“There is one way humans are born, but there are countless ways to die.” - Vincenzo Cassano
We’re all flesh and bone. We all came into the world through birth, but we leave it in so many different ways.
The First:
A pale boy, just turned eighteen, a mark etched far too deep into the marred skin of his worn, broken being that he couldn’t ever get rid off. Cool grey eyes filled with fear and determination and guilt. Long dark hair he hadn’t combed in days. He left the world trying to save them all, no one could foresee that he would drown in his own blood in a sea of inferi. Ice-cold hands clawed at him with all their might, pulling him to his doom. He knew there would be huge sacrifices, he knew that he’d have to leave early. As he fell further into the water and life was slowly slipping away from him, he just wished his brother could leave later, live longer and happier. He did all he could, he knew his efforts wouldn’t be known by anybody else apart from his loyal friend, but that was alright, as long as his actions weren’t entirely in vain.
The Second:
A kid, not even eighteen. Dirty blonde hair dishevelled and untamed, no time to take care of it. Striking cerulean eyes, a hint of helplessness hidden beneath the boy’s tough exterior. He was killed in the middle of a war, he got rid of the guy’s nose before the other took his life. He was mourned, he was missed, not by many, but missed nonetheless. Some called the seventeen year old brave for resisting capture and staying to fight rather than fleeing to save his own neck. His loved ones called him an idiot for dying so soon. For not staying safe, for being so stupidly brave and confident that he could get out alive. None of them were ready to lose him.
The Third:
An amazing young woman who fought against the dark. Against the bad guys, or so they said. A big heart, a sharp mind she conflicted with every other night. She loved them, they were her family. But she also loved the girl with sandy blonde hair who made her feel complete, she was her everything. She loved so hard, but a war was coming, and playing both sides was not an option. Her obsidian eyes held emotions stronger than the tides and emotions deeper than the depths of the oceans. Her lovely brown curls braided just down to her shoulders but no longer so taken care of. They all had to go to the other side, they were her everything as well, because family is forever. Yet she chose the light. She told herself she had to. She followed the love of her life and it took her to her death. In her dying moments, she realised that it didn’t fucking matter what side of the war you were on, what side was chosen because by the end if it, majority would be dead on both sides and they were. She was only twenty though, and she was grateful she didn't have to kill her family.
The Fourth:
A blonde haired girl who had her first child. Rosy cheeks and beautiful ocean eyes, that once seemed to hold a whole other world in them. A thousand cracks in her heart, and even more pieces of it missing, a million memories she reminisced over everyday, tears pooled at her eyes every time. Those same memories haunted her, the fact that she couldn’t save them had haunted her. They were gone and all she could do was suffer. She came up with an experiment, one of many. They said it was simply an unfortunate fate. An accident. They said she was gone, died to her own talents, her own creation. They failed to mention that she left a gorgeous little girl behind who so closely resembles her mother. The same bright eyes and long golden locks. She missed them so, so much. She survived the war they didn’t, but died to be with them anyway. She was thirty years old, a kindred spirit of everything warm and good.
The Fifth:
The only boy who made it past eighteen. He had become a broken man. His brown hair kept neat and those once ambitious hazel eyes had gone dark with a glint of madness straying within them. So many - no, too many secrets locked away inside the high concrete walls of that heavy, sorrowful heart. He was the last to die. He survived the first war but he chose not to survive the second time, solely because he couldn’t do it, not all over again, not without them. Every person he had ever loved died terribly one after the other. He had to handle it all alone. Each time, he cried and he screamed till he could no more. Until his throat was hoarse and there were no tears left to cry. Until he was completely and utterly void of humanity. It was said that his brief manic episodes during grief eventually caused him to go mad. It was true, he had gone insane, lost himself in the maze of his mind, stricken by grief and heartbreak too many times for a single person to handle. He never recovered from the psychological shock and anguish he felt when he heard of the death of the seventeen year old boy with dirty blonde hair and cerulean eyes. That was his tipping point. His forever was gone, he let it sink it. He knew there was no reason to go on, but he also knew that the love of his life would want him to at least try. For his lover, he continued to fight. The second war was way harder than the first. But after many years, during his time undercover, his heart broke once again, and for the last time, when he recognised a student in his classroom. Such familiar blonde locks and bright sapphire eyes. He couldn’t be mistaken. Continuing to fight would mean harming that little girl, one of his best friends’ daughters. He couldn't do that. In another world, he knew that girl would be calling him uncle. Eventually, he found that there was no fight left in him. Everyone was gone, he had nobody left. The little girl was better off not knowing. He had reached the end and he was thirty-three. But he had reached the end alone. They promised to be there forever, that none of them would ever be left alone, but here he was. So he let it happen. He almost welcomed the darkness when it sucked his soul out of him. He didn't live long enough to know whether to regret it or not.
“Scorpius! Albus! Time for dinner!”
The blonde little boy tucked the journal under his pillow as fast as he could.
The brown haired boy fell off the bed in a rush.
Scorpius helped Albus up, resisting the urge to laugh.
“We're coming father!”
That was the first page of many within the unknown leather journal, and they intended to read every single one.