face distorted from years of internal torture peered around the side of it, his face lit up on one side from the glow of the fire.
“Let me make myself clear for you then. Leave.”
One tragically dull man finished his piece, a tall somewhat handsome man of his late sixties replaced him. His speech was infinitely better.
“And why are you back? Wait. Bella? What are you do- BELLA! NO!”
The wife he still loved fell to the floor. Lifeless.
The handsome man sat down again. Another man stood. This one was Russian. The man in the row second smiled slightly to himself.
- She’s gone. She’s never coming back. -
= You wrote last that she was dead to you. What has changed since then? =
- I wrote last out of rage. I was not in the right state of mine. -
= Are you in the right frame of mind now? =
- Perhaps not. -
= You wish to tell me something. =
- Yes. -
The Russian finished his speech. The crowd was still laughing as he sat down. There was more monotonous music and yet, despite the horrendous sound of it, a little voice was humming along, quite happily.
= Say it, man. You write so little. =
- It hurts to write. My wrist can’t take it. I’m serious. This is my last. -
= Again? You were serious last time. Prove yourself. =
- The ink in which I write. -
= What about it? =
- My blood. Thus it hurts my wrist to write. -
= Don’t say anymore. I’m coming for you. =
The man shifted uncomfortably in his seat, unable to concentrate on the ceremony as the little voice hummed a little louder. Even though the piece of music was quite dire, the voice seemed unable to sing it sadly, indeed it was quite the opposite. The tune seemed to have a sweet ring to it now.
“You’re a fool, brother.”
“I know.”
“I hadn’t realised your love for her was quite so intense.”
“I know.”
There was a pause as heavy breathing slowed and became more disjointed.
The woman frowned at her partner from the corner of her eye, astutely aware of why he was squirming.
“Rabastan?”
“Yes, Rod?”
“Was I such a fool to fall for her?”
“No man is not foolish when in love.”
“Rabastan?”
“Yes, Rod.”
“I’m sorry.”
Aurelia gave her husband a quick glance as if to say, “Please don’t turn around.” Rabastan nodded and kept his eyes to the front. A tiny hand slipped into his.
“Sorry? What for?”
“I’m sorry I drove Rosalind away.”
“None of that, Rod, please.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t let you marry her.”
“Rod, stop.”
“I’m sorry I told Aurelia.”
“Rod, STOP.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
“Rabastan?”
“Callie, no,” a worried voice directly behind Rabastan whispered as the tiny hand in his did not leave. A moment later, the hand withdrew, leaving a little object about an inch wide there.
“Yes, Rod?”
“I’m not going to last much longer.”
“I know.”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Letting me die.”
“You would have only tried again.”
“I know. But thank you for giving me the dignity of not being stopped.”
“You don’t have to thank me.”
“I know.”
The disjointed breathing changed to sharp breathes.
“Rabastan?”
“Yes?”
“I - I - I think -”
Rodolphus struggled to get his words out. His shallow breathing was not allowing him to.
“I know.”
“Never - told - you - be - fore.”
“You don’t have to talk.”
“I - know - but -”
“I know, Rod.”
“ - Good -”
The breathing stopped suddenly. Rabastan sat there a while, his brother’s lifeless form still held in his arms.
Rabastan squeezed the object in his hand but his face had its usual lack of expression. Aurelia had not yet suspected a thing. As the last of the music ended, Aurelia stood and began to weave her way through the crowd, most likely to speak with Calliope and Rashnu. She didn’t want to be anywhere near the people behind her. Not now. Not ever.
Rabastan did not stand.
“Callie, come on,” a voice he had dreamt about since he had first heard it urged.
“But, mama -”
“I know, but I don’t want you near him.”
“Shouldn’t have sat behind him.”
There was a pause.
“Daddy?”
Rabastan stiffened.
“Calliope!” The other voice hissed.
“Mr Lestrange, then.” The small voice was a persistent one.
Rabastan stood but did not turn around. Instead he unclenched his fingers and stared at the tiny silver locket that met his eyes.
“He doesn’t like it.”
“Hush, child!”
“I like it,” Rabastan stated to the locket.
He would not turn around.
He would not look.
He would not gaze into the small grey eyes he knew he would find.
He would not see his daughter.
He wouldn’t.