And I Could Run

I can run, or hide. But I can run only so far, and only hide for so long. Before my conscience catches up with me. Before the pain and depth of the hells I have caused are rebuked or grasp hold of me long enough to shatter me.

I'll bet no one at Hogwarts saw this coming. No one figured they would see Draco Malfoy in fear. Well I am in fear and I can't live with myself knowing that I've let it get the better of me. Every second of everyday I scream inside my own tortured mind. While the horrors of how I've conducted my life fly past me. Sometimes they are hallucinations and I hurt all over again because I can see their faces, empty gazes, open mouths, looking up at me in eternal silent pleas.

Fuck I hate myself. No longer will I blame this on another. I used to blame my father, dear old Lucius for all of his anger and stubborn ways. I hated him so much that I was ready to kill. I felt the rush of adrenaline pump through my veins like an unleashed beast everytime I saw that face. Going through my training, hearing him correct my errors countless times. Throughout my life and in my very own home, no, his home, in his home he would beat me and tell me I needed to straighten up. He'd list my faults not only as they came but reminded me of my past ones numerically, chronologically, alphabetically or any other way he felt he would be able to drill it into my skull. But the basic message was always there. I should stop fighting what options were presented to me. Be more like him.

So I became a Death Eater. I cared not if he was content or proud. I joined just to hear him shut the fuck up about my life. I thought maybe that if I did this one thing, he would let me alone forever. But no, of course that would have been too easy. So he trained me harder than anyone else. At midday everyday, when the sun was at its peak and hottest. There he would train and train until I bled and ached in all of my being. But now I know better. I still hate him, my father, oh I damn well hate him with a passion. However I understand what he was doing, and why. He trained me to hell because he thrived off watching me grow to achieve what he could not, and he did it because he wanted to make me his weapon against the world.

And I thank him for it. All my years at Hogwarts taught me barely a quarter of what I learned from him. I learned to defen my keep and strengthen myself until I was none but steel.

And then there was dear Potter. I blamed him too for my actions, always quite willing to spit that the cause was clearly his tempting me. Godhead Potter and his wonderful sidekicks, the Weasel and the Mudblood. I hated it when they marched defiantly past me, one step ahead and not once did they cease. Do-gooders without having to try and it pissed me off royally. I would have tried to be better, if it weren't for the punsihment that would certainly follow. I was not permitted to show a weakness so strong as caring. It could be taken advantage of at a critical point. So instead I watched from the sidelines, careful of my selected words when vomitting insults all over them. I had hoped I could break them, had hoped it would hurt the famous trio. But they were too strong for me morally. I couldn't handle that. They may have won the battles, but I know I have won this war. But I took it too far. Their teasing and taunting doesn't justify my murders. And now their faces haunt me too. I killed every last one of them. And in my dreams I hear their cries. Hear the rattle as they gasp their last breaths.

Inevitable I fufilled what I believe my only purpose on this planet was. I failed. I failed utterly. But here is the irony, I did not fail my father, or Voldemort or the Death Eaters. I've failed myself and I am past forgiveness.

All I ever wanted was to make a difference. And fucking idiot me, I took the wrong way to do it. I've made an impact alright, a damned huge one. Thanks to me more than two thirds of the wizarding world has been wiped out. Apparently though, the ones that remain are all that matter because they are true blooded. No contamination in their veins. Only Mudbloods and Squibs were slaughtered. The Death Eaters hunted day and night, and each time I gave them a new address, they charged. That does not mean that I was not guilty though. Admittedly I butchered quite a few. By my own hands at least four dozen.

Looking at these palms I wouldn't know it now. Innocence lies in these hands, it is the mind that is my corruption. I fear myself for what I have let me become. This monstrous evil that soaks the life out of the very air I breathe. I hate myself for giving into Voldemort's will. For being so easily made a lifeless, mindless tool. Why did I not see this coming? Arrogance and ignorance I suppose. I was never good at anything but, it was all I was taught to feel.

But now I feel so much more. I suffer because I keep running when I know the trail is etched in circles. This stupid cyclical existence of sleeping, eating, killing is eating away at what's left of my soul. Assuming I had one to begin with. Unless Voldemort stole that too. I am pained because I have slain any chance I had for revival. With every life I claimed a little speck of my humanity washed away. And now I am nothing but a shell.

I grow more sad for all the world, knowing the chaotic pit I have thrown it into.

For now that Voldemort reigns I know there will be no mercy.

I'm sick of feeling this. Scrap that, I am just plain sick of feeling! I can't live anymore, not now that I know this world. This place where I am ashamed to venture because I cannot even face up to what I've done.

The cold steel feels so wonderful against my warm body. Though my interior is as cold as ice. I pull the dagger up to my throat and reponder my life in a heartbeat. I will not regret anything anymore.

Fuck this, fuck life. I'm going.