(no subject)

The Weasley Twin
            “Ron, we need to talk about George,” said Harry, a wizard, barely in his twenties, with long, messy black hair, round glass, and a lightening scar on his forehead. He stood over Ron, another wizard, blocking the light so he could no longer read the report he was working on. Ron was also barely in his twenties. He had long, bright red hair, blue eyes, and freckles. Sighing, the red head set down his quill and looked up at his best friend.

            “Here we go again.” Ron sighed, rolling his eyes. They had been having the same fight over and over again since his brother George moved in with Ron and Harry nine months after the death of George’s twin, Fred.

            “It’s been three years, Ron! Three years! He’s killing himself!” yelled Harry, slamming his fist down on the table.

            “Yeah, so obviously we should just kick him out onto the streets! He’s my brother! I’m not gonna throw him out onto the streets to die alone!” Ron yelled back, exploding a nearby glass of water in his anger.

            Three days after Fred’s death, George started drinking heavily, spending every bit of money he made on firewhiskey. Three months later he lost his joke shop and was evicted from his apartment. He moved in with his parents doing odd jobs to pay for his alcohol. Five months later he discovered the muggle drug, heroin, and soon became addicted. A month later his parents kicked him out of their house and he moved in with Ron and Harry. Three years later, George shoots up at least eight times a day, and drinks almost constantly.

            “Can’t you see he’s in pain?! Can’t you see what he has to go through every day?! Do you think I want to watch my brother kill himself?! Do you think I want him to die?!”

            “Of course not,” soothed Harry, putting a comforting hand on Ron’s shoulder.

            “Then what would you have me do?” asked Ron.

            “You could always just let me die. Get this whole thing over with.” Ron and Harry jumped apart; in the heat of the argument, neither of them had noticed George walk in.  

            George looked much different than he did when his twin was alive. His red hair, once bright and beautiful, was now a dull red, very long and scraggily. His skin such a sickly pale, you could no longer tell he had any freckles. His once happy, bright blue eyes were now sunken and surrounded by dark circles, no trace of happiness left in them. It was as if he had spent his entire life in Azkaban, surrounded by soul sucking dementors.

            “Don’t you dare think that way.” Ron stated firmly.

            “Whatever,” Shrugged George, “I’m going to bed.”

            George rushed down the hall, anxious to get to his room. The pain in his chest was coming back; he could feel his heart breaking even more than it already had. He needed his fix before the pain became unbearable. Slamming his door shut, he hastily looked around for a belt. Finally finding one on his nightstand from earlier, he sets it down on his bed and grabs a small piece of the heroin. Putting it in a spoon, he pulls out his wand and liquefies it. Pulling out a syringe from his bag, he transfers the liquid into the device, his whole body shaking with pain and need. Grabbing the belt and pulling it tightly around his upper arm, he grabs the syringe and slowly inserts the needle into his vein, pushes down the plunger, and gradually releases the poison into his body.

           He sinks to the floor, euphoria taking over his entire body. The horrible pain in his heart subsides, and Fred’s face fades from his mind, the drug granting him temporary peace from his pain. He knows that it is only temporary, that the pain will return and the memories of Fred will once more take over his mind, but this is the only relief he has. The only thing that keeps him going, but sometimes, in his rare, lucid moments, he wonders if he even wants to keep going at all.

          “Nice shot, Fred!” yelled George, flying over to give his twin a high five. “Knocked him right off his broom!” They flew around in circles above the Quidditch field, Fred’s face alight with joy. His eyes were bright and happy, a smile spread wide across his face as he laughed with George. Happiness filled every pore of his being. They were together, happy, energetic. There was no black hole in his heart and everything was perfect.

          Then there was a bright, green flash of light, and Fred was falling 50 feet to the field below. George yelled and pressed himself to his broom flying as fast as he could towards Fred, but he couldn’t seem to catch up. He could see the ground coming closer, but it was no longer the Quidditch field. It was the floor of Hogwarts, and Fred was laying there, no life in his eyes, no smile upon his lips. He was dead.

          “No! No! Fred, wake up! Wake up! Wake up! WAKE UP!” George screamed as he jumped off his broom and started shaking the now lifeless body of his twin. “No. This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening.”

          “George! Wake up! Come on George, wake up!” a panicked voice penetrated his mind, his body was shaking, someone was shaking him.

          “Wake up, George! Oh God, please don’t be dead!” Ron’s voice was yelling in his face, fear evident in his tone. George slowly opened his eyes, Ron’s fearful face coming into view. “Oh thank God!” Ron sighed with relief. “Bloody hell, George, you scared the shit out of me.”

          “Sorry.” George stated hollowly, sitting up slowly from his spot on the floor. He rubbed his eyes, realizing that his face was wet. He must have been crying again. He wiped his face with his shirt, avoiding Ron’s eyes.

          “Was it about Fred? The dream I mean,” asked Ron, looking sympathetically at his brother.

          “No. It was about puppies and butterflies.” Stated George sarcastically and rolling his eyes. Ron apologized sheepishly, still looking sympathetically at George. “Whatever. What do you want?”

          “Oh. Um, Ginny and Hermione are coming over for dinner; I thought you should join us. Visit with them for a while since you haven’t seen them lately.” Ron looked at George hopefully. George ran his fingers through his dull, red hair and sighed before telling Ron he’d be out there in a few. Ron nodded and headed for the door, looking worriedly back at George.

