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Crashing Waves and Stolen Souls

The waves crashed on the shore in the darkness. I felt hungry. I wanted to devour light. No—I needed to consume the light. Something within me compelled me to rip the thoughts of happiness from that poor man’s weary head. I live to steal from others. I take their love, their beauty, their purpose of living; I tear it from their minds and souls to keep for myself.
The waves of misery and intense loneliness drown me in their violent bursts of malicious anger. You are evil. They cry. The bleak waves send me sprawling on the damp, grey sand, with no one and nothing to help me stand up again.
I hear a squeal of laughter from within the black stone walls. Food—energy—life. I latch on to the girl’s excitement and for a moment, just a second, I feel something.
It’s a fleeting moment of nothing. For an instant, the waves of death stop pounding on my tired body, and I feel as though I could stand up if I had a little bit more energy. I reach out to grab the light, for just another taste of hope, but there is only fog, and salty tears leaking out of her eyes. I open my mouth for a breath of fresh air—bam—misery. It’s the terrifying and horrible stench of despair. Wherever I walk I leave a trail of sadness behind me. How can I ever be happy if I only leave others feeling miserable?
This dull ache haunts me, it taunts me with its persistence; it never leaves my side. And I hate it. I can swallow all of the happiness in the world but it will never be enough. I can kill all of the beautiful things in the world but I will never be happy. Men make promises to me that I will lead a better life if I obey them, and take more happiness from effervescent and kind people. I listen at first, and comply, but still, I am miserably melancholy. No amount of daffodil-yellow sunshine casting its seraphic beams of brightness will ever create that feeling of warmth and happiness commonly associated with the sun.
I lurk in the shadows created by huts on the side of a peaceful beach, and stare with envy at the carefree and joyful souls who frolic in the foamy surf as if their dances are the only things that matter.
I long for something brilliant, something that exudes serenity and hope,—I am longing for hope,—a hope that life will be better someday. I long to rid myself of this dread that consumes me.
The waves crash upon the shore and light floods the prison walls. Men and women with a fire in their eyes storm into the brick walls shooting silver creatures from their wands. A stag, brighter than any patronus I had ever seen before leapt from a boy’s wand and charged at me. It had a melancholy happiness, it was joyful, yet it had hints of powerful sorrow at its core. It was bliss. My life felt complete as I was consumed by the silvery shine of warmth. The blackness in me disappeared—the souls that I had stolen danced in wisps of smoke to the sky which was crackling with curses and hexes. I felt free for a moment. It was an instant when there were no chains of the sins of others dragging me down.
The coldness returned, however, as it always does. I waited, and continue to wait, provoking everyone around me, needing that warmth to surround me again. I will wait forever…





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