"Hoax"
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Bellatrix’s Point of View:
The stars twinkle above the curls on my head. Dark thoughts circulate in my brain as clouds do on a gray day right before it is about to storm. It’s a quiet night. Most students are either asleep or in their rooms minding their own business. I’ve grown rather used to the quiet, but I can’t keep the thoughts away on a night as silent as this. I never have been able to.
Rita would be better off if you weren’t around.
I try to ignore the voices. If I give in, you’ll never hear from me again.
But after all,
Maybe people want that.
Cissy and Dromeda don’t care about you they never have.
That’s not true. I know that’s not true.
They care about me; they just don’t show it.
Right?
The whistle of the icy breeze causes goosebumps to arise on my arms that are only slightly covered by a purple shawl.
Rita’s purple shawl.
I know I shouldn’t kill myself, after all who would even mourn my death. I’m a useless pile of rubbish my family is left picking up every time the wind blows it over. I can’t keep living a life like this. A life in pain. A life that causes other people pain.
I’m just a soul floating through the void with the right purpose or reason.
“Dead people receive more flowers than the living ones because regret is stronger than gratitude.” - Anne Frank
This is one of my favorite quotes ever to exist. It speaks the truth which many people do these days and it’s hard to believe that a child of such a young age was able to imagine a term so poetic yet so honest in what everyone experiences in their day to day lives. There’s one thing that me and this quote have the most in common.
I’m similar to a flower.
I’m given to people out of regret on what I have become, since no one has ever truly known how to be grateful for me being me and just that.
I’m impossibly unlovable.
My mother and father both know it. As do Andromeda and Narcissa. But most of all Rita also knows I am impossible to be loved or show my love. She even tried her very hardest out of everyone I have ever met, and she still wasn’t able to be put up with.
I'm a breathing hoax that people continue to place their false beliefs in.
I’m not a living hoax I’m just a breathing one because if I really was a living hoax I wouldn’t be debating taking my life at this moment.
I am simply just a breathing hoax. Never a living hoax.
Once Rita finds out she will be heartbroken for days. Once she finds out I cheated on her with Audrey she’ll be even more broken. Fuck my hormones.
I’m a fucking idiot.
I took the one girl who ever actually semi-loved me and I cheated on her with her enemy all due to me wanting to have sex and Rita not giving me that?
I can’t believe that I’m saying this, but I think this is actually the downfall of Bellatrix Druella Black.
The downfall off of a high cliff covered with wisteria as I follow my fears all the way down or the downfall off of a tower painted with the twinkling colors of the nighttime sky.
At the end of the day,
I’m falling from somewhere.
And I don’t mean mentally.
I shouldn’t be scared. I’ve never been scared of heights before. Looking off of this building always felt like a breath of fresh air and a moment of tranquility. Now it feels like a place of mourning and an area for the dead.
“There are moments when, even to the sober eye of Reason, the world of our sad humanity must assume the aspect of Hell” - Edgar Allan Poe
Rita once gave me an in-depth description about how my body was chiseled similarly to gothic architecture. She said my collarbones were the stained-glass windows everyone seemed to take a view of when passing by. It’s a shame the only time she will ever see them again is as I lay on a bed of roses surrounded by my so-called family who try to recall foreign memories without any success.
Edgar Allan Poe understood what it was like to be an outcast. He wrote stories and poems on what the dark and twisted feel and see every day. He understood that no matter big or small would ever be able to compare to the broken minds of the mentally ill.
His quotes bring out a part of me that no one ever knew existed. The potions knife weighs heavier than usual as it rests in my pocket. The height of the towers brings an excruciating fear upon me as I struggle to make my way to the surface of the deep waters known as my feelings.
If I communicated with Rita more, I know I wouldn’t be here at this moment. I would be safely tucked away in my bed without a single dark thought clouding my already twisted mind. The December chill sparks a thought in me with each step I take closer and close to the edge of the tower.
You never really know how scared you are of heights until you have to jump off of them.
