Authors Note: First of all, I do NOT own Harry Potter, obviously. Now that's over with.....Hey y'all this is my first story. Depending on how this goes will determine the upload efficiency. Constructive Criticism is welcome, but let's still be respectful. I've not got much experience.
Pain. There's nothing outside of it. I don't remember how it happened, and even if I could, I don't care too much right now. My heart feels like it's being squeezed, and choked sounds are garbled around tears. People are touching me, but I need them out. I can't take it, I need them to go away. "Get the hell off me!" I beg, or try to at least. If you consider a dog's bark to sound like a bird, you'd think I was spot on.
Apparently no one else heard the resemblance. They were still on me saying something, trying to uncurl me from my position. They pulled my legs down, trying to see the issue. A scream rings out, like the ones you'd hear in those low quality horror movies, breaking and awkward. Maybe it was a groan, everything was too loud anyway, I'm so confused. An uncomfortable pain that makes its way across my whole being rippling up my leg. Telling my brain something's wrong, I want to cry, thrash, go ballistic, the whole she-bang, I need to make it stop. It won't stop twitching, sending more pain sparking across my nerves.
Everything goes fuzzy, my thoughts, blood that was previously flowing freezes, it's like the world stopped, with bated breath, time itself paused, fastened and slowed in all the same moment. It was as the universe folded into itself, and perhaps it did, my universe was falling apart in real time. The feeling is frustrating and crushing, knowing that nothing I try will do me any good. That I've already messed up so tremendously that there's no going back.
I know something horrible just happened to me. My worst fear perhaps, something that could be possible, but not something I'd thought would happen to me. It's something debilitating, pathetic even. At least the pressure around me faded, the people suffocating me had finally left me alone. I went back to wallowing before trying to open my eyes, they felt so heavy. Why is it taking me so much energy to open my eyes? I look around, wanting someone to be there even though I had just been grateful for their prodding to stop. I didn't want to be alone. My eyes filled with more tears, but when I tried to wipe them my arms wouldn't move.
There was the sound of fast footsteps, and then a figure, someone who I can't remember for the life of me. Did he go to my school? I want to ask his name, my lips stayed parted, with no sound other than gasps and groans leaving my body. He's so familiar, I know him, does he know what happened to me? Was he the one responsible? There are so many questions I'll never get to ask. His footsteps became louder, more hurried than before.
His eyes caught mine, both glossy. In the wetness of mine there was pain, but in his there was remorse. I want to know why, but my muscles burned with the effort of life. I feel relief for a brief moment when he slows down. Is he going to stay with me, could he really be here to help me? His footsteps continue towards me, his eyes flicker to a space above me, and he speeds up once more. Dread increases with every step, foot falls feeling like the wax dripping to seal off on my fate. The end of my life. He steps around me heading for the exit at the bottom of the stairs that I was so close to, shining red. I was so close, more tears fell in rapid succession.
I'm going to die. It's undeniable, the gunshot in my leg was still sluggishly bleeding, without signs of stopping anytime soon. The door slams shut, in some dark twisted way, it feels symbolic.
I wasn't wrong, it was symbolic.
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I'd been thinking, but the sentences flow all the way down and trickle out like water down a gutter. Going nowhere that's important, same place for all. Not caring if it swallowed a wedding ring or a napkin. Everything is undeniably equal to such objects. They do the same thing every day, not faltering, being taken for granted. As was my life.
Death is an experience that changes someone irrevocably. Once I finally wrapped my head around it, I expected something to happen, it can't just be over, can it? Would I grow old and wither in this dark heat? At this point the boredom has driven me mad, sensations felt that weren't there, sounds being made with no one around to make them. Gone was the enchanting freedom of peace and no responsibilities, I'm restless dammit. Desperate to move I pushed against the walls of my capsulated prison, feeling it bend to my will. Ultimately it went back to its regular position, cramping me into some type of ball.
Feeling defeat weighing on me, my strength spiked, and I tried again. Nothing, but... wait, something had happened, behind my head the pillow-like thing is gone. Quickly getting excited, I moved once again, hearing some muffled commotion, but brushing it off.
I continued shortly, the adrenaline wearing off, but a rapidly forming theory unfolding pointing to a conclusion thought to be impossible.
I am dead, that's a fact, or at least it was. I was dead, that is my new foundation. How did this happen? Most of all, why did this happen to me? I really am nothing special, that's not self pity either, it's another fact. So, that brings me to a few conclusions.
The optimistic side, an astral being took pity on me or I'm truly fucked up in the head and this is all a dream. Although, due to the squeezing pain consuming me, the former is looking less and less probable.
The panic is setting in, seeing as my head is about to be pushed out of a woman I have no connections with. Afterwards I'll be forced to live with her, and I just hope on everything above she uses formula. Above all, I have to deal with a weak baby body that constantly feels sluggish and tired. It takes a while for babies to even develop the muscles to walk.
None of the panic phased the woman, because before I knew it the cold hit, and I'm being jostled. I can hear things more clearly, including my mothers wails and praises. Finally, I join her making high pitched screeching guttural cries. I don't care if I'm annoying, I'm tired and I was just born again at roughly 13 years old.
I lasted a couple minutes before giving into the overwhelming urge to fall asleep. Hearing "My little Wren." whispered like a prayer into my crown, finally drifting off.
YOU ARE READING
I Can't See (I Will Be My Own Helping Hand)
FanfictionHazel Wilcher had just the door slammed in her face, one last time. But, let's be realistic, she's the main character, it's her story. No one with as much spite and potential would die in a school shooting, much less at St. Anne Marie's Preparatory...