          As Ron closed the door, George grabbed for his bag, and once again starting the routine of liquefying the heroin and transferring it into his body. The euphoria took over again, and he sat there until he heard Ginny and Hermione’s voices coming from the living room. He pulled out a bottle of firewhiskey and took three huge gulps before picking himself up off the floor and heading into the living room.
It had been five months since George had seen his sister, Ginny, and her best friend, Hermione. Ginny found it too hard to be around him, and Hermione was disapproving of him. It was quite interesting how all their relationships had fallen apart.

          After Fred’s death, Hermione and Ron had remained a couple, and so had Ginny and Harry. Slowly their relationships began to break apart. Harry was always with Ron, trying to comfort his best friend in the wake of Fred’s death, and in an attempt to make up for Harry’s absence Hermione started to spend all of her time with Ginny.

         The fights started soon after. Ginny and Hermione were both angry at their boyfriends for choosing their best friend over their girlfriends, and Harry and Ron were both angry at their girlfriends for trying to pull them apart. Their anger at their lovers built up over the months, and soon they could no longer stay together. Finally agreeing that they would all be better off if they broke up, they did just that. Harry and Ron became roommates as did Ginny and Hermione. Interesting how one person’s death could wreak havoc on so many relationships.

         “George!” a teenage witch with bright, beautiful, long red hair and freckles squealed, rushing to give him a hug. As he hugged his sister, another witch, with long, bushy, brown hair, gave him a reproachful look, spotting the bottle of firewhiskey he was holding. Ginny pushed him back, holding him at arm’s length, taking her first good look at him since she had got there. “Oh, George!” Ginny exclaimed, giving George a worried look.

          “I’m fine, Ginny, promise,” George stated in an exasperated manner. He pulled away from his sister, and trudged slowly into the kitchen to ask what was for dinner, taking another huge gulp of his drink.

          “George, I wish you wouldn’t drink,” stated Ginny in a timid voice.

          “I’m an adult, Ginny. I’m allowed to drink if I want to,” replied George, a hint of frustration in his voice.

          “Not if you’re irresponsible, and are drunk all the time,” exclaimed Hermione, annoyed. George turned around to face her, glaring at her and getting ready to shout an angry retort.

          “Hermione, don’t,” stated Ron firmly, a look of finality in his eyes. Turning to George, a pleading look in his eyes, he begged George not to drink. “You know Ginny hates it when you drink, when we all drink. Please, just tonight.” George stared into Ron’s pleading eyes, Harry, Ron, Ginny, and Hermione tensing as they waited to see what he’d do. George continued to stare at Ron for another minute before he brought the bottle to his lips and chugged the rest of its contents, throwing it into the garbage when he was done.

          “There. You happy now?” Ginny rushed to hug George, thanking him. She knew that this was a very rare gift, and was going to appreciate every minute of it. When Ginny let go of George, he sank into a chair, laying his head down onto the kitchen table. He thought to himself that this was going to be one long night. They had barely arrived and he already wanted to just take his food into his room and drink himself into oblivion.

          George sensed Ginny had sat down next to him, and he got ready for the fake, awkward conversations. It always happened this way. Ginny and Ron would try and get him to talk and really interact with the family, while he would give short, clipped responses, and Harry and Hermione would look annoyed at the whole situation.
          He was sure that if Harry didn’t care about Ron as much as he did, Harry would have already kicked him out. Harry and Hermione both thought that if George was kicked out, he would hit rock bottom and sober up. Though, he didn’t get why they thought that. Didn’t they know that he’d already hit rock bottom? That he’d hit rock bottom the moment Fred had been murdered.

          George was pulled out of his stupor when dinner was served, and instantly regretted coming out of his room as the fake conversations started. He loved his family; deep down inside he knew he was being selfish, that he was causing them pain, but the black hole, where Fred used to be, was swallowing his heart. The pain it caused was clouding his thinking, allowing their pain to continue as well.

          As the awkward conversations went on, George slowly started drifting into his mind, and the pain in his heart multiplied. Memories of Fred were all he could see. Him and Fred playing Quidditch, setting off dung bombs in the hallways to annoy Filtch, everything they did to annoy Filtch, all the work they put into Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes, their grand flight out of the school in their seventh year. And then the smaller memories came up, like when he used to climb into Fred’s bed at night when he was scared as a little kid, the time they both tried to dye their hair so that they wouldn’t look the same, and Fred ended up with green hair, and he ended up with blue hair. He even remembered the stupid little fights they had. Every moment he was with Fred, even the moments when they were mad at each other, were the best moments of his life, and now, those moments were gone.

          “George, are you okay?” Ginny’s voice broke through into his thoughts, bringing him back to the present. George looked around; four worried faces staring back at him. He turned to face Ginny as she put her hand on his shoulder.

          “I’m fine.” George tried to reassure her. Fred’s smiling face flashed before his eyes, causing him to quickly stand up and knock his chair over. Ginny and Ron both stood up as well, looking, if possible, even more worried than before. “I’m fine. I just need to go to my room for a bit. I’ll be back shortly. Promise.”

          He rushed to his room; he had to get out of there, had to make the memories stop. He could feel the unhealed wound in his heart rip apart even more, and tears started to stream down his face. As soon as he had slammed the door to his room shut he lunged for his bag. He needed something, anything. Tears flowed freely as he pulled out a bottle of firewhiskey. Forcing the cap off, he put the bottle to his lips and drank. Drank until every drop of the poison was gone, then pulled out another one and repeated the process.  

