Fragile

WB Inc and Bloomsbury, Scholastic and Raincoast books. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringment is intended.

 

 

I watch them; the teachers, the students, I see how they fear me.

Not in the overt sense that one might fear a great beast.

It’s a quiet, hidden fear, the way one would regard a psychotic.

In their actions and in their words, they whisper only pleasant little things.

Careful, always remaining wary and careful.

 

 

They walk ahead of me in the halls, painting my way in pastel colours. Nothing harsh, nothing bright.

Anything stark, anything real, and I’ll assuredly shatter.

Everyone wishes me to move back into the old routine, yet they make sure it’s only experienced within a glass box.

 

 

I lived last summer after Cedric’s death in a walking coma. Nothing made sense to me.

The world I once knew suddenly wasn’t my own, it was the property of something, someone sinister.

For this reason I longed for the vibrant and electric landscape of my beloved academy.

To once again feed myself on a diet of laughter and schoolwork.

 

 

I was able to return to the work, but all laughter is kept at bay from me.

Instead, all my schoolmates show only sympathetic demeanors and force-feed me their pity.

The words, are you all right, seem to be all but a select few speak to me.

 

 

Amongst that select few, is a haughty fifth year Slytherin boy.

His cruel insults are the only thing of clarity in my current existence; the clarity of hatred.

All the built up exasperation at fellow students and imploringly compassionate teachers is redirrected at the diminutive blond.

 

 

I have no idea of his name, beyond knowing it begins with an M, and in turn, I doubt he’s aware of mine.

To him I’m simply the Asian girl who briefly dated Cedric.

To me, he is simply a sarcastic git that never fails to speak his mind; even when it’s wise not to.

When I’m round him, I can finally feel again, react and be the three dimentional person I once was.

Therefore I have no need to know him on more than a surface level.

All that matters is that I’m finally real, and not the porcelin doll I once worried I was.