Dear World

Dear World,

It is so cold up here. The wind breezes in and out of here like ladies in a French boutique. Full of sound and fury. Hiding a power and fierceness I've never known. But at the same time, beautiful and sweet carrying the distant scent of a campfire lit by the clans of elves that live in the forest. I can think up here. It is so clear and my head has been so clouded these last few days with thoughts I can not sort through. So today after classes were over I climbed up this tree. It is high and I know that I shouldn't be even this far into the forest but I needed to be away. It gets to be too much at times. Lavender Brown is dead.

I saw a show once. It was titled "six characters in search of an author." I can not remember who wrote it but I remember it well. I didn't understand it at first. But I do now. Lavender killed herself two nights ago and left the rest of us with something missing. We suddenly became the characters with this story that needed to be told but no one will write it for us. So we become the writers.

Dumbledore read us the letter. We never knew. How can some one so happy hide such a painful secret? I can't imagine. We all saw her the happy person she projected herself to be. We were all so blind!

It feels strange. I saw her everyday. At lunch and dinner. At Qudditch games and down in Hogsmead. But I never knew her. I can't remember ever saying more than a simple hello to her in passing her in the hallways but some how I know my life will never be the same again.

Something inside of me feels like it died with her. I feel so guilty about not getting to know her better. Could I have made a difference in her finale choice? Would it have mattered at all? Selfish thoughts, I know, but I can't help it. My mind wanders further than this page and these words can carry me. Why do I feel like this? Like I could have stopped her from doing it. The guilt thrums in my veins like water down a rushing river. and yet I also feel like I don't feel nearly guilty enough. A young woman is dead.

I find myself thinking of what I might have done. If I was Lavender Brown an my father beat me and my brother. If he raped me and my mother. If my mother was too frightened to run away. Would I have chosen the same way out? Would I have told some one? I pray to God or whatever higher being may reside above me that I never am forced to find out. My family is quiet to the point of being annoyingly perfect at times but I wouldn't alter it for the world.

That's a funny concept isn't it? Perfection. We all thought Lavender had it perfect. We hated her and admired her because she was everything we could never be. But She wasn't perfect. Perfect is never as complex as real life so perfection can never exist in the real world. I used to wish that I was perfect. I'd pretend to be. But I'm not. None of us are. If we were, we would have seen it and stopped her.

But her death, I fear, is only the second of many we will see in the days to come. We all walk around in fear of dying. My father told me once that everything in history boils down to two things. Fear and Pride. We fight for something we are proud of because we are afraid to lose it. Was Lavender proud of anything though? Is that why she became so frightened of life that she ended it? I don't think it is ours to know but still the question haunts me.

Fear. When it hits you it's like needles hitting up. It pluses through you in waves. An unstoppable force that leaves you with such and adrenaline rush you feel dizzy. Is that what she felt? Every night as her father entered her room? I can't even begin to imagine.

Pride. It feels strange to see Harry Potter walking around like this. Normally he wears his pride like a cloak he can hid behind. But now he walks around like it was all his fault. Like he should have stopped it. A shrink would say he's going through depression and guilt but then so am I but I'm not acting like that... Am I?

I remember when Cedric died. We Hufflepuffs were so proud and scared and guilty. We felt all of it. anger and hate and loathing. But it fells so different now. Like it's easier to take some how. And I feel guilty about that too. All this guilt is driving me mad.

And so I'm here. The light is fading and I can only just see the words as they pour out of my quill. I wonder if this was how she felt. Like she was writing a farewell to some one. I can't explain it. It's like I may never get back. This is the end... Yes. It is. For I will never be the same person again. I have become suddenly a person I don't recognize. An angry man stands in that boy's place at the table when we stand to mourn the dead. Maybe it all comes down to three things instead of two. Fear, Pride, and Anger. Good-Bye Lavender.

Signed,

Justin F-F