domake

The End to the Hero's Beginning


Harry wondered if he'd done something wrong in his past life. Maybe he just was a bad seed? He heard 'adults' mention it in the past, some of the mean ones like Pier's mother spitefully stated it to his face accompanied with a mean smirk. He didn't know exactly what it meant but he knew it was a reference to his parents and himself. People often considered that children were innocent, little angels; that they couldn't understand the brutal words they said. But they could to an extent. And they are not always the pure kind-hearted youngsters that they were perceived to be. Dursley for instance, gleefully listened during the night at the top of the stairs, when Uncle Vernon was watching a film on the telly that involved violence, screaming and sobs of pain. It was after his bedtime! He should've been asleep at that time. If he was caught awake, then he would be grounded and his so-called privileges such as his food 'that came out of poor Duddeykin's mouth' would decrease or worse, be taken away from him.


It didn't matter now. There were no Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia or Dudley to bother him. No chores to be done. He is currently in an alley that he's never walked through before. He was never allowed to visit anywhere other than the places he was forced to go in case he spread his freakishness. (Its a good thing that school was compulsory: he would probably be forbidden to go outside the Dursley's house).

He was breathing heavily, slumping against a wall that belonged to an office building. Unfortunately for him, there were no-one walking around in the streets. The people that worked in the office, they were gone to their homes even the employers. The other shops in the street were closed, with not even a light on in any window. It was almost as though there was a dark shadow that held the area in its formidable grip. Something sinister.

Before he ran away in fright and confusion, he was defending himself. Harry was unwilling playing another game of 'Harry-hunting' with the 'Big D.' and his gang. He was caught. Then...something happened. He didn't know what. It didn't frighten himself but he could see the fear in Dudley's eyes and his minions. They were terribly scared of him. A small part of Harry that thrived in hatred, anger and power urged him to terrify them, before they forget this moment and hurt him even more. "Hurt them," it tempted, "they certainly had no qualms to hurt you, didn't they?" And he really wanted to follow that voice with all his heart but...they ran away from him. Then, the Dursleys found out what happened.

Uncle Vernon was very upset and angry. Harry was so panicked and alarmed because although he was always cross with him, this was a whole new level. He fled outside of the house onto the street and he was being chased, he could hear the furious yell and frenzied, heavy footsteps that followed him. He just had to go. Go away. Somewhere. Then he did. He heard a loud crack (the sound of a belt threatening to whip a back that shouldn't even-) and he was squeezed through a large tube. That was how he is here now. Cold and freezing with his thin clothing. No-one near him that he could go for comfort like when Dudley fell a couple of days ago, scratching his knee and Aunt Petunia fussed over him, freely giving away hugs and kisses.

He was happy that he escaped Uncle Vernon's wrath but he was just extremely tired. He couldn't even move a part of his body, even his little pinkies. The lack of proper food and diet was dragging him towards a dark abyss. He badly wanted to sleep but he had a feeling that if he did, that was it. Harry wondered if he would die now. He heard that after a person dies that they go to a nice place called heaven. Harry thought about it. He'd rather not. Apparently, it was a place where people can live forever and that was a really long time. Even older than batty Mrs. Figg. His teachers told one of his classmates who was crying heavily, snot dripping onto their school desk that: "Just because their mother was gone, that she would be watching in heaven, praying for a wonderful future for the child that they loved a lot". His father was a drunk who killed his wife in a car crash and he never knew his mother. His mother who Aunt Petunia hated with all her heart for probably a good reason. Watching meant keeping someone safe.

Who was there when he was all alone, hungry and thirsty for something he desperately swore he never did? When he desperately -and truthfully- stated that it was Dudley who broke the vase but he was never believed? His relatives were always obsessed with being perfect and normal. He would never be like them. He was too much of a freak. They would go to heaven just because everyone else went there. Maybe hell would a better place. It might be a wonderful place, even better than heaven. He wouldn't be with his relatives forever and they already don't want him to be with them for even a fraction of a second. It was a win-win situation.

