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Some Kind of Beauty by Celestie

Format: Novella
Chapters: 4
Word Count: 23,171

Rating: 15+
Warnings: Strong Language, Mild Violence, Scenes of a Mild Sexual Nature, Substance Use or Abuse, Sensitive Topic/Issue/Theme, Contains Spoilers

Genres: General, Angst, Young Adult
Characters: Ron, Hermione, Teddy, Scorpius, Lily (II), Hugo, Rose, Victoire
Pairings: Rose/Scorpius, Ron/Hermione, Teddy/Victoire, Other Pairing

First Published: 08/10/2011
Last Chapter: 08/18/2011
Last Updated: 10/05/2011


2011 Dobby Winner: Best Novella

My family was never one for normality nor did we ever try to label ourselves that way. Through the years, we lived through our shares of fights and laughter and chaos. I didn't know much about living, but they taught me all I knew about loving. In the end, there didn't seem to be one without the other.

Heavenly banner by amoretti | September Featured Story at The Golden Snitches

Chapter 2: part ii

Some Kind of Beauty

Before retiring one night, I watched Dom swaddle herself in the blankets in her bed. Beside her, Cecilia and Ruth were already asleep and Emily was downstairs.

“Dom, can I ask you something?”

“What?” she asked sleepily.

“Why don’t you ever talk about…”

“I don’t like to,” she said.

“Why not? You’re okay now, right?”

“Dragon Pox doesn’t work like that, Rose…” She turned on her side.

Perhaps I’d caught her at a lucky time: she was being more benevolent sleepy than she was awake. I pressed on.

“Then what’s it like? Isn’t it rare?”


“Will you always be like this?”

“I don’t know, Rose….go to sleep, it’s late.”

“When did you get it? When you were a baby?”

“Yeah, guess so.” When her eyes began closing, I prodded her.

“You can’t die from it, can you?”

“I’m not sure,” she said, her eyes still closed.

I sank back, horrified. “Wait, then why – ”

In response, she flung her pillow over her face.

For the next week, she avoided looking at me.


We were racing across the hallways at a breathless pace.

“We’re going to be late – ugh – and after I told you not to delay – ”

“Not my fault,” I managed to wheeze over the frantic running, “if Hugo hadn’t overslept, and you hadn’t insisted on taking him along, this wouldn’t’ve happened!”

“Of course we had to take him along,” said Lucy, looking slightly scandalized by my remark, “he’s on the team! We couldn’t bloody well just leave him there!”

My brother, in his eternal sensitivity, yelled over me. “Don’t try pinning this on me! It’s Lucy’s fault she had to forget the password and lock herself out – ”

“Sod off!” said Lucy, coloring.

“I can say what I – ”

“NOT NOW!” I screeched, cutting him off.

We were hurtling down the staircases. Hugo attempted to leap past several steps at once and came tumbling down on top of me and Lucy. His broomstick managed to tangle up in his legs and slap me hard around the head as it fell down.

Lucy pushed him off, annoyed. “Hugo, you arse! Get off, you’re heavy – ”

“You idiot, the broomstick fell on me!” I threw it back at him and he grunted as it hit him.

“Now’s not the time, everyone’s already probably there!”

As we ran down the foot of the stairs and made a sharp turn to the door, I passed by a short girl with black hair who was eyeing us curiously as we passed. Her brown eyes were wide with surprise as we ran her by, and for a moment I almost didn’t recognize her until her wavy hair brought me back.

Lucy caught my glance and also stared backwards as we ran on. “Was that Roxanne?”

Hugo ignored both of us, but I kept looking back. “Yes, I think so.”

“Wow, it’s been a while, hasn’t it?” said Lucy, “We haven’t really talked to her since we were younger.”

We were now halfway to the Quidditch pitch, passing by large crowds of people waving Gryffindor banners and scarves. Hugo was welcomed by a unanimous cheer and in seconds, disappeared within the throng.

“Can you blame us?” I asked, “She doesn’t exactly like us. All she did was frown and sit around and sulk during dinners.”

“Yes, but that was ages ago. Like when she was maybe twelve. She doesn’t really even come to them anymore.” Lucy shrugged. “She’s a seventh year now. She must’ve changed.”

“Do you think?” I asked, but Lucy had turned away, already scouting the crowd for Dominique and Lily.


That summer came The Wedding.

