feared
I was a damned soul, residing on this monstrous place.
They had a hand on my throat, stifling me, pushing me under the water. Air was stolen from my lungs like a toy from a child. My neck was strangled with a strain which shacked the wings of my youth.
My hands moved to get up on the surface.
I want to live.
I want to live the life that I could have had if I wasn't me.
However, to get by, I needed to change myself and I did.
I cleaned the child out of me with tenacious scours, and I cleaned it until it was gone.
His screams birthed out nightmares. His scars molded my body. I wept his blood at nights and laughed when I saw ichor on my bed-sheet.
If I am not loved then, I must be feared.
I turn cruel when empty.
I sat like them, held my head as high as possible. My words were rarely mine, they were an agglomeration of each individual I feared.
I never enjoyed it yet, I needed to. I must be feared.
I was drowning in the saccharine feeling of guilt as I bathed in purity and reveled in the bloodshed genocide and the suffering; both tinted to match the color of my skin and flames of hell- the perfect remedy to my drowning self.
Red painted nails of my mother dug sharply into my shoulders like claws when I went to stop the infanticide in front of them - she was smiling at the idea of scalding blood dripping down her fingers while, him and me; the sounds and reek of laughter seemed to recede far away and he found himself alone in the still and echoing universe.
How could they do that to their own child?
He was etched from his mom's fury and her starvation of virtue and discipline. He was born from the holy head of his father.
I was Athena and he was my Telemachus.
But, I stood against him.
I wanted to clutch my heart and press it hard enough that blood overflows out of it. I can't bear seeing his attempts to find his father.
He had no father.
I don't want to live any more.
What is the reason behind this life?
I was remaining in the midst of disarray and each face had softened into wax seal of wretchedness that just deepened with the destitute of scald age, every one was all around as unpleasant as the last-the tenants of these bodies looked as though they will be tremendously fit in a coffin-cuts from a spoiling cadaver of mangled morality and bloodied malice-plumes of coal debris roasted the rotten organs into grime and terribleness festered like gangrene in a war.
I was trapped in iron staircase during Sirius's first year. Tears brimmed in my eyes when I saw the drenched rays of sun from the creaked holes of the cobblestone wall. Any small fortune of joy was cut off with leather belt across my face. Voices were slurred in the dim hallway like the strings of violins. Incoming letters were snatched like deserted piece of me.
All this because my brother was sorted into the house he was not supposed to be in. He was in Gryffindor and I was suffering because of him.
But, was told, it was for him.
I wasn't born with bones which repelled the words of my parents.
Sooner or later, I will realize, I was born for this.
I was chided with slap made out of fury and aversion. Sweet melancholy slipped from my eyes with rivers of unanswered prayers, which later settled into the crimson whispers and the vast sea of loathe. They chattered the idea of brotherhood, the spark that could shackle heaven so, terribly that hell would be put to shame.
I am sorry, Sirius. I am not the brother you wanted but, I could be the brother who would clean the paths of salvation for you. I am a coward. I am irrelevant. I should be bereft of breaths and petals of joy.
I hope you will forgive me.