Keep Your Eyes Open

Keep Your Eyes Open

By Linneria

"The hurt sky is weeping

Soaked Nightingales have ceased to sing

Dusk has come too early

I am drowning in blue."

I collapsed on the cold sand, scattering the objects I carried. Out of breath from having run down the slope. I felt my heart beating against my ribs, felt my breath come in sharp gasps. I threw my hands out to steady myself. As the flats of my hands came in contact with the ground, they sank into the sand.

I lifted my chin, shifted my gaze, and fixed my eyes on the manor on the cliff. The outline of the building was still visible in the night. Hatred.

My breathing stabilized and I became aware of the hypnotic lapping of waves against the shore. A gentle breeze lifted my bangs. A lone gull's cry pierced through the night, filled my ears. I looked down at the assortment of objects on the beach. I arranged them mentally. Start with the mirror, followed by the quill and parchment, and lastly, the dagger.

I reached out for the mirror, grasping it with my fingers, lifted it to my face. My reflection stared back at me. Stray strands of hair obstructed my view, and I brushed them aside with the tips of my fingers. I scowled. What was that my mother used to tell me as a child? Smile, and a faerie is born, scowl, and a faerie dies. I must be a mass murderer by now.

The frame of the mirror was intricately carved. Precious gems decorated it, and the family crest adorned it. Looking in the mirror gave me a bittersweet sensation. I liked the way I look, but I inherited it from the person I hate most. My father. I stare at that face, thinking, sudden spasms of anger and hatred for the person responsible for pushing me to this stage. You are to recognise the importance of good grooming. He shoved this mirror at me. Since then, the mirror has been my constant companion. I looked in it before attending dinners and functions in which I am to appear immaculate. I looked in it after severe beatings inflicted upon me when I committed mistakes. And tonight, I will look into it, to check my appearance. I turned the mirror over in my hand and set it down on the beach once again. I let my hand rest on the polished surface. Later, your turn will come again.

Now, I picked up the quill with my left hand, unscrolling the parchment with my other. I dipped the nib into the ink and started to write. Write to the person who made my life hell. The quill glided across the parchment, forming words. Writing always fascinated me. Mere movements of your hand transformed into powerful weapons. Weapons that can hurt. I wrote in the semi-darkness, all my hate, all the accusations, taunts, curses, transferred onto this piece of parchment. Upon finishing, I folded it and placed it neatly beside the mirror.

I got to my feet, stooped down and picked up the dagger. The hilt was smooth. I walked towards the water, waded out into the open sea until I was knee-deep in water. I stretched out my right arm, examining it. It looked so smooth and white in the moonlight, so like ivory. Lifting my left, I slashed my wrist. Pain. Blood emerged from the ugly wound, traveled down my hand, down my fingers, and into the water. The sea would be my portal, my gateway to the world. My blood would travel to the rest of the world, places my body never had a chance to travel to. As a child, I used to seek solace in the sea, telling myself that one day I would escape. Now, I chide myself for having been so naïve, so stupid. That day will never come. The water around me was a violent shade of red, and my arm was numb with pain.

I waded back to the shore and lay supine next to the mirror and parchment. Gazing at the sky, I saw the incandescent stars dappled on the vast black canvas that was the sky. How beautiful. Still staring at the constellations above me, I groped for the mirror and brought it to face me. This is how I want to remain in his mind. I smiled. He would come; he would see a pair of cold gray eyes staring back into his own. I would remain imprinted in his mind like that forever. My image will haunt him beyond the day he dies. He will be ridden with guilt for eternity. My smile widened. Adieu. I put the mirror down and raised the dagger once again. I felt the sharp blade against my wrist. I deepened the first gash. I felt the dagger against my bone, felt my blood drench my robes, stain the pure white sand red. I dropped the dagger. Suicide is only for imbeciles. Why throw away a perfectly good life? Is that so, Father? Is that so? The flaw in your statement lies in the fact that my life was never, and will never, be "perfectly good".

Dizziness flooded my head, and pain seared through my entire body, working its way up from my arm. My eyelids started to droop... no! Keep them open for him to see; they will inflict guilt upon him. Keep your eyes open, Draco, keep your eyes open... ...