The first three days of our summer were spent helping with decorations, and listening to Aunt Ginny and Nana Molly scream and James and Fred for attempting to explode the wedding cake. Dom and Victoire had a full-on shouting match a day before.

“It doesn’t have sleeves!” said Dom, taking one look at the bridesmaid dress. “I’m not wearing it!”

“You have to! Do you know how much it cost?” screeched Victoire.

“Not my problem! I told you I’d only wear it with sleeves!”

“What’s your problem, Dom? Why are you doing this to me?”

“Why are you doing this to me? I can’t go out with – ” Her nails dug into her arm. “I can’t! I’m not wearing that!”

“You’ll look fine!

“I’m not wearing it!”

“Why do you always do this?” Victoire sank to the floor, her head on her knees. “You always have to make everything about you! This is my wedding, why can’t you just do what I ask you for once? After everything Maman’s made me do for you, couldn’t you just do this for me?”

Before Dom could retort, Molly had returned, dragging Aunt Audrey behind her. “Mum, could you sow some sleeves on? Something long and light to match?”

And as Aunt Audrey set to work, that became that.

The men had all virtually taken cover, cowering as my many Aunts made a warpath largely composed of streamers, endless bouquets of flowers and never-ending details on the food.

Aunt Fleur had bought Victoire a large, ball-gown styled wedding dress with pearls. Mum was ranting to anybody who would listen about floating streamers and the gold crabapple trees.

But it was the first Weasley wedding of our generation.

Victoire was showing off her wedding gown two nights before to all the girls as we stared at her floating around like a princess. We sat in a circle in the kitchen as she paraded around, absolutely radiant at the thought of her wedding. The noise of everybody else playing Quidditch on the sand wafted through the open window, mingling with the mid-June breeze and the scent of the sea.

Lily clasped her hands together. “I want a gown just like that when I get married. It should be huge and beautiful!”

Dominique was sipping pumpkin juice nonchalantly. “Vic, you should take it off before something happens to it.”

“Oh stop,” said Victoire, frowning. “You always try to bring me down. I’m only getting married once, so I might as well enjoy it completely.”

“It has a train, doesn’t it?” asked Molly, inspecting Victoire with interest. “It’ll look just wonderful. It has a very antique feel to it.”

“Oh, won’t it?”

Lucy and Dominique shared an exasperated look as Molly and Victoire continued gushing.

Lucy leaned over to me and Dom. “Damn it, it’s not like the wedding’s in ten minutes. After today, I’m going to be relieved when this is over.”

“My mum’s gone completely mad,” said Dom, sighing. “You should’ve heard her going on about the cake…like anybody’ll care that much! I was almost wishing James really had exploded it. And the bridesmaid dress she’s making me wear? It itches!”

“Just bear with it. It’s only one day,” I said, making Dominique frown.

“I always have to bear with it for my perfect sister. It’s getting annoying, since she never bears with it for me. Everything has to be completely perfect for her, but she spends half the time dismissing anything I ever ask her to do. She’s just like my mum.”

The door opened to the dark blue sky outside and laughter bubbled in. Roxanne stepped gingerly in, holding a book as always, and walked past the lumpy sofa and past the dinner table where we sat, gawking at her entrance. Both Molly and Dom smiled cheerfully at her.

“Hi Roxanne! Sit with us, we’re looking at Victoire’s wedding gown,” said Molly warmly. God, how typically Molly…

 Roxanne raised her eyebrows at the sudden welcome.

“Oh, I’m sure she’s seen it already,” said Victoire dismissively, “we wouldn’t want to waste her time.”

“This’s awkward,” whispered Lucy to me.

I knew next to nothing about Roxanne. I had enough cousins that losing one along the way had little impact and that was how it had always been. I had vague memories of playing when I was something like seven years old. I had distended and almost irrelevant memories of her room – it had been very blue – and all the books she’d lent me. I usually returned them, except for an old, lone copy of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland that was now lying abandoned somewhere in my room.

But then I’d had Dominique and those days with Roxanne were gone. A few years of the hello’s and goodbye’s of family parties passed and she went to Hogwarts and I began to see her very rarely. The summers she came home, she went to dinners less frequently and sat in disdainful silence, looking as though the rest of us were never good enough.

There was a time near the beginning of it – that Roxanne had Victoire like I had Dom.

But looking at the two girls standing on the kitchen floor, it became obvious how many years had passed. Victoire was looking icy and uncomfortable staring at Roxanne, her blonde hair piled on her head, and her wedding gown swishing around her. Roxanne was looking blankly back at her, dressed in simple robes as always, and holding a book.