Nagini watched. She watched stealthily in a still, precise manner before snapping her jaws, ripping them into her prey with a desperate hunger that burned. They were bony and muscular, their fat burnt from fierce survival. Day after day, this was her life. Hunting, hiding from humans, muggle and magical. Then, she saw a bodiless wrath, forgotten and alone in the shadows. Felt its power, weakened slightly but still strong - a burning light that thrived in darkness. Allowed it to possess her temporarily until the wrath became attached to her in its own strange way and she felt affectionate to it as well. It then possessed another animal and stayed close to her as she protected his host from hunters and magicals who were hunting "You-know-who". She certainly did not know this person. But the wrath did. He hesitated but nevertheless, told her everything. She wordlessly listened. She did not care who he was and what he is now, even the fact that he spoke parseltongue which for most snakes would have automatically guaranteed loyalty. He is her...Master. She will follow him even they lead to her death.

Suddenly, a man appeared. Both of their lives were changed forever (and only Fate knew that the path she planned for her play's characters became twisted). He wore a shiny ring with a black stone. Nagini saw him as a dangerous threat and she rushed to strike, poisoned fangs ready to bite. But Master ordered her not to. So she watched. The man seemed shocked, then disappointed at the sight of Master. Her Master and the man were similar in aura and power. However, it seemed as if the man was a hatchling, stuck in a phase before he reached his prime in a rise of glory.

The man spoke to her Master in parseltongue. She did not pay much attention to the conversation. (Unknown to Nagini, the two discussed the circumstances that lead to the Horcrux's resurrection. It involved ignorant muggle teenagers dared to enter the Gaunt house and one of them in a trance, wore the ring causing their deaths.) She noticed that humans were touchy about privacy and personal space. So she ignored them in favour for a mouse that the man gave to her. It was fat and juicy. Her jaws watered with venom at the sight of her new prey. They still hunger with a fiery passion for that mouse now as she was draped over Master's shoulders. He wasn't a bodiless wrath anymore, he had a body now with a different appearance than other humans but this meant that she can tell him apart easily from humanity's generic looks. She was unsure about how he managed to obtain a body, though she did have her suspicions. She noticed that the man who was like-but-not her Master was not around them anymore. Master also seemed different in a way. He acted familiar but there were some discrepancies in his personality that she couldn't quite describe.

Nagini knew that Master was conflicted as they travelled to their destination. They were in a large human dwelling called London. Master told her that they were travelling to the place where he grew up to burn it down with scorching flames. It was an orphanage where hatchlings with no one to care for them went. The anticipation was thick; a dense weight that burdened Master, slowing his decisive steps. It was disheartening that their expectations were false. The classic 'revenge' story where the villain takes their vengeance against past oppressors and destroy the place where they suffered did not bloom. Instead of the orphanage, there were office buildings. Luckily, there were no-one in the street due to Master casting "notice-me-not" and "muggle repelling" spells earlier. Otherwise, they would've been cursed to death. Master is not a kind man.

Nagini, unsure about her Master's feelings, decided to leave him alone to organise his thoughts and emotions. She silently slithered onto the floor and explored the surrounding area. Vigilance is important, after all. She smelled the area and a whiff of a terrified hatchling rushed towards her like rushing water spilling out of the broken dam. She sensed that they were powerful and magical. This might be the key to lighten Master's spirit.

Voldemort is pleased. His little pawn grew up into a useful knight. It is fortunate that he did not act on his rash anger when he saw the child that led to his temporary downfall. Instead, he legitimised Harry, greedily squeezing out his memories like a blood-thirsty vampire that hadn't ate in centuries. He knows everything - the abuse and his potential. He is a useful tool which helped persuade him to spare his life. It was also a lovely experiment regarding nature vs. nurture. Obviously, he was careful about teaching him certain areas and also planted certain...self-destruct buttons inside Harry's mind.

Interestingly, he isn't a good parent. Harry's psyche turned out slightly skewed and distorted. Currently, Harry is slaughtering blood traitors and rebels that blockaded themselves in Hogwarts to prevent his Death Eaters from invading. It is for naught. The spells they used to protect and defend were pitiful challenges to Harry's sheer power. He had moulded Harry into a work of art. He told Dumbledore that he would have been a good D.A.D.A. teacher.

