20 Jul 2020, 19:11
Forlorn hope
Alexander sat on the harsh, cold stone steps of the owlery. Surrounded by the smell of owl refuse and the constant hooting sounds around him. Normally he would have wondered why no better mail system had ever been created with magic. But today he didn't wonder about that. Instead his focus was on the letter in front of him. The ink still drying as he did the finishing touches. Adding a final few thought to the letter.
After finishing the final touches Alexander put his quill back into the glass filled with ink. Then he put his two hands together on his face, around the nose, and let out a tired and sad sigh.
So much had happened in such a short time. So many realizations, so many realities that have been turn upside down. All of it had shifted, or rather, he had finally realized. Realized how much had been lost, how much time, how many years. And even now, even now he could not truly recall all that had been lost. The time periods between his actual first year and now. He had memories from before, but after that and now, everything was simply one blank memory. Not like a hole, but as if it never happened. Even as he tried to grasp it, it stayed so far away from him. He did not know what had been lost, what had been gained. He knew little. And now, more than ever, he needed information and more importantly. Some comfort, a bit of support. Even if they did not fully understand.
And so Alex's eyes now focused on the piece of parchment. His eyes slightly moist as he read it.
Translation:
As he sat there. Observing the letter he felt how the moisture in his eyes increased and accumelated into a single teardrop. He then felt how this single teardrop went down his face, down to his lip leaving a salty after taste.
Then he quickly caught the attention of one of the school owls and said.
"Bring this to my parents."
He then put the letter into the the small tube around the pawn of the owl. Looking of as it flew away, towards the South. Watched till the owl left his vision. Then he let out a sigh and walked back to his dorm. He still had the rest of the day. And maybe he could still see his friend today.
After finishing the final touches Alexander put his quill back into the glass filled with ink. Then he put his two hands together on his face, around the nose, and let out a tired and sad sigh.
So much had happened in such a short time. So many realizations, so many realities that have been turn upside down. All of it had shifted, or rather, he had finally realized. Realized how much had been lost, how much time, how many years. And even now, even now he could not truly recall all that had been lost. The time periods between his actual first year and now. He had memories from before, but after that and now, everything was simply one blank memory. Not like a hole, but as if it never happened. Even as he tried to grasp it, it stayed so far away from him. He did not know what had been lost, what had been gained. He knew little. And now, more than ever, he needed information and more importantly. Some comfort, a bit of support. Even if they did not fully understand.
And so Alex's eyes now focused on the piece of parchment. His eyes slightly moist as he read it.
Hoi Pa en Ma,
Dingen... gaan niet zo goed hier bij zweinstijn.
Er gebeuren hier rare dingen, en om een of andere manier ben ik erbij betrokken.
Het heeft mij verandert. Ik weet niet hoe maar, er is iets gebeurt. En ik kan niet precies herinneren wat.
Sorry als ik zo onduidelijk ben maar, de situatie is raar.
Ik voel me niet goed.
Elke dag voel ik een druk op mijn borst, mijn ogen zijn steeds vochtig alsof ik bijna altijd op het moment sta om te huilen. Sommige dagen kan ik amper uit bed komen.
Wat ik eigenlijk will zeggen, ik voel me niet in het juist vel. En hoewel ik weet dat zwijstein de plek voor mij is. Ben ik verward, verward en verloren.
Soms heb ik het gevoel dat ik niet weet wat echt is of wat nep is.
Wat ik eigenlijk vraag is, is om support.
Voor jullie om te zeggen dat het goed is, of tenminste dat alles goedkomt.
Alvast bedankt,
Jullie zoon. Alexander
Translation:
Reducio
Hello mom and dad,
Things..... are not going well here at Hogwarts.
Weird things are happening here, and in some way I am involved with them.
It has changed me. I don't know how but, something happened. And I can't remember exactly what.
Sorry if I am being unclear, the situation is weird.
I don't feel well.
Every day I feel a pressure on my chest, my eyes are moist as if I can cry at any moment. Some days I almost can't get out of bed.
Basically, what I want to say is, I don't feel comfortable. And though I know that Hogwarts is the place for me. I am confused and lost.
Some days I don't know what is real and what is fake.
What I am asking for, is support.
For you to say that it is alright, or at least that things are going to turn out alright.
Thank you.
Your son, Alexander
Hello mom and dad,
Things..... are not going well here at Hogwarts.
Weird things are happening here, and in some way I am involved with them.
It has changed me. I don't know how but, something happened. And I can't remember exactly what.
Sorry if I am being unclear, the situation is weird.
I don't feel well.
Every day I feel a pressure on my chest, my eyes are moist as if I can cry at any moment. Some days I almost can't get out of bed.
Basically, what I want to say is, I don't feel comfortable. And though I know that Hogwarts is the place for me. I am confused and lost.
Some days I don't know what is real and what is fake.
What I am asking for, is support.
For you to say that it is alright, or at least that things are going to turn out alright.
Thank you.
Your son, Alexander
As he sat there. Observing the letter he felt how the moisture in his eyes increased and accumelated into a single teardrop. He then felt how this single teardrop went down his face, down to his lip leaving a salty after taste.
Then he quickly caught the attention of one of the school owls and said.
"Bring this to my parents."