          When he’d downed three full bottles of firewhiskey, he fell back onto his bed and let the alcohol cloud his brain so he could hardly think straight. He lay there, staring at the ceiling, a feeling that he still had something he needed to do tickling the back of his mind. Though, he couldn’t seem to remember what it was. Something about going back, but going back where, he couldn’t figure it out.

          Turning his head, his eyes landed, once again, on his handy dandy bag. Sitting up, he grabbed his bag and got everything he needed to shoot up for the eighth time that day. Plunging the syringe into his arm and releasing the poison, the euphoria that heroin provided him with took hold of him once again. Falling back onto his bed, he once again began to stare at the ceiling, nothing, not even memories of Fred, penetrating his euphoric state.

          At some point later that night, he heard voices in his room, but cared too little about who the voices belonged to, to open his eyes. Very soon after the voices had left, the yelling started. He opened his eyes for a short moment, before once again coming to the conclusion that he didn’t really care what was going on. Closing his dull, hopeless eyes he found himself drifting off, once again, into nothingness. Now if only he could stay there forever.


          A horribly loud noise was blaring from somewhere to George’s right, pulling him from his nightmare filled sleep. Flinging out his right hand, he groped around trying to find whatever it was that was making this horrible racket. His hand finally landed on something vibrating. Grabbing whatever the thing was, he flung it across the room, and miraculously the horrible noise ceased.

          Groaning, George turned over and pulled the covers over his head, trying to block out the light streaming in through his window, but knew that he had to get up, lest he be late for work. Being late for work never fared well. Tom was nice enough to give George a job in the first place, but tardiness was something that his boss didn’t put up with.

          Pulling the covers off of his head, he sat up and looked around for the infamous bag. Finding it, he pulled it up to him; grabbing everything he needed to start his routine of shooting up and drinking an entire bottle of firewhiskey. 

          As the bliss took over him and the pain ebbed away, he grabbed some fresh clothes and started towards the bathroom. After making sure the water was warm enough, he stepped into the shower. George breathed a sigh of pleasure as he let the warmth wash over him, taking away some of the stress and stiffness in his body.

          After about fifteen minutes, he stepped out of the shower and shook out his long hair, drying himself and wrapping the towel around his waist. Walking over to the sink to brush his hair and his teeth he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He stared at the reflection in the mirror. It showed only a mire shell of what once was a very handsome and joyous man. Staring at his sunken, pale skin, dull red hair, and blank eyes, he asked himself, “Why do I even try?” He didn’t know the answer.

          Pulling his eyes away from the mirror, he continued getting ready for work. Just as he had pulled on a white and black striped long sleeved shirt a knock came at the door.

          “George?” It was Ron. Flinging open the door, George rushed past Ron, yelling behind him that he was sorry it took so long, leaving Ron a little stunned as he watched George rush into his room. Regaining himself, Ron headed for George’s room, almost getting whipped in the face by George’s black, leather jacket as he rushed out of his room, carrying his bag. “George!” Ron said again.

          “What, Ron? I’m gonna be late for work!” yelled George as he rushed towards the front door.

          “I just wanted to let you know that me and Harry are going to go out tonight, and probably won’t be back ‘til late.”

          “’Kay.” George slammed the door shut. Pulling his jacket on, he ran as fast as he could down the street, passersby staring at him. Thank God he lived so close to the Leaky Cauldron, or else he’d be screwed.

          He would have apparated except that the Ministry had forbidden him from apparating or disapparating after the third time he had splinched himself. Plus apparating reminded him a lot of Fred and the time they used to apparate everywhere they went right after they had passed their apparition test, even if it was just downstairs. But of course everything seemed to remind him of Fred.

          Five minutes later, he burst through the doors, barely making it with one minute left, and thinking to himself that he really needed to start getting up earlier. 

          “You’re almost late!” yelled Tom from behind the bar.

          “I know,” stated George blankly as he put his bag and jacket behind the bar. Working at the Leaky Cauldron wasn’t the best job in the world, but it was the only job he could keep and he really needed the money.

          A few hours later, George headed to the bathroom, his trusty bag in tow. Tom knew what he was up to when he took his bag with him, but felt too much sympathy towards the boy to say anything about it as long he continued to do a good job.

          Five hours later a witch and a wizard came in, waving at George and smiling. The witch was about 21 years old, and very pretty. She had spiky blue hair, wore a white tank top and some ripped jeans. The wizard was a few years older than the witch, and carried his own handy dandy bag. One side of his head was shaved and the other side had long black hair going down to his shoulder. He wore ripped cargo pants and a leather jacket.

          “Hey Gloria. Hey Jimmy,” said George as they walked up to the bar.

          “It been a busy morning?” asked Gloria as she walked around the bar, dropping her stuff behind it.

          “Yeah,” replied George as he took a customer’s order.

          “Bloody hell! That means it’s going to be an even busier night. Adam better get here soon, or I’m gonna ring his neck,” said Gloria as she started taking another customer’s order.

          “Okay Tom, Gloria’s here. I’m gone,” yelled George in Tom’s direction. Tom nodded his head in acknowledgement as he helped an old witch with her luggage. 

          “You ready to go?” asked Jimmy as George grabbed his stuff from behind the bar.

          “Almost. Just give me a few minutes,” stated George as he bought six bottles of firewhiskey. Turning to look at Jimmy, George stuck the bottles into his bag and told him that he couldn’t wait. He had to do it now.