"Pitter patter. All around. Blood splashing," Harry sang cheerfully, covered in blood. His eyes dilated and glazed. Bodies lay around him, with different features and appearances. Red-haired Weasleys and a certain bushy-haired girl, who would have been one of his best friends, once upon a time, were among them.

The tree was gnarled and twisted. The branches entwined in a deadly embrace of lovers and the leaves were withered with a dull brown - its life drained by death’s possessive grip that suffocates its inevitable prey. The ground, dry and arid, was barren as the womb of an infertile woman. The sun shone with bright, fierce rays on the hard workers that toiled endlessly the hard earth near the tree. Mud, leaves and gunk clutched on the worker’s bare-thread clothes soaked in sweat. Supporters hurried about, providing water and towels. Their clothes and dry, cracked skin were as worn out as the workers. Their appearance told stories about the hard work they endured for vast periods of time.

Curious children peered inquisitively at the hustle and bustle. Then, collectively shyly hid behind a tree when a tired worker glanced at them while wiping the sweat of his forehead with a towel. He smiled kindly at them while the lines on his face crinkled happily, bright as sunshine that illuminated the ground after a rainy day. The young ones peaked their heads out, quizzical. The man plopped onto the ground, disturbing a cloud of dust around him. Then, he gestured for them to come closer and sit on the floor around him. The children knew that he was infamous for his stories. He was the keeper of the traditional stories that were very, very old. They were eager to hear this new story.

The man waited patiently for the adolescents to settle down and plant themselves on the floor. His gaze was calm and peaceful. It was the type gained from experience and constant adapting to changing times that occurred during his lifetime. He eluded an ageless confidence that was unable to be tarnished and blemished. However, his eyes held a childlike glimmer in them and joy like a bright flame that burned brilliantly. His mouth curved and he opened his mouth, ready to speak suspenseful words. He took a deep breath and spoke,
“Once upon a time, there was a beautiful earth filled with life and mankind prospered for many years. There were technological advances and creative, intellectual ideas that helped to revolution the lifestyle of humanity. Birth rates, life expectancy and standard of living increased. Those who would have died years ago were able to survive through new understandings and discoveries. Ironically, this resulted in horrible and cruel actions. Crime was rife and plentiful contrary today where our current society lives peacefully amongst ourselves and skirmishes are rare. Pollution and greenhouse gases that helped erode the environment was created through inventions that assisted the materialistic, leisurely lifestyle that was common at that time.

It was the pollution that originated from humans that destroyed the earth. Mother Nature turned away from us. Her rage was fierce and powerful. It was tragic for humanity with continuous natural disasters such as earthquakes, avalanches, tornadoes and storms that never really ended. Short respites were the, forgive the pun, eye of the storm. Our numbers dwindled from billions of millions to few thousands. It was like we were pests that were nuisances to the earth and needed to be exterminated. Loss was common and tragic but a part of people’s lives during that time. That was not all though. Legend (the same one that I am telling you now), describes that her champion, a nameless witch took revenge upon humanity. She-”

“Pfft. That’s weird. Are you saying that the reason why there aren’t many plants and stuff is because of a witch? What a lot of dung. That is the worst story that I have ever heard,” a boy incredulously exclaimed. The kids all knew he was brash and impatient, always eager to play and have fun. Dirt was inevitably smudged all over his clothes even when there were none in the vicinity as if a strange curse was placed on him.

A girl, with her bright sun-yellow hair tied-up tight in pigtails that swayed from side to side like a pendulum, demurely continued this train of thought in disbelief, “I have got to agree with Matthias. You have got to be kidding me. There is no such thing as witches now and thousands of years in the past. Where are you going with this?”

In amusement, the man laughed with the other workers and supporters who were all taking a break. It was joyful and bubbly. The two kids disliked the fact that they were being laughed at though. The man’s laughter died down into quiet chuckles. “I apologise but I actually said something like that when I heard this story for the first time. These old farts (‘Hey!’ yelled another worker) and I are just remembered that time. I understand your doubts but this is essentially a fairy tale. Some of it might be made up but other facts could be truth. Stories have to come from somewhere, you know.”

