Renée Errant
May 08, 2012 1:09 AM
Planned Resurrection by Renée Errant
Milk and cookies. Dunk in and lift, rising to her mouth, inhaling the chocolate scent. She teased herself with its fragrance, brushed against her lips before they parted and received the treat. Munch munch munch. Patiently she waited to grow fat. ‘Let it come quickly.’ She couldn’t stand herself, her body, every inch of her longing for an unbearable weight to burgen and bulge and hold her down. This restlessness that had been with her since birth, she wanted it gone, she wanted it forcibly stifled. ‘Make me fat, make me unable to move, stop me now, never let me move, never let me.’ Another cookie crushed between her teeth. A napkin to her lips, brushing the crumbs and chocolate stains away.Renée picked up her quill once more, gently brushing her arm along the table, moving the glass of milk away, centering the blank sheet of parchment paper in front of her. She dipped her quill in ink and began to write, unable to sort out her thoughts without visual aid. The things I still like about Sonora; Quidditch, when we play. Though not the team, I don’t know this team, I haven’t gotten to know anybody really. I don’t want to. They all seem the same to me. Her brow furrowed, trying to work out that one thought. Creatures had clear markings set to distinguish them, and she was comfortable around them, silent as the grave as she crept through a sleeping herd of hippogriffs, her fingers tickling from the invisible licks from a thestral she was blindly feeding. Creatures had personalities she could decipher, and clearly interpret their moods, and they in turn seemed to understand her. The same interactions. I always have the same interactions with everybody here. Maybe I’ve been wandering around in circles. Talking to the same one person all this time, year after year.
She let her quill fall down, briefly shutting her eyes, ears cocked and listening to the sounds in Cascade Hall, dinner winding down. She ate alone as usual, her plate filled with shredded chicken and yellow rice, guacamole on the side. A favored meal. She let it grow cold, untouched, not hungry for nourishment, popping cookies one by one into her mouth. ‘Maybe I don’t know what I want.’ Fat or thin or the in between position she was in now. Always caught between two worlds, the lie and the truth. Pureblood and halfblood and who cared what else. Her whole life was unnecessary deceits running amok, she could hardly keep up. None of it mattered. Only the air, wind brushing against her face, that mattered because that was real.
She pulled herself out of herself, dark eyes blinking, tired circles decorating her face. Fifteen years old and nothing had happened to her yet. No excitement, no adventures, nothing defined her, nothing distinguished her. Frustration laced every muscle in her body. She’d had such beautifully vague dreams about herself and future accomplishments when she’d first arrived at Sonora. But nothing had happened for her, not one damn thing. Weariness began to drain from her face, determination seeping into the lines of her jaw. ‘The next chance I get... the next chance I get for anything, I’ll take it. Seize it.’ She would, she vowed it, she was going to be alive again.
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Renée Errant
Planned Resurrection
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Renée Errant
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