well.
Seventy-four to One.
That's not a very good ratio (to state the obvious). If this is the first day of summer, I don't want to know how the last is going to be. That sounded selfish. It's not a good day at this house, though. I came outside to sit, and brought my journal with me. I wanted to see how everyone else is about this.
Aries - Christopher, is a somewhat distant relative, but still. And I can't help but be a little sad that he's dead. Although it makes it hard to be, considering that ratio and (how he's always been). It's not as if he would have ever spoken to me. Or as if I wanted him to. But I lived in the same school with him for five years, and saw him passing through the hallways. He's in the ground now, or burned, whatever they've done with his body. It's just an odd feeling that I'm not sure I can even describe. It feels more like nostalgia than sadness. It's like when you're very tired, but you have three more chapters to read. And you find yourself breathing slowly and deeply. You want to just throw aside the book and say that you don't care, but you know that you do, deep down, and so you force yourself to read it, and you just feel tired and blah, and as if that's the only feeling that you're ever going to have. I suppose that's how it is. Or, that's the best thing that I can come up with to explain it. Maybe that isn't even how it is. I suppose that it doesn't matter, now does it?
Because I feel ten times worse for the seventy-four and their families. Whether or not they were good people, they shouldn't have died yet. That little girl's alone now, and the entire town around her is bodies and ash. All of her friends and her parents lived there. Her clothes and toys. She must be traumatised. Well. At least one Death Eater will never be able to do that again.
I can't help but think that maybe I could have known, somehow. But that's a ridiculous thought, and I don't know why I'm thinking it.
Some reporter popped into our fireplace to speak to my parents. They didn't comment, but I don't even know why he bothered with us. We must be off the Black family tree. Actually, we were never even put on it, I think. I don't believe what his parents said, though.
I think that I've written about this enough. I'll see some of you later. I hadn't expected to write in here so soon, but I feel better. It's a good outlet.
Audrey B.
That's not a very good ratio (to state the obvious). If this is the first day of summer, I don't want to know how the last is going to be. That sounded selfish. It's not a good day at this house, though. I came outside to sit, and brought my journal with me. I wanted to see how everyone else is about this.
Aries - Christopher, is a somewhat distant relative, but still. And I can't help but be a little sad that he's dead. Although it makes it hard to be, considering that ratio and (how he's always been). It's not as if he would have ever spoken to me. Or as if I wanted him to. But I lived in the same school with him for five years, and saw him passing through the hallways. He's in the ground now, or burned, whatever they've done with his body. It's just an odd feeling that I'm not sure I can even describe. It feels more like nostalgia than sadness. It's like when you're very tired, but you have three more chapters to read. And you find yourself breathing slowly and deeply. You want to just throw aside the book and say that you don't care, but you know that you do, deep down, and so you force yourself to read it, and you just feel tired and blah, and as if that's the only feeling that you're ever going to have. I suppose that's how it is. Or, that's the best thing that I can come up with to explain it. Maybe that isn't even how it is. I suppose that it doesn't matter, now does it?
Because I feel ten times worse for the seventy-four and their families. Whether or not they were good people, they shouldn't have died yet. That little girl's alone now, and the entire town around her is bodies and ash. All of her friends and her parents lived there. Her clothes and toys. She must be traumatised. Well. At least one Death Eater will never be able to do that again.
I can't help but think that maybe I could have known, somehow. But that's a ridiculous thought, and I don't know why I'm thinking it.
Some reporter popped into our fireplace to speak to my parents. They didn't comment, but I don't even know why he bothered with us. We must be off the Black family tree. Actually, we were never even put on it, I think. I don't believe what his parents said, though.
I think that I've written about this enough. I'll see some of you later. I hadn't expected to write in here so soon, but I feel better. It's a good outlet.
Audrey B.