The man shrugged nonchalantly and leaned forward, asking, “So would you like me to continue the story?” There was a hesitant pause and the children nodded. He leaned back and scrunched his face in contemplation.

“What was I up to, agin? Ah, yes. The witch. Mother Nature, in outrage over humanity’s complete disfigurement of her beautiful earth, sent her beloved champion to take revenge that would be much better than what she could ever think of. A witch whose name is lost in time. We do not know why it is a witch or how she came to be. But it is told that her beauty was beyond the far reach of fair maiden nymphs in their prime. If portraits were to be painted, they wouldn’t achieve justice in depicting her wonderful looks. She was enchanting. However, a red apple with no bruises and marks does not mean that the core inside isn’t rotten. She was conniving and manipulative. She was the type to watch people suffer and laugh hysterically at their pain. And was also slightly mentally unstable which increased the danger she possessed.

After receiving the witch received Nature’s request, she wondered and pondered. How on earth could she ever conjure up a suitable retaliation for man’s crimes? It was quite a dilemma. Suddenly, the witch remembered a flittering idea that she was playing with for years. If she just adjusted it a little bit, then it would be just perfect. She began to darkly chuckle at her plan. Since homo-sapiens couldn’t appreciate the earth, she would just plant a lovely curse on them. Any flora planted by humans would die regardless of how old or young they were. The land around any human dwelling for around a ten kilometre radius would become arid and barren. Life was giveth and it can be taken away quite quickly.

That was not the clincher though. Humanity shall have a small chance to survive in order to extend their suffering and pain. There will still be plants that grow on the earth but they will not sprout and develop near any humans. Without fail, they will also wilt after 24 hour exposure to humans. Not only that but animals would never trust a human again. It would be too difficult to hunt them down because of the strained relationship between the humans and the other species. It was be much easier to gather plants to survive. Therefore, there would be no pets and companionship from animals. Additionally, humans would have to daily travel far to obtain nourishment. But individuals cannot obtain too much otherwise the items they have gathered would disintegrate.

“It would be beautiful,” the witch thought happily. Her mouth curved wickedly in glee and she rubbed her hands together like a stereotypical villain from black and white movies. She began skipping around with a bundle of energy and excitement, travelling among the earth’s surface to spread her curse. “That I would be able to watch their eternal torment for their misdeeds.”

That is why we have to constantly pick and collect plants to eat. Plus, the reason why we humans used to have pets that loved us but today, these particular animals seem to loathe us. It is through this drastic change from a (fairly) comfortable lifestyle to a hard one. We still have seasonal disasters every year that destroy our favoured gathering places with the best crops and basically everything important to us. Our ancestors, in atonement, began a tradition which is why we are here today to plant crops despite the fact that we know that nothing would grow. One day in a year, any able adults would toil the earth and plant crops to amend and pay restitution to the earth for humanity’s past crimes. To prevent further damage to the items that we treasure and give thanks that we have survived another year through adversity. Also, to give effort in the stewardship and preservation of the environment in theory because we can’t do much know since the earth is actually pretty much ruined through grievous actions in the past. That’s it,” the man concluded as he twisted his hands and stood up. Shrugging his shoulders and stretching his body after sitting still for long. He brushed the dust off his clothes and bade his goodbyes to the children in order to continue the annual tradition.

The children were contemplative as they reflected on what they had learnt and the moral of the story, which is to protect things that are important and never mistreat it because change constantly happens. The health of the earth is something precious that should have preserved but wasn’t. In the future, those same children that heard the story would grow up and participate in the yearly custom where one of them would pass on that ridiculous parable (with the unrealistic witch) to the next generation.

Love is a deceitful rose

Sigh. Love blooms and wilts throughout the seasons. Its like a rose. We know its thorns can prick and hurt us. But the deep red petals beauty tricks us. It allures us into false hope and then we cry out in ironic surprise. We draw back in wariness and sadness. Our eyes become glossy with unshed tears. We build walls to keep other people, or should I say roses, out. But then those bricks that were carefully stacked on top of each other topples. It crashes down - either suddenly, unexpectedly or slowly. We are revealed in a sort-of vulnerability. Then our hand reaches out towards the rose again. But we are stronger and wiser than before. At least, hopefully we are.

