The Never Lasting Forever

Chapter 4- The magic box

As I stumbled through the wooden doors, I felt nothing. You think I would cry, feel like I'd been punched in the gut, but no. Nothing. Instead I felt this: she insists on ruining every year as it comes. It feels like you've been stabbed in the chest but the rest of you is numb. You can't put a name on this feeling or to this pain. It's life sucking, drawing every last happy feeling out of you. Much like a dementor. But the thing is, you can't put a stop to it. Your powerless. It's in your system, burrowing it's way into brain, planting itself there as a constant reminder of the scars it will give you and the pain it's creating. A constant reminder of her. I can't shake it. It's there for good. All I can do is push it further and further into the back of my mind, hoping that it will fall into a magic box and disappear. That is what she does to me. If there is a name for that kind of pain, I want to know. I want to know because it consumes me every day, eating me up bit by bit.

I manage to shove my locker key into my locker with shaky hands, a constant shake of which I have developed. It feels like I'm applying all the worlds forces to this once key. You think it would snap, but instead, it just turns slowly making all sorts of clicking noises as it unlocks that sticking hole that I call my locker. I grab my books for the morning and head round the corner awaiting the snail and the tortoise. Surely enough, they rose and we headed off to form. They day chugged by in steam train fashion, slowly. Some would say magnificent, but I would just say smoky and hard to see what's going on. 150 glances at the clock later the bell rang and the day ended. A sigh of relief echoed across the school vibrating from room to room.
I enjoy my walk home -strange as it is, I like hopping off the bus and making my way through the winding country paths to get home. It's my time for reflection, peace and quiet. That and I plug my headphones in and sing my whole way home. Unfortunately, singing loudly in public is not socially acceptable and does earn a few odd looks when I actually see someone on my way home, which let's face it isn't very often. My mood however today, did not earn me odd looks from strangers. I did not sing. Instead I plugged my headphones in and blocked out everyone. Including mrs O'Brien the little old lady who lives just off priory lane, who I'm sure cuts her roses precisely at 4:35 every day -even in the winter when there are no roses to cut. I think she just wants someone to talk to. Humans are strange really, the need to communicate, get everything off their chest. But, no one is ever completely honest. People bottle up their feelings and throw them out to see, never to be seen again. People twist stories to make them more exiting or funny. All these myths, legends and old stories must all of had an element of truth at some point. They all must have been based on something. I think every story is. It's just over time, things change and no one ever knows the truth. Sometimes, we as individuals don't even know the truth about ourselves. Sometimes it takes someone to shove it in our face and make us believe it until we realise what has been there all along.

I wouldn't call myself a fangirl but I do have this theory about Harry Potter: I believe that it's all real. No doubts about it it's 110% real. I think that J.K.Rowling experienced the wizarding world but she unfortunately was a muggle - disappointing I know, everyone wants to me a wizard or a witch. But, she was not meant to know, she merely stumbled across it. So, they wanted to wipe her memory using the all famous obliviate spell but no. J.K.Rowling to never tell anyone on one condition, she got to write a book and this world of there's would be nothing but fictional. A story. A story which has the biggest element of truth ever imaginable.

When I finally realised that I've thought about Harry potter the whole way home this inspires me to do absolutely nothing put on the Philosopher Stone. I was content. Content is a very rare thing. At some point during the day, very day we will experience some sort of discontent as little as it may be. It still exists. My phone buzzes and so naturally i pick it up and look, unlocking my phone and going straight to my messages. 'No one wanted you at school today.' 'Why do you keep coming in?' 'Get the hint already.' 'School's better without you.' Do we ever consider the amount if discontent that is acceptable? Have you ever questioned your existence?