“Yes, I think I’ll go,” she said softly and she climbed on to the staircase beyond.

Dominique and I shared a look and listened to Roxanne’s footsteps fade.


The morning of the wedding was chaotic. Even though we had all agreed to keep the guest list small, I spent the first part of the morning with Fred, Hugo and Lily, ushering in family friends under the heat. Pots of floating flowers floated past us and violins that were hanging in mid-air serenaded us as we stood together, sweating exhaustedly.

“Is that Aunt Luna? What the hell’s she wearing?” asked Hugo, goggling as a woman wearing a carrot-shaped hat walked by us.

“Typical Aunt Luna,” said Lily, shaking her head in exasperation. “It even smells like a carrot. She has no sense of propriety, really…”

“You sound exactly like Victoire,” I said to her and she beamed as though it had been a compliment.

Fred was stuck with seating Aunt Luna’s husband – Uncle Rolf – who was also holding something that looked suspiciously like a carrot and waving it in Fred’s irritated face. Lily too vanished with him as their twin boys, Lysander and Lorcan each took her hand and began chatting animatedly to her.

“They’re in love with her, you know,” said Hugo, waggling an eyebrow. “I heard them talking about which one’s going to marry her first. Then they’ll actually be related to us and calling them aunt and uncle won’t sound as completely stupid.”

“They’re seven years old, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“It’s still possible,” he said with a shrug. “I’m betting on Lorcan, personally, Lysander’s a bit of a nut. Must get it from - ” He broke off as Professor Longbottom and his wife approached us and left to seat them without another comment.

I was stuck the rest of the morning with Victoire’s French cousins, none of whom seemed to speak English and were giggling over my exasperation.

Finally, after we were all seated, Teddy and his best man emerged at the front, both clad in dress robes. Fred, James, and Hugo all began wolf-whistling until Mum and Aunt Angelina smacked them into silence.

The music began playing and Victoire emerged with Uncle Bill, looking glowing and golden – outshining even the sun and the heat behind her. By nature she had always been somebody who was proud of how she looked and found it important to be proper and ladylike, but today it shone ten-fold. She looked like a queen taking her throne. Behind her, Dominique walked with a smile, her ivory dress glimmering.

“We are gathered here today…”

Aunt Fleur and Aunt Audrey were both softly crying. To my immense surprise, two seats to my right, Roxanne joined them – softly tearing up, but beginning to sob as Teddy smiled at Victoire. I watched her, wide-eyed as she dissolved from her usual indifference into racketing tears.

“Do you, Theodore Remus Lupin take Victoire Apolline Weasley…”


“God, that took forever. My feet are all sore and disgusting.”

“Sound a little more proper, won’t you? It was your sister’s wedding,” said Molly in a dignified voice.

“But I’m completely exhausted.” Dominique mopped her forehead and her hand came back with sweat. Small red marks were breaking out over her skin.

Molly and I shared a concerned look. Molly tentatively began, “Do you need to take your medicine – for you know?”

No,” snapped Dom immediately. “I’m fine, thanks.”

“You look pale.”

“I’m always pale! Stop nagging, you two.”

“I promise never to put any of you through anything like that at my wedding,” said Lucy, still massaging her feet.

 “I liked it!” said Molly. “It was lovely – like a real fairytale! They look like a prince and a princess together.”

We were sitting outside Shell Cottage among the now deflated tent and empty tables. A few candles still levitated in the air like fireflies, illuminating the foamy borders of the gushing ocean beside us. It was a blissfully moist night and the wetness of the air relieved some of the day’s aches.

Inside the cottage, my aunts and uncles were still mingling, congratulating the new couple.

“I wouldn’t say Teddy constitutes much of a prince,” said Lucy. “For one thing, he’s too bloody old.

“It’s also not very romantic that they knew each other for ages and ages. Personally I find it a bit odd, especially since Teddy’s practically a member of our family,” said Dom.

“Your family,” I reminded her. “I barely know him. All I remember of him is that he liked to fool around with James and Albus a lot. And he’s like seven years older than me, so by the time I was four, he was already in Hogwarts and I didn’t really see him after that. And as soon as he left, we joined.”

Another cool breeze blew between us as a wave crashed into the sand. It was a time that I would always remember of peace and nonchalance. Just starlight and the air and words swimming carelessly between us.

