'And he's the best fuck that ever walked. He's beautiful - rich, in money and everything else; he's a rockstar to boot, trapped in the body of a fighter. And how he fought; at a state of turmoil with himself - somewhere inside his soul that only she...
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♱
'Love set you going like a fat gold watch. The midwife slapped your footsoles, and your bald cry Took its place among the elements.
I'm no more your mother Than the cloud that distills a mirror to reflect its own slow Effacement at the wind's hand.
All night your moth-breath Flickers among the flat pink roses. I wake to listen: A far sea moves in my ear.
One cry, and I stumble from bed, cow-heavy and floral In my Victorian nightgown. Your mouth opens clean as a cat's. The window square
Whitens and swallows its dull stars. And now you try Your handful of notes; The clear vowels rise like balloons.'
'morning song' by Sylvia Plath is where the theme of alienation to motherhood comes from later in this chapter, i found it very cathartic to write.
"Come on, Ron, you were always saying how boring Scabbers was, " George tried to be of some reassurance to his brother, all while glaring at Fred to come and help console, Ron.
"Oh, yeah. He's been off-colour for ages; he was practically decomposing already— " Alicia sent a kick to Fred's shin, shaking her head at his insensitivity.
"I mean, it was probably better for him to snuff it quickly — one swallow — he probably didn't feel a thing. "
George stopped Fred from saying anything else that would upset their brother, "Ron, all he did was eat and sleep; you said it yourself. And besides, he's been alive for twelve odd years; he was bound to go one day. "
"He bit Goyle for us once!" Ron turned to Harry, a pitiful smile on his face, "Remember, Harry?"
Harry nodded, his mind absent from the conversation as he appeared to be somewhere far away.
Fred struggled to keep a straight face and looked to Alicia, who was doing the same despite telling him off just a few seconds before, "His finest hour, " Fred and George said in some attempt at sincerity, their hands covering their mouths as they willed their laughter not to escape.
