Trapped (Sequel To TEG)

Part 2 of

Warming up ~ Chapter Two

Arukas was undoubtedly a wonderful friend. She and Sakura were naturally likable, and had this aura of friendlyness one cannot miss.

And as for Caitlin....

We're getting along quite well. She is a very nice girl, and is always persistent in helping me. I think it's because she lives in the muggle world, so she can't use magic.

I asked her why she doesn't go to Hogwarts, she only gave me a sad smile and a shake of the head back, saying a quick,

"Don't mention it?"

Which was more of a question, yet I didn't question it.

Today, Arukas was taking me to her house for tea, something I hadn't had in a while.

Of course, that tea was made with ambrosia, as a everyone here was a previous god/goddess in their lifetime.

"So," I began, sipping my tea delicately, "How did you get here?" I sounded like a bit of a muggle detective, and laughed inwardly at the thought.

Arukas coughed a bit before beginning her, well, speech.

"It strated one morning, well, actually, the morning of my wedding day. Everything was going absolutely perfect. I had everything in order, now all I had to do was get married. But my bridesmaids held me back a bit, telling me I'd do fine, while my maid of honor stood in the corner, checking her nails.

"And she was exactly the problem.

"You see, as blind as my Fiancé and I's love was, we didn't seem to notice the jealousy and hate of those around us. Well, on that particular day, Julianne, my Fiancé's previous lover, my current maid of honor, had different plans. She whipped out her wand as I walked down the ailse, and shot the killing curse at me, not knowing the consequences I'd recieve. So, I was hit, and up the ailse I went, clouds forming around me, which at the last second, didn't even let me marry him, before I was sucked over here."

My mouth was slightly agape, so I shut it, before Arukas' glossy eyes met them.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up." I replied awkwardly. Arukas smiled and waved a hand.

"No no, it's fine! I have already let him go, he was a mortal for goodness sake!" She giggled. I gave her a small smile, unsure of what I was supposed to do.

I stood up, dusting off the light purple dress that was in my closet this morning.

I'm quite sure we cannot select our clothing, that, or we have items in which we may select for the day.

"Well, I hate to say this, but I must go," I told Arukas, who nodded with a smile, "My house needs some loving, and I am going to study a bit."

"Well, alright then," Arukas replied, "Make sure to stop by soon!"

I nodded and waved, before heading out of her house, which was rather large for one person, walls echoing each step I took, the wooden floor magnifying the sound of my soft purple heels, whom I'd found in my shoe closet this morning.

Stepping into the dark and abandoned road, I began my walk home. There was no one on the streets this night, and I didn't have a watch to tell the time.

Not like it matters, Everthorne, you don't need time here, you're stuck here forever. My consious told me.

Nothing lasts forever, I'm just simply stuck here until I find my way out. I replied, shivering in the slight wind.

My heels clicked against the sidewalk, making a louder sound than inside Arukas' house. Finding this interesting, I finally reached my house, with a sudden determination to find out why my heels clicked louder outside, than inside.

Listen to yourself, Everthorne, you sound like a muggle student!

Thinking deeper, I realized I was only in third year, at thirteen years old!

Oh well. I thought.

The good die young.

But I wasn't good.

I was exactly the opposite.

And besides, I didn't die, I just merely was condemned into Oblivion, no harm there, it was quote wonderful here, only the journey here hurt.

Thanks Tartarus. I sarcastically thought.

You're very welcome. He replied. I rolled my eyes, before realizing,
He got the message.

That meant, I could talk to anyone from here!

Step one to getting out of here, finished.

So who would I call?

Definetly NOT Katriss.

She's done enough damage already.

After a few minutes of thinking, I'd decided on Tom.

Just to let him know I'm alright.

So I broke into his mind.

Tom? I said to him. His worried voice replied.

Evy?

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There are cemeteries that are lonely,
graves full of bones that do not make a sound,
the heart moving through a tunnel,
in it darkness, darkness, darkness,
like a shipwreck we die going into ourselves,
as though we were drowning inside our hearts,
as though we lived falling out of the skin into the soul.

And there are corpses,
feet made of cold and sticky clay,
death is inside the bones,
like a barking where there are no dogs,
coming out from bells somewhere, from graves somewhere,
growing in the damp air like tears of rain.

Sometimes I see alone
coffins under sail,
embarking with the pale dead, with women that have dead hair,
with bakers who are as white as angels,
and pensive young girls married to notary publics,
caskets sailing up the vertical river of the dead,
the river of dark purple,
moving upstream with sails filled out by the sound of death,
filled by the sound of death which is silence.

Death arrives among all that sound
like a shoe with no foot in it, like a suit with no man in it,
comes and knocks, using a ring with no stone in it, with no
finger in it,
comes and shouts with no mouth, with no tongue, with no
throat.
Nevertheless its steps can be heard
and its clothing makes a hushed sound, like a tree.

I'm not sure, I understand only a little, I can hardly see,
but it seems to me that its singing has the color of damp violets,
of violets that are at home in the earth,
because the face of death is green,
and the look death gives is green,
with the penetrating dampness of a violet leaf
and the somber color of embittered winter.

But death also goes through the world dressed as a broom,
lapping the floor, looking for dead bodies,
death is inside the broom,
the broom is the tongue of death looking for corpses,
it is the needle of death looking for thread.

Death is inside the folding cots:
it spends its life sleeping on the slow mattresses,
in the black blankets, and suddenly breathes out:
it blows out a mournful sound that swells the sheets,
and the beds go sailing toward a port
where death is waiting, dressed like an admiral.

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