“Speaking of,” said Lucy, her eyes huge as she watched the distance, “is that Roxanne?”

There was a swish of sand as a lean figure walked by us.  

I looked backwards at Dom, Molly and Lucy and stood up. “I’ll be right back.”

There was a chorus of “Where’re you going?” that followed me as I ran after Roxanne.

She stopped a few steps later as she noticed me behind her.

“Yes?” Her voice came out more airy than I’d last remembered it.

“Hello, Roxanne?”

She turned to face me. In the dim moonlight, her features were tired and elongated, but she looked curious all the same. “Rose?”

“Yeah. Hi.”

“Anything you want?”

I took a step backwards as she surveyed me.

She was different.

Not simply physically – which she was. Lucy and I looked alike with the same brown hair. Molly and Lily were both redheads with round faces. Dom and Victoire had the ice-queen perfection. But Roxanne, with her black hair and olive complexion looked other worldly.

 Beautiful as though she had sprung from part of the night.

“Are you alright?” I asked tentatively; helping people was Dom or Molly’s domain.

“Why…are you asking?”

“Um…this morning – the wedding – you were…”

She stiffened at my observation. “You saw that?”

“You okay?”

“It was nothing. It was a lovely wedding. There were lots of people crying.”

“Yeah, I know. But…you looked like you were…”

“It doesn’t matter, alright? Rose, please just forget it.”

I took a step forward, emboldened by the promise of the early night. “What was wrong?”

“Nothing.” She was looking at the sand, at my footsteps. “Nothing. Let it go, okay?”

“Why don’t you come to dinners anymore?”

“I don’t like to,” she said coldly. “I have absolutely no reason to, what with – ”

“What?” When she refused to answer, I stared back, curious. This newfound inquisitiveness rushed into me, both surprising and alarming me. When had I started caring? When had anybody begun to matter? “What happened with you and Victoire before?”

“Nothing.” She said it more firmly than before. “Nothing. I’m going to go now.”

“Wait – ”

“Are you always this nosy? Why can’t you let things be?”

“Are you always this strange? I’m just trying to be friendly – ”

“Well, don’t be, nobody asked for it!” she said, incensed. “This is why I can’t stand our bloody family! If one person’s a tiny bit different, everybody jumps on them to tear them apart acting like they’re just trying to help! Everybody has to perfect, and proper – otherwise they just get left – ”

She broke off, her eyes huge with horror. She’d let something out – blurted out something that I could understand.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m sorry about today. About the wedding. About Teddy and Victoire. Teddy. How long?”

“I – you’re misunderstanding me,” she said weakly.

“You do know I’m grown up, right? You can tell me. I’ll understand. How long?”

There was a dead silence.

And very quietly, she said, “As long as I can remember.”

“All this time?”


“But I thought you used to be friends - all this time – until – why weren’t you the Maid of Honor?”

“They began dating in the summer before her sixth year. I…tried all those years to convince him otherwise…”


She looked up at me, tired and wane. “She found out. She acted like I’d betrayed her. And that was that.”

Perhaps out of cluelessness, I asked, “But why didn’t you just forget him?”

“Asking me to forget him is like asking her to forget him. We were always together – Vic and me. Whenever Ted came to see her – before they became something - he was with the both of us. We went through the same process with him. We saw the same things in him.” She smiled weakly. “So, I couldn’t. I tried avoiding him and her. My mum understood these kinds of things…but I still couldn’t do it. Even when I heard he was proposing, I wrote to him – told him everything…”


“Victoire tore up the letter beforehand.” A few tears fell into the sand, plopping and disappearing with a whisper. “Of course, she knew. She’s always known it would happen one day. They’re married now. They’re married. I don’t know what to do…I don’t know what to do…”

I looked up at the stars for solace as she paused again. This girl who I’d perhaps once known some distant day in the past. As a crescent moon shined down on us, a feeling of smallness engulfed me. Swirling skies, the blood beating to my eyes, my vision panning to the ocean lapping the raw, bitter swipe of the earth. We were building the tombs we would one day sleep in.

“Could you forget him?”

“No,” she said meekly, and in that moment, though she was taller and bigger, she somehow seemed so much younger than me. Young and silly. “I’ve tried.”

“Fine, then don’t forget him. Remember him as much as you want. But just let go.”