          “Yeah, I need some as well,” replied Jimmy as they both headed to the bathroom. Once the door to the bathroom was locked, both pulled out their stashes and started their routine. After, taking off their belts, liquefying the heroin and transferring it to their syringes, they both pulled their belts tight around their arms and transferred the heroin into their veins.

          A look of pure ecstasy on their faces, both slid down to the floor, basking in the euphoria they were now feeling. As they sat there on the floor, neither one of them wanting to move, George’s mind began to wander. Fred’s face appeared behind his eyelids, smiling and laughing, and George’s heart gave a painful thud.

          Turning his head, George reached for his bag, pulling out a bottle of firewhiskey. He chugged the whole thing within a minute, but Fred’s face was still there. Grabbing another one and downing it almost as fast as the last one, Jimmy looked at him and giggled.
“What are you trying to do? Drown yourself?”

          “If only,” responded George, setting the bottle down. Jimmy stopped giggling and stared seriously at George, trying to judge the amount of pain he was feeling.

          “How bad is it?” asked Jimmy, sitting up straighter, worry for his friend apparent on his face. George closed his eyes for a few seconds before looking Jimmy straight in the eye and responding.

          “It’s horrible. The nightmares are worse, and the memories are almost always there. His face seems to almost never fade from my mind anymore. I need stronger stuff.” George looked at Jimmy hopefully, but by the look on his face, George could tell that it was bad news.

          “I’m sorry, mate, but there isn’t anything stronger. I’ve given you the strongest stuff out there.” George grabbed his chest as if he was having a heart attack. Pain and misery etched onto every part of his face. Jimmy reached out to him, not knowing what else to do. He had never seen George like this. Yes, he knew George was in almost constant pain, but he had always seemed to hide it so well. It had always seemed as if the drugs and alcohol drowned out his pain, but now that it seemed to be failing him, Jimmy didn’t know what to do. “I know you don’t want to, and that it’ll be hard, but maybe you should talk to your family.”

          “No! No, no, no. I can’t. I just- I just- I just can’t. I can’t put my problems onto them. I just wish it would end.” George looked like he was about to cry. Jimmy had an idea to help him. It was a horrible plan, but it was the only thing he could think of to help him, and he knew he had to do something.

          “George?” said Jimmy timidly. George looked up at Jimmy, his eyes shining with tears unshed. “I have a plan. I know a way to make it all stop. To make the pain go away, but-“

          “I’ll do it! Whatever it is, I’ll do it! I just need the pain to go away. I can’t take it anymore, Jimmy. I just can’t.” George looked at Jimmy pleadingly.

          “Okay” sighed Jimmy. “Come with me. We need to get to a payphone.”

          “A what?”

          “A payphone is a public phone that you pay to use. My contact is a muggle, so I can only contact him by phone,” stated Jimmy. George nodded, grabbed his stuff and wiped his eyes before following Jimmy out of the Leaky Cauldron and onto the streets of London.
They walked a few blocks before stopping at a street corner where a red booth with windows stood. Inside the booth was a telephone, something that George had only seen once in his life. Stepping inside the booth, George picked up the receiver and looked at it curiously, then moved onto pressing the buttons at random.

          “Move and I’ll show you how it works,” said Jimmy as he pushed his way past George. Pulling some muggle coins out of his pocket, he picked up the receiver and then proceeded to push the coins into a slot. Once that was done he then started pushing buttons at what looked like random, and then put the receiver to his ear. The whole time George stared curiously at him, thinking that his dad would love this.

          Jimmy then started speaking into the receiver normally, and George stared in amazement, wondering how the other person could hear him without him having to yell.

          “I’ll triple that if you can get it to me now.” Jimmy paused, a look a determined seriousness on his face. “Ok, I’ll see you at the usual place in 3 hours.” Jimmy hung up the phone and looked at George, a blank expression on his face. “I need to get to an ATM.”

          “A what?” asked George, completely clueless on what he was talking about for the second time.

          “It’s an electronic box that gives me money,” stated Jimmy as he started walking down the street again.

          “What are you getting me?” asked George, having missed most of the conversation in his curiousness.

          “Pentobarbital. It’s a sedative.” George looked at Jimmy, amazed. This meant that the pain would stop; the nightmares would be no more. George gasped as his eyes fell on two people he had not seen for a year. A black witch, with long black dreads was standing in front of a grocery store with her fiancé, a black wizard with short black dreads.  Angelina Johnson and Lee Jordan had been two of his and Fred’s best friends, but after Fred died and George had picked up his alcohol and drug habit, they had both cut all ties with him.

          Jimmy turned and headed towards the store door, and George held his breath, hoping that they would not look up, but just as he thought that, both of them looked right at him. Memories flashed in front of him. Fred was sitting in an armchair in the Gryffindor common room, yelling across it, asking Angelina to the Yule Ball as Lee, Harry, and Ron laughed. Lee commentating the Quidditch games, cursing at the Slytherins as Professor McGonagall chided him and Angelina scored.

          That one look said so many things. George’s eyes were pain filled, and their eyes stared pleadingly back into his. They still cared, they wanted him to come back to them, but he knew he could not, that the pain was too much. He gave them one last look before turning and walking away from them forever.

