Outcasts
by Azkaban’s Guard
Chapter 1- Candidus (Dazzling White)
There
has to be an outcast somewhere. Where ever you go, every place you visit and
look around there’s someone that doesn’t fit in. People are always going on
about how it’s great to be different, or if they want to sound impressive-
unique. Well there’s a fine line between unique and odd. Many don’t know what
it’s like to be abused in front of an intimidating crowd. They have never known
and will not dare to find out how it feels to break down in an endless flood of
tears, for those tears to well up into a river of misery, and that river just
to be spat in. And still they join in the torment.
I know what it feels like; I have conversed with that pain and stared it in the
face. Its piercing eyes penetrated my skull and drowned my thoughts with a
monotonous chant with no words. But words or not, I still hear what its saying.
‘Failure...Failure...Failure...’ And my feeble defence is only a small sand
barrier which is no use. Sand cannot stop a rushing tide of fear.
I can’t fit in anywhere. The muggles shunt me out; they’re unnerved by my weird
characteristics. I know too much of the wizarding world to just live a muggle
way of life. But a squib can’t be a witch, no school would teach me. It’s just
a secret I can’t grasp; no matter how much I reach into the sky, those stars
that look so close evade me.
I thought I’d find my refuge in Diagon Alley, but the bricks won’t part without
a wands soft touch. I tried everything, I hit them with all my might, I cursed
at them with muggle swear words. I even shoved another brick at it once, and in
my maddening moments I began to think of explosives. And not only do I have to
cope with my deadly emotions, but the muggle onlookers. Many have tried to
fathom why I vent my anger on an open space; many have mistaken it for mental
illness- may be it is. Maybe that’s why I’m a squib, maybe it’s so I don’t
massacre the world with my infamous destruction. But squibs can cause as much
destruction as spilt milk on a pavement. Maybe I’ll be like the milk and just
give off a funny smell after the time. Wherever I walk everyone will hold their
nose and point. The muggles will just think I’m strange but the magic folk,
they know who I am. They’re the ones that hold their noses even more firmly as
if trying to suppress more than a foul smell. And there’s always the little
brats walking along that think my condition is contagious, I long so much for a
wand then, so much for a curse to shut their gaping mouths and pathless eyes.
Now all around me are padded walls and muggles wearing white coats. Maybe they
know my secret too. Perhaps they sterilise they’re uniform where my stray hand
has brushed the silky fabric; maybe I am
contagious...Just like a disease...