written and burned ; harry j potter

0. within me, heres a precious place of myslef alone.

000 - within me, heres a precious place of myslef alone

THE WARM PEARLY GLOW OF DAYLIGHT HAD ALREADY BEGUN SEEPED IN THE SKYLINE, passing one side of the world, getting ready to drain from the peculiar everlasting horizon, on the other side. One side of the world had been experiencing what humanity had came to label it, dawn-sunrise, daybreak. Even cockcrow, which was odd, and so, amusing to the public ear. The names that had been given to that particular time of day had merely been structured of the rise of the sun and the fall of the moon, that illuminated long nights, and had slept behind of a blanket full of fluffy clouds and the shine of the sun. The disappearance of stars that stretched along the sky to infinity, appearing as sparkling dust beyond the moon, that had as well illuminated its darkened surroundings and the world.

As the moon had appeared to be merely important of the night and the switch of morning, casting a pale shine beneath to illuminate the shadowed planet, the ethereal sphere played much a part in humanity's existence and life on Earth, with much benefit, that they lacked appreciation for.

The sun dust bounced off a fissured red framed square window, coated in dust that appeared like it had never been touched with an intention to be cleaned to the interest of any minds or the important status upon the establishment, and begrime that had spread upon the dull bricks that held up the structure, so poorly old and so populated. Though it still stood strong in some minds, the surfaced looks told no lies, to the blocks that stood with no color- all the hues once bright and alluring that brought a extent of new hope, now withered and faded and old just like building itself, and like the dreams of the inhabitants, indeed. To the statues that were pillared all over the building, now fractured and slowly disintegrating from old age and oblivious, needy children. The gates peeled and rusted

Not far beyond it, and the gates that began this certain structure, started to fill with people and families, unlike the occupants of the establishment was filled with. They avoided the building. They were comprised with decorative smiles that was bound to leave everlasting creases upon their face, and echoing laughter of joy that would just be a distant memory, building up their whole life. Kids hand in hand with parents. The other, gripping bags of toys and candy and clothing, or embracing vivid hand stacked ice-cream, minds oblivious to it dripping down their hold.

That's exactly the reason why the child hated the view of her window so much- the vivid sunlight, comprising of itching heat and annoying buoyant, that was a clock, a reminder of the day awakening, with the inhabitants of this world too. How they lived, looking so carefree and happy and loving. Love? The child did not enjoy people, or sunlight, or love, no, not at all. She didn't exactly know why, not understanding anything that flashed through her mind.