          George was in too much pain, and his mind was clouded with too many painful memories to really give a damn about the ATM. As his pain filled eyes stared off into space, Jimmy looked back at him, worry spread all over his face. He wished that his contact would hurry up.
As they left the store they walked a few more blocks before crossing the street and heading down a dark alleyway. Walking past 3 doors, they finally stopped at a double door on their right. Taking out a key, Jimmy unlocked the right door and they walked in. The place was dark and filled with smoke and the scent of alcohol. It seemed to have only one room and a bathroom. It was huge, with a bar to their right and a bunch of tables and booths to their left. It was packed. It only had a few tables and booths left. They took a seat in a booth at the very back.
As soon as they sat down, George took out another bottle of firewhiskey from his bag and started to down the whole bottle. Once he was finished he set it down and leaned his head against the wall. The memories where still coming and he couldn’t seem to get them to stop, he needed another fix.

          “I’m gonna go to the bathroom. I’ll be back in a few.” Jimmy nodded as George picked up his bag and headed to the bathroom. George opened his bag and pulled out his stash. He was running low. Once he’d liquefied it and transferred it to the syringe, he tightened his belt around his arm and brought the needle towards his vein. But something caught his mind. Staring at his vein, he realized how easy it would be to just transfigure his needle into a knife and just slice his vein open.

          Taking the needle away from his arm, George pulled out his wand again and pointed it at the needle. He was so close to transfiguring it when someone banged on the door.

          “Hurry the fuck up! I have to piss!” someone yelled from the other side.

          “Give me a minute!” George yelled back, coming out of his stupor. Putting away his wand, he once again pulled the belt tight around his arm and brought the needle to his vein. This time he didn’t stop to think. Pushing the needle into his vein he released the drug into his system and let the sensations take over his body. He sat there for a few minutes before the guy started banging on the door again.
          Quickly putting his stuff away, he grabbed his bag and threw the door open. Cursing, the man pushed past George and slammed the door shut. George rushed back to his table and sat down with Jimmy.

          “Feeling better?” asked Jimmy a little worriedly.

          “Some.” George stared off into space, hoping that Jimmy’s contact would get there soon. He had never thought about using a sedative before, but now that Jimmy had brought it up, he really wanted it. Maybe he’d be able to sleep peacefully for once in a long time.
George drank two more bottles of firewhiskey before dozing off. He was dreaming of Fred when Jimmy woke him up. Apparently he could tell he was having a nightmare. 

          They talked for a while. Apparently Jimmy and Gloria were doing really good, and Jimmy was thinking about sobering up and asking her to marry him. George said he should go for it. George told Jimmy about how he was putting a big strain on Harry and Ron’s friendship, and he definitely wasn’t helping Hermione and Ginny’s. Jimmy assured him that what he was getting him was going to help. About thirty minutes later a man wearing a white button down shirt and some black dress pants came up to their table.

          “Greg!” said Jimmy enthusiastically as he stood up and shook the man’s hand.

          “You have the money?” asked Greg in a voice that stated that he was only here to do business and nothing else.

          “Yes. It’s all right here,” stated Jimmy patting his bag.

          “Good ‘cause this took a lot of work to get. This could cost me my job if I get caught.”

          “I know. I know,” said Jimmy in a slightly annoyed voice. “So where’s the stuff?” Greg pulled out a white bottle and showed the label to Jimmy. Jimmy nodded and pulled out the money from his bag. Counting it all out where Greg could see it, Greg nodded and the switch was made. Greg put the money in his pocket and walked away.

          Sitting back down, Jimmy pushed the bottle towards George, a mixed look on his face. George picked up the bottle and looked at it. It didn’t seem like very much, but he had never taken a sedative before so he wouldn’t really know how much enough was.

          “So how much do I take at one time?” asked George. Jimmy looked at him seriously before responding.

          “George, Pentobarbital is a strong sedative that is a lot of times used to euthanize animals.” George looked at Jimmy confused before it donned on him what Jimmy was saying. His eyes wide in shock, George stared at Jimmy. Was he really giving him this option? Would Jimmy really allow him to choose to do that to himself? Staring at Jimmy, a look of dead seriousness on his face, and George knew he would.

          “If you choose to turn it down I will understand, but if you choose to use it, I will understand as well.” George nodded, words failing him. Looking down at the bottle and looking back up a Jimmy, he didn’t know what to do. Then Fred’s smiling, joyous face came into view and he knew in an instant what he was going to do. Grabbing his bag, he stuffed the bottle into it and pulled out a bottle of firewhiskey. Taking a drink, he stared at Jimmy.

          “Wanna walk to my house?” asked George, taking another drink. Jimmy nodded and they both got up. They slowly walked down the street to George’s house, neither one of them saying a word. When they had finally reached his front door, they turned and looked at each other.

           “You should really sober up and ask Gloria to marry you. I know you both will make a great couple.” Jimmy smiled at George, nodding his head.

          “I definitely will.”

          “You know, for a drug dealer you really are a great friend.” George smiled as much as he could.

          “Yeah, for a druggy, you are as well.” Jimmy laughed.

          “Goodbye, Jimmy.” George grabbed Jimmy’s hand and they hugged one another.

          “Goodbye, mate,” letting go, George unlocked the front door and went inside, looking back at Jimmy before shutting the door on him forever. George slowly walked to his room, looking around at the house he would never see again.

          When he reached his room he set down his bag on his bed and walked over to his desk. He had thought about doing this many times, but had never felt like anyone would understand. But Jimmy understood, and so he knew, that the others would too. Pulling out a quill and some parchment from his desk he sat and stared, thinking hard about what he wanted to say. In the end, he only wrote one sentence.
          I’m sorry, but I can’t be a Weasley twin without Fred.
            George brought the piece of paper over to his bed, setting it on his pillow. Sitting down he took the white bottle out of his bag, also grabbing the syringe. Sticking the syringe into the top of the bottle, he filled it all the way to the top. Sitting back against the wall he brought the needle to his vein, and slowly pushed it in.

