Post by Elienp on Nov 20, 2011 0:29:07 GMT -8
Title: Vulgar Puppet
Rating: T
Warning: None
Words: 222
Summary: Draco is no more.
Draco sat on the floor, his broom laying on his bed. He'd never touch it again. He wasn't worthy to ride it any more, had he ever been? He had failed his team, forgetting to come to their match. He had missed it! He had forgotten a match!
He greeted his teeth. It was the first time his mind had failed him for such an important thing. Quidditch mattered more to him than anything else or, at least, it used to be thus...
He dug his nails in his left arm, clawing the burning mark. It was all because of it!
Since it had appeared on his arm, it had made its way under his skin, straight to his soul. It had condemned him, stealing his life away.
Draco had become a puppet. Yet, at the beginning, it hadn't bothered him too much, for he was still allowed to focus on what he loved the most. He was still allowed to play with his team, to lead them to victory, to feel free in the sky, freed from the hindrances of the ground.
But now... now even Quidditch had been taken away from him!
He had nothing any more, was nothing any more.
No will, no life, no passion.
Empty and docile, all that was left of him was a vulgar puppet.
Rating: T
Warning: None
Words: 222
Summary: Draco is no more.
Draco sat on the floor, his broom laying on his bed. He'd never touch it again. He wasn't worthy to ride it any more, had he ever been? He had failed his team, forgetting to come to their match. He had missed it! He had forgotten a match!
He greeted his teeth. It was the first time his mind had failed him for such an important thing. Quidditch mattered more to him than anything else or, at least, it used to be thus...
He dug his nails in his left arm, clawing the burning mark. It was all because of it!
Since it had appeared on his arm, it had made its way under his skin, straight to his soul. It had condemned him, stealing his life away.
Draco had become a puppet. Yet, at the beginning, it hadn't bothered him too much, for he was still allowed to focus on what he loved the most. He was still allowed to play with his team, to lead them to victory, to feel free in the sky, freed from the hindrances of the ground.
But now... now even Quidditch had been taken away from him!
He had nothing any more, was nothing any more.
No will, no life, no passion.
Empty and docile, all that was left of him was a vulgar puppet.