Thankfully, no sane person will ever have to experience something as melancholic and mournful as this.
I can’t do this.
At least I can’t do it this way.
I’m not scared of heights usually, but this time I feel a weight pulling me down onto the hard surface instead of the light air that flows around the tower.
No matter how hard I wanted to, I won't be able to jump, and I knew that coming here.
I subconsciously chose a place where I could hide.
Not face my fears at the very last moments of my life that I will keep so dear to me in my heart.
I hesitantly reach my hand into the pocket cloaked by Rita's purple shawl. Along with my hand I pull a small potion knife out of the pocket. The one I used to curse Rita’s bullies when I first met them. The same bullies I later ended up cheating on her with.
The sharp blade lightly grazes my skin, but I make sure not to add enough pressure to where it breaks skin. My skin glistens in the moonlight. Bellatrix is probably looking at the stars on her dorm room’s ceiling. The dorm room I snuck into so many times before this dreadful night.
“To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all.” - Oscar Wilde
I have only ever existed.
I never lived.
And I never will.
I will eventually spend my days whisked away with a man as I die in pain after giving birth to my fourth child who is still not a baby boy.
Like Oscar Wilde said, to live is the rarest thing.
And I know Rita will live better once I am gone.
Fuck what am I doing with my life?
I can’t kill myself.
I attempt to drop the potions knife that lies in between my index and middle finger of my right hands. Before I get the chance to do so the blade is pressed into my skin and slashed in an upward position.
I watch as the crimson liquid spills from my veins and I collapse to the floor. The blood pools around me and I feel the sticky liquid in the palms of my hand as it quickly spreads up my arms and onto my back.
Odette Roses with blood splattered across her perfect makeup looks down at me on the floor. I try to produce a scream in my throat, but nothing seems to come out. She reaches down to grab the small dagger from my hand and admires the blood laid across the antique blade.
“I would’ve thought you’d have more common sense than to try and take Abel from me?” She has a fake pout on her face that mocks the excruciating pain I’m going through right now.
I try to force words out my mouth, but none seem to appear. I wasn’t going to do it. But now I have no choice. The reaper has claimed me as his own.
But unless the Reaper is Odette Roses then she can’t take me down that easily.
Odette brings the blade to my other wrist before quickly slashing that one to look almost identical to the one on my left arm. I watch as the blood pulls out of my arm and onto the hard flooring of the Astronomy Tower. I feel my vision start to go hazy, but I have to hold on for as long as I can.
I won’t let a fucking jealous first year kill me.
If anyone is going to kill Bellatrix Black, it’s going to be either myself or my mother.
Both are very likely options.
Sadly.
“No one can take Abel from me and get away with it,” I feel a quick kick to the rib cage followed by the loud sound of a crack.
I definitely just broke at least one rib.
Another sharp kick is shot at my ribs.
Another crack follows the kick.
“You’re fucking crazy,” I manage to get out in a quiet whisper.
“No one can hear you, Bellatrix. Cry and scream all you want. No one will come and find you until tomorrow morning. By then it will already be too late,” She hisses, and I feel some of her spit splatter onto my face.
My visions get hazier and hazier, and I watch as something purple is laid upon my face. Likely out of guilt of what she has done Odette couldn’t look me in the eyes any longer. The purple shawl is what is covering my eyes. I can’t prove it, but I have a sneaking suspicion.
My hearing fades in and out and all I can seem to smell is the strong scent of metal. Which is more than obviously just my blood. My head feels heavy, and clothes stick to me worse than they do after quidditch practice.
Suddenly,
It all goes dark.
“Tragedy is an imitation not only of a complete action, but of events inspiring fear and pity. Such an effect is best produced when the events come on us by surprise; and the effect is heightened when, at the same time, they follow as cause and effect. The tragic wonder will then be great than if they happened of themselves or by accident; for even coincidences are most striking when they have an air of design.” - Aristotle
“Bellatrix, are you there?” Then the hot drops known as tears hit my face.