A harsh gust of wind spiraled through the hallways like a howling ghost, slamming the windows open and close. A shrill shriek disturbed the mansion's silence. The young boy shivered in response, his arms littered with goosebumps and his cheeks paling at the sharp sting of the hostile breeze. His fragile legs cautiously strode down the hallway along the side of the trails of the vanishing cloak.

Tormenting memories encroached upon him, screeching and shrieking in his mind. He hunched his shoulders, cocooning himself in his arms as though the tiny action could shield him from the bloodthirsty, savage world. The adult noticed this and called out in an aristocratic drawl, "There is no reason for you to hide yourself from me, Harry. Forget the way those...muggles treated you. I would be horribly insulted if you compared those savages to me."

His voice, a low tenor, reverberated throughout the corridors, each word echoing until they could be etched permanently inside Harry's brain. The man's face was interesting; a frightening, horrific appearance that struck fear into whoever had the misfortunate to gaze upon him. His skin was a deathly-pale white with no hair to hide the colour. There was also a missing nose and in its place were two slits, similar to a sight that Harry had seen once (on a documentary through a crack in his cupboard under the stairs) on a snake. Despite his appearance, there was a strange aura that exuded sadness and pain that originated from the past that is left unseen.

Harry forcibly relaxed the tension in his shoulders and smiled tentatively at the man, hoping for a sign of approval. There was none to be given. Rather, only a flicker of satisfaction and an unknown dark feeling in his eyes, that sent tendrils of uncertainty down his spine. The man turned away from him (not in horrid dismissal based on false rumours spoken out of jealous and fiendish mouths) and walked faster, never looking back to see whether his guest was keeping up with him or not. Harry sprinted towards him before he lost sight of the adult in the labyrinth of identical corridors. The man suddenly stopped in front of a plain stone door that radiated power, deliciously tempting the senses.

There was no door knob. But then how would you lock the door? Harry watched as the man retrieved a dagger out of his weird attire (Harry learned later that they were robes) and pierced his index finger, drawing a thick drop of blood, red as a tomato. He smeared the door with a line of blood and spoke indistinct words. Suddenly, the door melted into thin air! It was so amazing and fascinating and Harry really, really wanted to do that but how can he when he was such a freak....No one wanted to teach him. His neighbours at Privet Drive ignored him and murmured rumours about his drunk father who had caused his mother's death before taking his own. Even his teachers distrusted him, only seeing the del-in-quent that the Dursleys' told everyone that he was. He wasn't. Because he knew he wasn't.

The young child thoughts were disrupted, with a sharp gaze that seemed to stare into his soul, seeing it in its bare form. The man jerked his head towards the door, indicating that he should move - or else - because the man couldn't tolerate wasting time. Harry quickly swept through the door, wearing his too-big, hand-me-down clothing and large round glasses.

Years later, he wondered whether that was the moment when he was unable to redeem himself from the blood that stained his tainted hands.

Oh, woe is she who seethes at the perceived slight,
greed and envy feed on the desolate corpses,
the darkness hides in the abyss’ light,
its an easy path into damnations’ forces

Death grieves in ravenous hunger for its prey
blood drips and spills on the cold stones
pride and anger roar all the way
opening its mouth to treacherous crossbones

Genuine love is in its pure form of truth
destroyed as lust breaks the purity of mockingbirds,
these animals that are as innocent as children’s youth,
their suffering is left unheard

Gluttony and sloth clump together
in a revolting mass of rot
corrupting the heroic just altogether
history’s pages enveloped in evil-black ink blots

Hope, trapped in Pandora’s box,
dejected and depressed in its heartfelt prison,
forced to watch humanity’s downfall,
created out of the sticks and stones of countless sins.

Those concentrated balls of light fluttered freely through the dark sky like a poised ballerina. The traveller paused in his journey to appreciate the beauty of the stars that should be appreciated only because of its patented beauty. He reminisced about the last time (it was probably years ago)that he had just enjoyed these small moments of pleasure and happiness - only receiving comfort at that time rather than buzzing about busily in life. He had lost a plethora of precious moments that he could have experienced if the explorer had stopped and spend time with his loved ones.