She tilted her head to the night sky as well, lost in its imponderable depths. In that moment, I’d like to think that she wasn’t thinking about Teddy. Teddy was a concept of the past. There was some vague future ahead. But that she was sailing on the curves of the moon, feeling the strokes of the sky, feeling the exhilaration of passing Ursa Major, tasting the coldness of the air, skimming the milky wisps of Ganymede, falling and rising past Saturn’s rings – dreaming herself into reality, making survival unnecessary for existence.

That under the night sky, she was becoming and becoming.


Fifth year came and we fell back into the same patterns and changed in little ways.

We studied and cursed our teachers with the usual ire. Lucy began cursing more and more with Hugo’s influence, until she properly topped it off by becoming a Chaser on the Quidditch team. She was integrated entirely as a Weasley. Dom and I watched Lucy whirl around the Quidditch field as a tiny blip in the sky and there was something indecipherably stiff about Dom as she saw Lucy rise and rise in the wind. But I didn’t ask what.

Mum told me over winter holiday that Roxanne had found work in an Apothecary after finishing Hogwarts and that became that.

But fifth year also saw romance in the air.

Molly began her first full-on, sickeningly loving relationship with another Hufflepuff – an Ian something - in the same year. The handholding, food-feeding and matching jumpers led to years’ worth of teasing material for James. Lucy pretended to vomit so often around them that on one unfortunate afternoon, she accidentally did manage to vomit over herself and Molly. Ted and Victoire found and moved into their own flat near the Ministry.

Dom acquired five different dates, none of which went anywhere in particular. She moaned about it casually as I glared over my spellbook at her. At least she had dates. Nobody wanted to the bushy-haired, pasty complexioned brunette listening to the impeccable part-Veela groaning about her looks. I reasoned that I could aptly blame my mum for my looks, just as Hugo could blame Dad for his intelligence.

But, finally, things occurred.

Eventful things occurred to other people, but rarely to me. Eventful things always occurred to good-looking people. The most eventful things that occurred to people who maintained the pursuit of intelligence over beauty was being asked to help with an essay.

And then I met Scorpius Malfoy.

I’d only begun to notice him after we were both in the same Potions class that year.

He seemed as every bit bookish as I was. He arrived as early as I did to class, wore glasses, and carried books. It was a flimsy excuse for fancying someone, but since it had been my first time, my standards were understandably questionable. He also seemed reasonably in my standards – his looks were just decent, he was studious and he was usually alone. He didn’t play Quidditch of have flocks of friends around him. 

Dom being Dom knew him. Dom knew everyone or at least knew of them and Scorpius was no exception. Dom being Dom also had an intuitive understanding of what I wanted and what I needed.

“I’ve known him for two years,” she told me brightly. “So, I suppose I know him rather well. Why do you care?”

“Could you introduce me?” I asked giddily on the way to class.

She frowned. “Scorp? You want to meet him?”



“You know. That,” I said, blushing furiously.

That?” Her eyebrows were rising.

“What’s he like?  Doesn’t he spend all his time studying?”

“Only Potions,” she said. “He’s a bit strange. He’s got an obsession with that type of thing, but he doesn’t really bother as much with his other classes. He told me he wants to get a job in Potions.”

“But he’s a Ravenclaw! He has to study!”

“Then…is he nice?”

“He’s a bit intrusive and controlling. And odd. He’s very odd.”

“He’s really quiet,” I said, vaguely remembering whatever observations I’d been able to make while staring at him. “He doesn’t talk much.”

“He doesn’t really have many friends, but once you know him, he’s okay. He’s got some issues with his family and people don’t exactly treat him fairly here, since he’s a Ravenclaw and he’s so strange.”

“He sounds like me,” I said adamantly.

 “You’re welcome to try what you want, but I doubt it’ll work. He’s really not like you imagine him, Rose. He’s a bit like you, but not in the ways you think. Actually, who I can - ” She broke off and cleared her throat. “Never mind. Good luck with – you know – everything.”

I spent the next three weeks quietly surveying him from my corner.

Back then, his gray eyes seemed to have unfathomable depth. But I thought I could see more than that. I could see the mysterious allure, the broken past, the air of rebellion around him. My afternoons were spent discreetly following him to the library as he poured over Potions books. My evenings were spent writing dark love poems with the occasional inscrutable drawing.

He really was a bit strange, though, with the Potions books. And he didn’t study anywhere near as much as I could’ve hoped for. He spent his time fidgeting around the Potions dungeons, stirring ingredients together in cauldrons and taking page after page of notes.

A month later, I made a move. I asked him to Hogsmeade for Valentine’s Day after Potions.