            “I’m sorry, Fred. I tried so hard to make it without you. I really did. But Fred, how am I supposed to be a Weasley twin without you?” With a smile on his lips at the thought of finally seeing Fred again, he pushed the plunger down, releasing the drug into his body. He only had time to pull the needle out of his arm before the drug took over. Slowing shutting down his brain, his heart, his body, and within a few minutes, his brain had fully shut down, and his heart had stopped beating. He was dead.

            Ron found him hours later, slumped against the wall, syringe still in his hand. Screaming Ron shook him, demanding him to wake up. Harry, panicked and scared, looked around the room, looking for something he hoped wasn’t there. Then he saw it; the note lying on George’s pillow, his handwriting on the parchment. Reading it, he slumped down onto the bed, tears filled his eyes.

            “Ron.” Ron ignored him, holding George and crying for him to not be dead. “Ron. He left a note.” Crying, Ron turned to look at Harry and took the note. Looking at it in disbelief, Ron fell to the floor. Harry slid off the bed and pulled Ron into his arms, trying his best to comfort him. Ron continued to stare at the note for a while before looking up at Harry.

            “He’s happy now, isn’t he?”

            “Yes, Ron. I believe he is.” As the two friends sat on the floor holding each other, they stared out the window at the star filled sky. Two stars side by side shown more brightly than the others, and they knew that Fred and George were together again, and finally happy once more. 

(no subject)


She promised me perfection.
She promised me love.
She promised to never hurt me, but she lied.
She spews words of hate and anger.
I’m pathetic, a failure.
I’m so fat and ugly, how could anybody love me?
I hate her so much, but she’s my drug.
Suffocating me.
Killing me.
Then she resuscitates me.
It’s good again, but only for a little while.
She hates me, I hate her.
I try to leave.
She’s sorry, so sorry.
No she ain’t, but I love it, love her.
I’m addicted.
I go back and we’re good, I’m good.
It’s perfect.
Then it starts again.
The hate, the rage.
It’s her fault, my fault, so many faults, again and again.
But I need her, crave her, I can’t succeed without her.
I have to stay.
I can’t get away.
But I can’t do it anymore.
I’m dying inside and out.
So much hate, so much rage, so many lies, but I love it.
I love it.
I stay.

In Death: Revised

AN: So I was taking another look at this, and i decided that it needed to be revised a little bit. For a few reasons actually, 1) it was to short to be a short story, so i decided to turn it into a prose poem 2) it had a few grammatical errors that needed to be fixed 3) and so of the lines needed to be rewritten. Not that ya'll wanted to know all of that, lol, but anyways, here is the revised version. I hope ya'll like it. Thanks -Raine

In Death: Revised

The sound of shots being fired all around me seems so loud,
echoing through my head as I lie here helpless.
The cries of the dead and the dying are haunting,
drowning out the cries of the men still fighting.

The stench of death is nauseating and suffocating,
filling my lungs, filling my soul, and I feel like I’m drowning.
I gasp for air, but it only makes the feeling worse.
The smell is getting stronger, killing me.
The dust and smoke from the many bombs is choking me,
making me cough up the liquid death.
It helps nothing.
I’m still drowning, still dying.

Everything is becoming muffled now;
it’s so quiet and my vision gets blurry.
That’s when I see it, see her.
Death has come for me
in the form of the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.
Her long black hair flows out behind her
as she walks through the rows of the dead.
Her pale white skin is flawless,
as if she were made of marble.
Her naked body is breathtaking;
it’s the body of every man’s dreams.

She walks slowly, laying her hands over the dead
as if pulling their souls out of their bodies.
She looks at each one as she does this,
giving each of the dead her undivided attention.
Every Dead is important to her, she loves them all.
The dead follow her willingly,
trusting her completely, as she moves on.

She comes to me,
her loving, bright blue eyes pierce mine,
and everything stops.
The smell of death leaves me and I can feel no more,
the weight of dying releases my soul and I am free- I am dead.
I rise up from where I’m laying,
take a step towards her and walk on.

In death there is no white light,
no angels singing, no golden gate.
There is only beauty, only love, only family.
In death there is only her and her “children”.
In death there is life.

 unpublished work © 2009 Raine

In Death

Just something i wrote. hope u guys like it:)

In Death



The sound of shots being fired all around me seems so loud, echoing through my head as I lie here helpless and left for dead. The cries of the dead and the dying are haunting, drowning out the cries of the men still fighting.

The stench of death is nauseating and suffocating, filling my lungs, filling my soul, and I feel like I’m drowning. I gasp for air, but it only makes the feeling worse. The smell is getting stronger, killing me. The dust and smoke from the many bombs is choking me, making me cough up the liquid death. It helps nothing. I’m still drowning, still dying.

Everything is becoming muffled now; it’s so quiet and my vision gets blurry. That’s when I see it, see her. Death has come for me in the form of the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Her long black hair flows out behind her as she walks through the rows of the dead. Her pale white skin is flawless, as if she were made of marble. Her naked body is breathtaking; it’s the body of every man’s dreams.

She walks slowly, holding her hands over the dead as if pulling their souls out of their bodies. She looks at each one as she does this, giving each of the dead her own divided attention. Every dead is important to her, she loves them all. The dead follow her willingly, trusting her completely, as she walks on.

