Writing Prompts and Ideas

Heaven

His body lay cold, feeling every ounce of happiness drain from his skin and bones. Silver eyes were bloodshot from crying many hours before and had remained dry as he lay on the wet forest floor at the edge of school grounds, no thinking, no breathing for fear he was alive. His slim fingers twitched as his heart hiccuped in his chest, the silver scars slashed across his torso still hurting after the Sectumsempra incident, and he winced as the bandage over the underside of his forearm dug like a needle into his flesh. It burned, it stung, but the worst of it was the shame. The overwhelming guilt he faces everyday, the contorted grimace of The Golden Boy when Draco saw him in the long corridors, the shunning from everyone in his life for his one choice.

He breathed.

The world around him became darker. Bleaker. Blurrier. He wanted his heart to stop beating so loud in his chest. It was an annoying beat inside his own mind, and his lips quivered as the thought of suicide started to seem like a good option.

He could lay there all night, looking up through the breathtaking carapace of trees, seeing the stars twinkle and shine above. Wishing his life would end.

Or...

He could march back up to the uncaring and unwelcoming school he had went to for the past five years. He could be ignored. He could be invisible to those who turn a blind eye. He can be hurt again and again by The Golden Trio, the way he had hurt them in the past. He could retreat to his room and cut again, feel nothing inside his own soul as the long, sharp blade cut deep into his already scarred wrists and neck. He could owl his Father, his Mother, even the thought of sending a letter to the great Harry Potter crossed his mind as he let the grass around him suffocate him with it's dewey scent.

He breathed in again before whispering to the night and the moon, praying for answers, wishing that someone could finally see why he did the things he did.

"You took my heart-no...you took my heaven away..." the words were a curse, the words sung hit his soul like a train, and yet they explained every inch, every ounce, every atom of his being.

Silver eyes burned with tears that he could not cry, and his heart ached as chills raced down his spine all the way to his toes. His blunt and painted black nails pressed over his dry lips as he suppressed a sob, his throat bobbing as he swallowed back all the guilt, shame, and grief back down where it settled in his gut for only minutes at a time.

His upper body rocketed upward as he curled over his knees and vomited up his dinner at the poisonous feeling in his gut. The wretched tattoo burned on his forearm once again as he clambered towards the top of the hill that kept his spot secret and hidden from the rest of the world, and Draco felt himself falling away from his own body as he put on that stupid Malfoy facade, hair pushed back from his dulled eyes, his lips pulling into a stern frown that pleaded to wobble, posture pulling itself taut and shaky as he marched back up to the castle with the most fake of uncaring sniffs.

The storm clouds rolled in just as his body made it to the entrance of the school, and his body half turned to watch as thunder and lightning struck and plowed through anything it could rip it's vicious claws through. His face contorted into a painful, childish expression as it reminded him of what was to come, and his body turned once again as it headed back toward the dungeons with no emotions bleeding through.

Draco's soul watched the miserly husk walk away, his heart heavy, his mouth dry, his entire soul pleading and begging to be let go from the terrible clutches of sodding depression and unrelenting want to end it all. Yet his husk of a body did not respond, and it went on it's way to continue on with Voldemort's tasks for him. A servant, a mere slave to that villain of a man's strings attached to him. He was a puppet in a game, on the enemy's side, and even though he saved his parent's from a horrific fate by getting the Dark Mark, he was still the villain in the little game of war, no matter if he made a wrong choice in the eyes of good.

He would continue on.

He would live.

For now.

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Song-"Heaven-PVRIS"
Art goes to respectful owner