My SadnessAuthor: munky
ON WIT DA FIC I stand alone in front of the mirror late at night. The silence surrounding me is maddening and I have to suppress the urge to either shudder in fear or break the mirror with my hand in anger. What I see reflected back at me could be what anyone else would see when they look at me. Silvery blonde hair framing a handsome, almost girlishly petite face; cupid�s bow lips, a narrow, patrician nose, and grayish, almost silver colored eyes. A thin, willowy body accompanies the rest of the image. Limbs are beginning to be covered with a light down of blondish-peach fuzz, a sign of my status as a fifteen year old male. I have no trouble with gathering a court of admirers and want-to-be lovers with my looks, but as I gaze critically at my shivering body in the mirror, I am filled with revulsion. I realize that I am far from perfect, just like the rest of the world. Yet, I seem to hate myself even more than most. I see ugliness in myself that others do not. For example, right now I am looking at the crook of my arm to see the web of scars that others don�t see. I cut them myself and I permit no one to share in my secret shame. Was there a reason to this random self-mutilation? Of course. Every action we take has a purpose and mine was to find an outlet for my despair. It�s better to feel physical pain that leaves a visible scar then suffer pain inside your mind, where it can sit and haunt you, reopening a mental scar that takes a lifetime to heal. That isn�t the only place with ugliness, no. Far from it. My eyes speak volumes of the ugliness inside me and out. They draw me inward as I stare at the reflection of them, mocking me with all the past wrongs I have done and times I have failed. Not to others, but to myself. I grew up being touted as something special; the heir of Slytherin, but when I finally came to Hogwarts, the teachers and students have showed me who I really am. A nothing. I am nothing and will always be nothing. I�m shaking. The fear of who I really am has captured me, in the stillness tonight, between the breaths I take. I make a pitiful figure now, a pale little boy standing in front of a mirror in my underwear, bird-like chest hitching upwards as the tears flow from my red, weeping eyes. I can�t, I can�t�no, don�t want to see myself like this, so weak and frail. Better to hide behind the self-confident mask I wear for others than to see what I really am. A sniveling, weak, cowardly, miserable, lying crybaby. I�d be a stupid git if I ever thought I could be something else. The clock on my bedside table chimes the hour and I look, curious to see the time. Three o�clock in the morning. I know I won�t be able to sleep anytime soon. I�m afraid to sleep in the dark; even a light on at night doesn�t help, so I don�t sleep until my body refuses to go on anymore. Then I collapse into a dreamless sleep for as long as possible. My teachers are getting suspicious, especially Snape, my Potions teacher. He�s a dark haired, skeptical man with no friends at all who seems to like me for some reason. He�s always there to go to when I feel lonely enough to want to be around someone. I don�t like his concern for me, though. If my parents don�t care, why should anyone else bother? Unless he wants to use me for some twisted purpose of his own� Enough! I don�t know why Snape would care for a failure like me, and I don�t care! I just know that unless I can do something to make myself sleep at night, I�m headed for a mountain of trouble. Madam Pomfrey and the rest of those nosy idiots will try to get in my head, and that�s the last place I want anyone to be at all. Perhaps there might be a spell in one of those idiotic spell books in the library to help me sleep. Anything would be useful to me right now. I need a distraction from all this thinking, otherwise I�m sure I�ll go quite mad. There�s only so much I can handle knowing and reflecting about myself before I snap. I�m positive that I�ve already crossed that line of tolerance tonight. The only question that remains is what should I do to distract myself? My homework is insignificant and petty, no one else is awake now besides those traitorous house-elves, and I�ll surely be caught if I try to sneak down to the Quidditch field for some late night flying. Quidditch�like that idiotic Potter, I too have a fondness for flying. It takes me away from my worries, makes my heart race with so much excitement that I no longer care about how weak I am, and it never judges my actions. I am in control of the broom at all times and it only goes where I direct it to go. My body doesn�t want to stand up anymore, so I lie down instead, reveling in the feel of the soft, downy pillows and the clean sheets that caress my skin. It�s nice to feel this simple pleasure and not have to worry about the price paid for it or what the consequences of feeling comfort may be. So tired�my eyes are getting so heavy�don�t want to think anymore. Sleep� Additional Author Notes: Just a little ficlet really, something to show who Draco is behind the mask of arrogance he wears all the time. It�s just a general fic really, some slight relationship hints between him and Snape, although Draco doesn�t really want to accept what Snape is offering. munky |