Post by Rachael on Nov 2, 2011 12:27:15 GMT -8
Title: Don't You Dare!
Rating: G
Word Count: 299
Warnings: None.
Summary: A match from an unexpected Point of View.
I stay quite still as the student carries me out on to the pitch, swathed in red and gold robes, his green eyes gleaming eagerly. It is time for yet another match between Slytherin and Gryffindor. Oh, goodie. I hope the student will just fall off and injure himself to the point of having to forfeit. I despise being ridden like this, like I am some sort of horse or donkey. Tell me again; why do I need to fly? Why do I need to carry these beastly boys and girls upon my back, like a slave without an opinion on the matter?
The Whistles blows. The game begins. I am forced to shoot upwards in to the air, and the subconscious command of my rider, the Seeker of the Golden Snitch. The Snitch has an easy life. He does not have to carry people! He gets to fly free, the stupid glittery blighter! All he has to do is get caught for a few seconds...and that moment could take forever to occur. Why can I not be a Snitch? I would make a great Snitch! The Fire-Snitch! I like the sound of that! I have an enormous amount of time to curse the Snitch, but now the Seeker has seen it.
He drives me to speeds that I can barely handle. He makes a sharp turn. If I had a stomach, I would vomit. He ducks and weaves and swerves, all while sitting on me, making me feel positively ill. The Snitch leads him towards the ground. No! Don’t you dare dip me! Don’t you dare! I wish I could cover my face as the ground rises up towards me like a speeding bullet. The ground an inch away, the Seekers pulls out of the dive.
Gryffindor wins.
Rating: G
Word Count: 299
Warnings: None.
Summary: A match from an unexpected Point of View.
I stay quite still as the student carries me out on to the pitch, swathed in red and gold robes, his green eyes gleaming eagerly. It is time for yet another match between Slytherin and Gryffindor. Oh, goodie. I hope the student will just fall off and injure himself to the point of having to forfeit. I despise being ridden like this, like I am some sort of horse or donkey. Tell me again; why do I need to fly? Why do I need to carry these beastly boys and girls upon my back, like a slave without an opinion on the matter?
The Whistles blows. The game begins. I am forced to shoot upwards in to the air, and the subconscious command of my rider, the Seeker of the Golden Snitch. The Snitch has an easy life. He does not have to carry people! He gets to fly free, the stupid glittery blighter! All he has to do is get caught for a few seconds...and that moment could take forever to occur. Why can I not be a Snitch? I would make a great Snitch! The Fire-Snitch! I like the sound of that! I have an enormous amount of time to curse the Snitch, but now the Seeker has seen it.
He drives me to speeds that I can barely handle. He makes a sharp turn. If I had a stomach, I would vomit. He ducks and weaves and swerves, all while sitting on me, making me feel positively ill. The Snitch leads him towards the ground. No! Don’t you dare dip me! Don’t you dare! I wish I could cover my face as the ground rises up towards me like a speeding bullet. The ground an inch away, the Seekers pulls out of the dive.
Gryffindor wins.
I'm glad you liked it! 