He then put the letter into the the small tube around the pawn of the owl. Looking of as it flew away, towards the South. Watched till the owl left his vision. Then he let out a sigh and walked back to his dorm. He still had the rest of the day. And maybe he could still see his friend today.
Last edited by Alexander Varellion on 30 Aug 2020, 18:48, edited 1 time in total.
Memory is all we are. Moments and feelings, captured in amber, strung on filaments of reason. Take a man’s memories and you take all of him. Chip away a memory at a time and you destroy him as surely as if you hammered nail after nail through his skull
14 Aug 2020, 00:42
Forlorn hope
Alexander would get a reply later that same day. The envelope was simple, cream colored. He might recognize the stationary, while simple it belonged to his mother. She had gotten a large sum of cards and envelopes several years ago from a little girl that would make an incredible used car salesman. It was likely the whole class trip was funded by that little girl's stationary sales that year.
The card, a familiar floral pattern. There were several that came with the set she got, this was one of her least favorite - a modernist take on violets or perhaps pansies. It was hard to tell, for the amount she spent on these cards she expected something better. Her son (you) could have done a better job drawing with his toes. A challenge if you took on, she would have claimed a success regardless of how true or not that might have been.
Yes, it was from them. However whatever relief might have come over him would be replaced with dred when he read the swirling penmanship of his mother in navy colored ink.
The card, a familiar floral pattern. There were several that came with the set she got, this was one of her least favorite - a modernist take on violets or perhaps pansies. It was hard to tell, for the amount she spent on these cards she expected something better. Her son (you) could have done a better job drawing with his toes. A challenge if you took on, she would have claimed a success regardless of how true or not that might have been.
Yes, it was from them. However whatever relief might have come over him would be replaced with dred when he read the swirling penmanship of his mother in navy colored ink.
Some of the ink was smeared, as if it was hastily and aggressively written. There was no signature.What sort of sick joke is this? We have no son, he died over a year ago. I hope you are ashamed of yourself, he might have been a troubled boy but there was a lot of good in him. More good than you would ever realize.
There is something about ambition, how it not only propels you but also defines you.
20 Aug 2020, 20:55
Forlorn hope
Alexander felt a small sense of relief as he saw the letter arrive. Recognizing the envelope and feeling a large burden fall of his back. He at least knew that his parents were still alright. That they were still there and that they had not been affected by whatever had happened here.
Then he saw the card and looked upwards to the roof of the great hall. Smiling as he reminisced over those memories. How long ago had it been, it feltl like ages ago. Which it had probaply been. Such a long time ago in his short life. Though truly how much, he couldn't really say. Even if his entire perception of time was still as it should have been.
His finger went over the edge of the car, reminiscing, but now a little more sombre as he felt the edging of the card. Then taking a deep breath he opened the card. Wishing to feel that sense of comfort. Those words which had helped him through dark times. Though compared to what was going on now, those dark times could hardly be called dark at all. Then he opened the letter, and as he read the first letters he just froze. His eyes went over the letter, his hands numb. As he saw what was written. He leaned onto the great table. Just feeling this pervasive sense of numbness, inside both his body and his soul. Not sadness, rage or anything. Just this great empty feeling inside of his core, roughly where his heart should have been. As he took in a few ragged breaths. He subsequently, marched out of the great hall. And went down into the dungeons. Beyond the Slytherin common room or the routes people frequented. WHen he was sure that no one could see him, he leant against the wall and let himself slide towards a crouched position. And now he felt how tears now slowly went off his face.
How he took in heavy breath. Feeling his entire chest shake, as he let out these big, physical, wrenching sobs. And even as he sobbed, he felt numb. As if his body and his soul were two completely disconnected things for a moment. He just lay there, wallowing in despair.
Alone.
Then he saw the card and looked upwards to the roof of the great hall. Smiling as he reminisced over those memories. How long ago had it been, it feltl like ages ago. Which it had probaply been. Such a long time ago in his short life. Though truly how much, he couldn't really say. Even if his entire perception of time was still as it should have been.
His finger went over the edge of the car, reminiscing, but now a little more sombre as he felt the edging of the card. Then taking a deep breath he opened the card. Wishing to feel that sense of comfort. Those words which had helped him through dark times. Though compared to what was going on now, those dark times could hardly be called dark at all. Then he opened the letter, and as he read the first letters he just froze. His eyes went over the letter, his hands numb. As he saw what was written. He leaned onto the great table. Just feeling this pervasive sense of numbness, inside both his body and his soul. Not sadness, rage or anything. Just this great empty feeling inside of his core, roughly where his heart should have been. As he took in a few ragged breaths. He subsequently, marched out of the great hall. And went down into the dungeons. Beyond the Slytherin common room or the routes people frequented. WHen he was sure that no one could see him, he leant against the wall and let himself slide towards a crouched position. And now he felt how tears now slowly went off his face.
How he took in heavy breath. Feeling his entire chest shake, as he let out these big, physical, wrenching sobs. And even as he sobbed, he felt numb. As if his body and his soul were two completely disconnected things for a moment. He just lay there, wallowing in despair.
Alone.
Memory is all we are. Moments and feelings, captured in amber, strung on filaments of reason. Take a man’s memories and you take all of him. Chip away a memory at a time and you destroy him as surely as if you hammered nail after nail through his skull