He looked up at me. “Sorry, but no thanks.”

That was that. He side-stepped me, pushed his glasses up his face, and was gone.

I was heartbroken. The disappointment of first love had left me invisible to perspective and I wailed around my dormitory room for the next weekend, wrapped in my humiliation. Dom threw my dark love poems into the fire in the Common Room and we watched them burn together as orange sparks flew into the air. We sat there, surrounded by empty chairs as shadows danced from the fire.

She had her usual half-smile. “You can be so dramatic, Rose.”

“You just don’t understand me.”

But for what it was worth, I had forgotten him by March.


Near the very end, I would always wonder why there hadn’t been any signs.

She had never been paler than she usually was. The coughs were there, but only when she ran too fast and too far. There was nothing ashen about her. She was Dom. Vivacious.

She’d looked the same, acted the same.


During the Easter holiday of our sixth year, Dominique died.

On the step outside our door, my mum sat me down and we looked up at the sky: bright orange, bitter and sharp as the promise

“Listen to me carefully, Rose.” I would remember her eyes forever. Her face had been lined with something…unreadable. Pained. Battered? The colors of a sunset escaping in a gasp, bleeding drop by drop into us.

For a moment, I thought she was about to joke about something. I smiled half-heartedly. “Yeah?”

She began talking. The longer she spoke, the more slowly time seemed to pass. I fell into her arms, quivering. She was crying very gently; they were whole, perfect, experienced tears. I stared at her blindly.

The bottom of my world fell out. Everything that was me hit the earth and oozed away. They were only words and we were only people and this was only the world and I – I was, moment by moment, not only losing the girl who I had loved for the past sixteen years, I was losing the person I had been alongside her.

“Rose – Rose- ” My mum was holding on tightly to me. The thought of disappearing was too calming – too easy – and there was nothing, nothing I would not have given to disappear along with her whispers. I was shuddering in her arms.

“She couldn’t – she couldn’t – Mum, she couldn’t – that doesn’t even make sense, Mum!”


It was a symphony of nothingness, burning deep and rancid into the embers of a falling night.


That night, I slept soundly in my mum and dad’s bed, dreaming of stairs and chairs and people waiting forever.

That morning, I woke up in disbelief. My mum was already beside me as I opened my eyes, as though she had been expecting it.


On the day of her funeral, there was nothing left.

The blue-orange afternoon was shattering slowly into the evening, letting all the things I had never thought to tell her escape into oxygen. The claylike sand beneath my feet seemed to sink in, until perhaps I thought we would sink and sink from standing and not speaking, sink into the voracious, uncaring ocean beyond. Perhaps the bleating morning would consume us whole and all that would be left of us would be this silence.


In the days following, I began to think that death was very easy. And that living – living mindlessly, purposelessly – was torturous.

I didn’t leave our house much after that. The afternoons strung along, one by one, lit by a meaningless sun for a summer that would never come. With the door to my room shut and the window closed, it seemed as though the world outside had yet to exist.

Other times, I fell asleep and woke up sweating, the very last syllables of a sentence she’d been speaking alluding me.


There were times when I was angry because I would never understand. Times when I was acting as though if I were willing to wait long enough, it would all go back to normal. And many, many times where I cried and cried and never forgot.

It was strange. Every day I thought I was losing her more and more, forgetting exactly what she sounded like, exactly what it felt like when I was with her. It was difficult to be alive.


I climbed outside my window as the weeks passed and sat out on my room, my legs dangling off. The loneliness became mind-numbing.

The emotions swirling through me felt like they were too much for one person to feel. The rotating anger, the sadness, the disbelief, the emptiness, the confusion.

I watched the field of flowers outside, ravenously red, burning brilliantly under the violent purple sunsets. I screamed at my mother when she called me back inside, wept openly in front of Dad when he showed me the picture of Uncle Fred he kept in his room, and lived without living.

She should have had everything this world could have offered and more. I should have told her all the things I couldn’t put words to. My parents understood it all.

It was too late.


By the sea, all things began and ended.

The sea gave all existence perspective.

I should have known. I should’ve done something.

What it specifically was, I didn’t know. But I should’ve done something other than stand there and say goodbye. By the sea, I thought of all the confessions that I could never voice.

My childhood was ending before my eyes.

Author's Note: Thank you so much for the support and reviews for the previous chapter! I'd love to know your feedback as this story transitions to more serious topics.