--------------------------------------------------------------------------------- We all begin with good intent
The book contained lines, paragraphs or entire pages full of text. The book was slowly filling with emotions, feelings, all the things he didn't want in his head. All the things he couldn't have there, in fear that they might betray him. His feelings were something he couldn't acknowledge, something he had to hide. While everyone else around him held their hearts out so everyone could see, he hid his in a book, leaving nothing but a shell behind inside him. All his friends loved openly, as teenagers always do. He was different, for he didn't love at all.
------------------------------------------------------------------- The rain had been pouring down for over a week, seemingly with no end. He didn't mind though. The foul weather kept most of the students inside, and those who did go outside for a little bit would never come his way. The Forbidden Forest seemed to quiet when it rained, seemed harmless. He knew better than to enter, but the rain made it seem like it didn't matter. He was not too far inn, just a few meters past the trees that marked the beginning of the forest. To most students, that was a few meters too far. He always went there when he had to think, and with the rain, he knew he would not be disturbed. Not even his friends would follow, which was what he wanted, but it still made him feel something he couldn't describe. He was sitting under a tree, staring off into the forest, ignoring the rain that soaked him to the skin. The tree had been struck by lightening earlier in the week, and offered no cover any more. Had it been any tree but this he would have moved, sat down where he got some cover for the rain. This three was different. It was special. It meant more to him than most of the things back at the school, and no one but him knew it. He had been coming here for over a year, to this tree right on the border of the Forbidden Forest. He was out of sight for anyone who didn't know where he was, and he was close enough to school to be safe. At first he had come because he needed a place to think, mourn, he needed a place that was quiet, and away from everyone else. In time he had dealt with his grief, and everything else that had been bothering when he first found the place. But just because the problems that started it all were gone, it didn't mean he didn't need to come here. He had gotten used to being alone, gotten used to be able to clear his head while he stared into the woods. When he could come here to think, he didn't feel the need to distance himself so much from everyone else anymore. Here he could think, here he could deal, and here he could do what had to be done in order to hide what he was from the rest of the school. Here, he could be himself. Back there, he was someone else. And as long as he could be himself sometimes, being someone else the rest of the time didn't bother him anymore. ------------------------------------------------------------------- He had been sitting by the stairs outside the school for nearly an hour when he saw him walking. He held his face down, his blonde hair wet and hanging down in his face. His green robes showed signs of dirt, like he had been sitting on the ground. He didn't move as Draco Malfoy came closer, and as he walked by he didn't say a word. Draco Malfoy only walked by, as if he hadn't even noticed he was there. Watching the blonde boy enter the school he took a deep breath, and ran his hand through his wet hair. The rain ran down his forehead, past his scar and eyes, down to his chin, where it fell off in drops to the ground. Slowly getting up he didn't move, only stared at the door where Draco Malfoy had entered not long ago. Absently he felt at the sides of his robe, and through them he felt the book that was hidden in a small pocket he had sewn into them himself. Feeling it was there he started to walk towards the door. He needed to be inside, away from the rain. He needed to be somewhere alone, where he could make another addition to his book. More thoughts that were too dangerous for him to have in his head. How can I look into your eyes and tell you the truth, How can I tell you how you make me feel, How can I make you love me,
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© WHYTEknight 2002-2008. This story is fiction, which means it is not true, none of this is real. Any actions similar to reality is just a coincidence. This story may be based on real people, but it is not about real events. I do not know the Backstreet Boys, nor am I in any way affiliated with them, their friends, family or management. Again, this is a work on fiction, I made it up! |
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