The wanderer yawned in a way that was similar to a newborn babe and made his exhaustion known clearly to the world. He gathered the bare threads of his energy and weaved them into a hauntingly crude quilt of motivation to continue on the seemingly never-ending path. The man wrenched open his eyes as much as they could to observe his surroundings. Encompassing him was an isolated wasteland filled with sand that engulfed its environment to the ends of the world. There were sand dunes towering over him like a skyscraper with a looming, ebony shadow. Sand spit itself in his face as each grain latched itself on his skin like a leech, increasing the risqué, rugged appearance that instilled lust and desire in hormonal teenage girls.

The desert reminded him of the Sahara desert that he had visited decades ago. He was so lonely and horrid during that time. There was a parching thirst before that lead him by the collar to seek precious salvation in the form of soothing slippery water. That event in his life was similar to the journey the man’s travelling but unlike that past experience, he felt no motivation or determination to seek the reward for his efforts. There was nothing left for him to covet and worship at his home - everyone had left him in one way or another. It was just him accompanied by his meaningless, material items in a poor lighted, cramped apartment. No pets, children or loved ones.

A desolate, barren emotion that consistently anguished the traveller seized him and turned him into a miserable, broken doll. He felt lost and bewildered about his place in the world. He had no idea relating to his place or purpose in life. The wanderer stiffened as his sixth sense’s compass spun hazardously all over the place. Thick, oppressing waves of apprehension and excitement condensed the air, solidifying into something unpredictable and simulative. He turned to face the haunting ghost of his past. She had that damn, teasing smile on her face that spurred deep and dark feelings in the depths of his heart. His love was such a sweet, enchanting minx. He stepped towards her like he should have done all those years ago if he hadn’t had hesitated in uncertainty which resulted in him to endure a harsh, suffocating pain throughout the rest of his life that was joined in partnership with regret. The woman that held the broken pieces of his cold, inhospitable heart stretched her arms out in a welcoming manner like a loving mother attempting to comfort a hurt child. She was the complete antithesis of his personality and himself. His adorable, wonderful lover was forever forgiving even though she shouldn’t sometimes especially in his case.

The man felt done with the world. He had tried his hardest to survive without his sweetheart and accomplish their naive, hope-filled dreams. It had seemed as though everything that he had done was a futile, meaningless and worthless. He had gradually became accustomed to the fatigued, wearied and drained emptiness. There was such a hole in his heart that was vacant. He closed his weary, exhausted eyes as the explorer entered in his beloved’s fiery, pure aura. There was a tranquil calmness now and he could finally rest in peace.

This is my first journal. I have a sad feeling that I am going to be a noob about the settings for this website.

Moving on, "Notice Me Senpai!" It was a game that a few friends recommended to me. It's pretty interesting but you would probably get bored after unlocking all the Senpais with their letters and CG events. I haven't actually finished the game though, I've started around a week or two ago. If the boredom does set in while playing, the game's developers entertain players by adding in special limited events. They also add themed items and backgrounds.

The first one was the Valentine's Event which lasted around a month. I managed to unlock the special background and item. I was quite lucky compared to my friends; one only received the special item while the other only received gems and coins.

For the next 7 days, there is a special event that is Easter themed. Apparently, you choose an egg out of two - a pink or yellow one. Acting on my instincts, I picked the yellow one. For the rest of the limited event, you have to take care of the egg until it hatches. I wonder what it is. My friend thinks its a baby chicken. I, for one, am more interested in a new Senpai (though it may be pretty unlikely). I wonder if they are going to create a special event for Mother's day and Halloween.


Unfortunately though, the game does come with glitches. There is an Izumi senpai (he's the tutorial senpai so isn't much of a spoiler) glitch where he doesn't exit after the tutorial. They have attempted to fix it with a new update and instructions to deal with it.

=_= I was planning on writing an entry and somehow managed to write a review (somewhat) for a game. Hmm....