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Event Three - Always Here by Karou_Marauder

Format: One-shot
Chapters: 1
Word Count: 632
Status: COMPLETED

Rating: Mature
Warnings: Sensitive topic/issue/theme

Genres: General, Young Adult
Characters: OtherCanon
Pairings:

First Published: 06/23/2014
Last Chapter: 06/23/2014
Last Updated: 06/23/2014

Summary:
Prompt One.

You walk forwards, into the enclosure full of the happy almost-butterflies, and you know that everything will be alright.


Chapter 1: Always Here
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You sit on the steps, palms over your eyes, fingers in your ears. A warm breeze blows over you, caressing your cheeks, reminding you you are not alone.

You can hear them, hear them shouting and yelling at each other. You wish they would stop, you wish that Mummy would stop crying and Daddy would stop using that fake smile. It's alright, son. Nothing's wrong, everything is fine.

It's not fine. It's not, not, not. You don't think you'll ever use the word fine again. It's a terrible word - Grandpa says so himself.

Grandpa comes every so often, to check on you. Grandpa is Mummy's daddy, and he always has a story to tell. Daddy thinks they're stupid, that you shouldn't be hearing them, that they'll "give you ideas". You disagree.

Grandpa tells stories of animals, stories of creatures who would fit on you thumb, who couldn't fit in the town hall; creatures green like grass and as purple as Mrs Burgher's lipstick. Creatures who bring happiness and joy, creatures who love darkness and sadness.

What kind of creatures would love sadness, Grandpa?

By you never got to hear the answer. Daddy came and told Grandpa enough stories now. It is always enough this, enough that. Daddy has had enough.

The shouting has stopped now. Maybe you can go back inside.

*

The floor is covered in dark round marks, like burns, some still smoking and hissing gently. Gently. What a word to use.

You lie, on the pockmarked floor, one hand to your cheek. You can hear your father in the room beside this one, in his bedroom. Mother is nowhere to be seen. She hasn't been seen since Tuesday, but does Father care? No, he does not, he does not and never does. He never has.

Your cheek stings and salty tears spring to your eyes. But you won't cry. You can't cry; that makes it, him, worse...

"Get up."

You do not.

"Get up, I said. Stupid boy...get UP!"

You do not. You cannot face him, not now, not ever.

A red light bounces off the floor beside you, and another mark appears in the cracked vinyl, smoking gently.


"Rolf! Rolf!"

You slowly open your eyes and see an old face gazing down at you. "Here," says the old man, "have some chocolate."

You take the brown square and eat it, pulling yourself into a sitting position. Warmth floods through you and you smile at your Grandpa gratefully.

"I think you should meet the next creatures," he says, pulling you to your feet.

"The next creatures?" you ask fearfully. The Dementors are enough for today, thank you. You don't want to relive that memory, or another like it, ever again.

"Don't worry. They're harmless."

Grandpa leads you to another enclosure. This one has a net over the top, a green net with a small flap cut in. Without explanation, Grandpa pushes you in.

You are met with grass springing beneath your feet, a warm breeze running over you with it's gentle touch, the smell of a garden in the air. And everywhere is the colours of yellow and orange, darting and floating around inside the large net. You reach out to the nearest colour and it lands on your fingertips, spreading warmth through your hand and down your arm, throughout your whole body.

The worry from the Dementor dissipates, the knot on your stomach is untied as the butterfly-like creature floats off to join its family. You walk forwards, into the enclosure full of the happy almost-butterflies, and you know that everything will be alright.

Father is gone, Mother has left, but Grandpa is here and Grandpa will always be here.

Around you, the almost-butterflies dance and float, each wing-flap like a tiny nod, confirming what you already know.

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