She comes to me, her loving, bright blue eyes pierce mine, and everything stops. I can feel the smell of death leave me, the weight of dying releases my soul and I am free, I am dead. I rise up from where I’m laying, take a step towards her and walk on.

In death there is no white light, no angels singing, no golden gate. There is only beauty, only love, only family. In death there is only her and her “children”. In death there is life.

unpublished work © 2009 Raine
  • Current Mood: drained drained

(no subject)

so i woke up this morning feeling amazing! i was just in such a great mood, and i haven't written in sooooo long, so i decided 2 write a poem. And my bf has just been so amazing lately that i was like "how bout i write a poem for him" so i did. and i really like it so i thought i would share it with ya'll.

My Love For You

My love for you is written on my body.
It is written on my lips as I kiss you,
Caress your body,
Say your name,
Say I love you.
My love for you is written on my lips.

My love for you is written on my body.
It is written on my hands as I hold you,
Touch you,
Worship you,
Love you.
My love for you is written on my hands.

My love for you is written on my body.
It is written on my heart as I walk with you,
Talk with you,
Be with you,
As it beats for you.
My love for you is written on my heart.

My love for you is written on my body.
My love for you is written on my soul. 

Well i hope ya'll like it. so moving. I've been doing pretty good 2day. i've only had 1 piece of pizza and sadly a coke. i shouldn't have had it but i can't do anything about it now other than don't drink another one. so yeah. i hope all of you beautifuls r having a wonderful day. Stay B.E.A.U.TIFUL.


unpublished work © 2009 Raine

Now playing: Robert Miles - Princess of Light
via FoxyTunes    


  • Current Mood: drained drained

fuck you life

My aunt is really dying guys. She really is. I've known this for like a week, but it just now really hit me. She's going to die. She's going to leave us and never come back. My aunt. The mother of my cousins. The baby sister of my father. My aunt is going to die, and there is nothing anbody can do about it.




It was a Saturday; I’ve forgotten the exact date for obvious reasons. I was 15 and I was off the hardcore drugs, but I still liked to drink and get stoned. I still liked to party. One of my party friends, someone I had known since I was 13, invited me to a party, and like always, I went.

It started out great. I got stoned off my ass, and I was starting to feel a buzz from the alcohol I had drunk. I was dancing around, having a great time flirting and hanging out with my friends. I loved to dance; dancing was always my favorite part.

The lights were dimmed and the music was blaring loud. The dance floor was packed so tight there was hardly any room to move. Every body was back-to-back, sweaty bodies pressed into each other, but nobody cared. We were all to engrossed in the music, the entire atmosphere. I didn’t notice anything outside of the music, the movement of me and the others. I don’t know for sure, but I think that’s when he saw me. When he decided to make me his victim.

After dancing for a while, I got really thirsty and went to get a drink. I go a cup and wrote my name on it so nobody else would drink it, and filled it up with Red Bull and Jaeger. I took a huge gulp, set it down and went back to dancing. I did this multiple times before I started to feel it.

I knew I had been drugged as soon as I started to feel really tired, for I never got tired that early. I tried so hard to get to one of my close friends, to stay awake, but I only got a few steps and then I was falling. Falling into darkness. Falling into nothingness. Falling into his trap.

The next think I remember was pain. Lots and lots of pain. I couldn’t tell where it was coming from, only that it seemed to radiate through out my entire body. And then I felt the heaviness pushing down on me, crushing me. I tried to move but whatever it was, was so heavy and my body seemed to just not work. I tried to speak, but I couldn’t get my mouth to move. I couldn’t figure out what was going on. I opened my eyes to see what was happening, to see if I could make since of what was going on.

It was insanely bright and so blurry that I couldn’t see a thing, but after blinking some I saw what was crushing me. What was causing the pain. It was a person, a fat, sweaty, white male. I couldn’t see his face. All I could see was his chest and stomach. And before I could comprehend what exactly was going on, I was falling again. Back into the darkness. Back into the nothingness.

I jerked awake when the cold water hit my skin. I was confused and tried to get away from whatever was so cold, but hands were holding down and I couldn’t escape. I started flailing and screaming, I didn’t know what was happening. Then I heard voices calling my name, telling me it was alright. Voices that I knew. I stopped screaming and trying to escape and opened my eyes.

It was three of my friends. I looked around confused. Why were they looking at me like that? Why was I sitting in a tub full of freezing water? Why was the water pink? Then it hit me. The pain. It hurt so much and it was coming from my lower region, along with the blood. I could see no open wound, and that’s when I realized, when everything came back to me. I turned to my friends, eyes wide, a terrified look on my face. Their chores of “I’m sorry” was confirmation enough, and I just shut down.

The rest of the night was like a blur. My friends helped me get cleaned up, got my close for me, helped me get dressed, and to the car, then drove me home. I didn’t talk at all. Didn’t respond to anything my friends said or did, except when they asked me if I wanted to call the cops.

I frantically shook my head no and said that I didn’t know who did it, didn’t see his face, so it was pointless. They didn’t press the subject after that. They knew that I was traumatized. They dropped me off at my house, where I walked in and strait to my room I took off my clothes, put on my PJ’s, and l laid down on my bed and cried.

I cried myself to sleep that night, and many nights after that. I had horrible nightmares about that night, just as vivid as if it were actually happening. And three years later, I still have them.

That Night

That Night


I’ll never forget that night.

It started out just a regular party

Nothing new, just a party.

But it ended up a fight for your life


Just one small overdose

Then you were on the floor


Time stood still

I couldn’t breathe

Couldn’t hear

Couldn’t move

Then you twitched and time sped up


I looked at your mom

She was fucked up

Too fucked up to care

Too care that her only son was dying

Dying right in front of her


She looked at you

A stranger dying in her house

Her face twisted in rage

“Who the fuck is he?” She screamed

She had no idea who you where


I knew then that no one else was going to help you

No one else cared


I got the adrenaline shot from the fridge

The one you kept for this exact reason

I was shaking as I undid your shirt

It seemed like it took forever to get your shirt open


I looked at your chest

It wasn’t moving

I didn’t even have to check your pulse

I knew there wasn’t one

I only had one choice


I took a deep breath

Prayed to the God that I didn’t believe in

Took aim

And stabbed you with the syringe

Stabbed you right in the heart


I pushed it in

Took it out

And waited

Waited for a sign

A sign that you survived


Time slowed down

One second passed

Two seconds passed

Three seconds passed

I checked your pulse


Time speeds up again

And I burst into tears

Your heart is beating

Your chest is slowly rising and falling

You are alive


God has granted you a second chance

Has given you a chance to make something of your life

And a chance for me as well

Too keep going like we are and die before we hit twenty-one

Or too change our ways and live to see our children have children


I don’t know about you

But I can’t handle another scene like that

I can’t sit back and watch you waste away

Watch you die

I quit


Please come with me

Please choose to live

unpublished work © 2004 Raine
  • Current Mood: ecstatic ecstatic


          I wish I could say I put a lot of thought into your death, when I was going to do it, how I was going to do it, but I didn’t. I’m not sure I exactly remember when I knew I was going to kill you, it wasn’t a conscious decision, I just sort of knew.
I think it was the first time we made love, interlocked as one. I knew then that your death would be on my hands. I hated you; I loved you, and I had no idea why. It was an itching in the back of my mind. I wanted to harm you and caress you at the same time. The worst part about it was you knew it too, and you know it now.
I was in the kitchen when I knew what I would kill you with. You were standing next to me, your short black hair a shaggy mess framing your face with your favorite gray shirt hanging off your shoulders as you chopped up the carrots. You were beautiful, but the knife in your hands was even more beautiful, the kitchen light glinting off of it as you brought it up and down. I knew then that the knife in your hands would be your end, and as you looked up at me, your eyes following where my gaze was, you knew too.
Now as I stand in front of our bathroom mirror, the knife in my hand, I find I like how it looks. The way the knife reflects the room around me, adding an edge to my college uniform look. My eyes are blank, cold to what is about to happen. I should feel something, but I don’t. I’ve had years to come to terms with this. What I knew would happen, what you knew would happen, and now I’m ready.
I don’t move from my position in front of the mirror until I hear you come home from work. I know I will be caught and sentenced to death for the murder of a detective, but the fear of death has long since passed. We both knew this would happen; that there was nothing we could do to stop it, for we loved, love, each other too much to part. Even though both of our lives will come to an end because of this love, we are too selfish to give it up.
You call out to me from the living room, and I know the time has come. I move slowly, carefully, towards your voice. As I walk into the living room I put forth no effort to hide the knife. I carry it at my side. When you see it, you smile, for you too have come to terms with this fate.
I smile back at you, a loving smile, for I do love you. You come to me and kiss my mouth. It is passionate, filled with love and I kiss back. It was then that I knew exactly what to do. I put my arm around your back and pull you closer to me, the tip of the knife sliding in effortlessly. You gasp, and I take the initiative to deepen the kiss. After a brief pause of shock, you kiss back.
We stand there kissing, the knife imbedded in your abdomen, the blood running down your body, staining the carpet and my hand with red. I then pull it back out and push it back in. Another gasp escapes your mouth, but you continue kissing. I continue this motion until you can no longer kiss me or stand.
I gently lay you down, cradling your body in my left arm. Blood now stains my clothes, but I do not pay attention for you are much more beautiful. The crimson of the blood a beautiful contrast with your ivory white skin. Blood has seeped from your smiling mouth, and I kiss you once again. This time I pull away for I feel your mouth moving, attempting to say something. I wait patiently for you to form the words and smile when you say, “I-I… l-l-lo-love you… m-my Li-Light…”
“I love you too, my beautiful, beautiful Elle.” I kiss her one more time, pouring all the love I feel for her into that one kiss, and as I pull away I bring the knife across her throat. Blood rushes out, staining her skin crimson. As the life leaves her body, I think how beautiful she looks covered in her own blood.
I set her down carefully and pull out my cell phone. I knew I could get away with this, set it up to make it look like somebody else had murdered her, I am a genius after all, but I don’t want to. I knew I wouldn’t want to, and I turn myself in.
I’m still sitting by her when the cops arrive, the knife still in my hand, and my clothes still covered in blood. They point their guns at me, and I set the knife down next to her. I stand and they attack like mad dogs let loose on a cat. As I’m dragged away, I look back at her and say the last thing I will ever say to her, “You’re beautiful Elle. Beautiful.”

unpublished work © 2008 Raine
  • Current Mood: good good


A poem i wrote with Raito from death note in mind but can be inturprated in different ways. It's up to you.


Images filled his mind
Memories he had forgotten
Memories of horrible things he had done,
But he found he didn't care,
For in that moment,
He had been replaced with something else.
He had been Replaced with "Him."

unpublished work © 2008 Raine
  • Current Mood: tired tired