Writing Doodle 026 - Adult

The moment she realized she was actually an adult hit her hard. Not exactly in a bad way, really. But it was hard. Like being slammed by a battering ram, right in the chest. It was a moment of crisis and enlightenment. A moment of joy and terror. She was an adult now. That meant no more homework, but a lot more housework, and a lot of other things she wan't really prepared to think about just yet. It was all new, all terrifyingly and excitingly new.

But it was all in the moment she realized that it had happened. It wasn't when she realized she did the dishes every single evening, or that she made a weekly shopping list. It wasn't even when she paid her taxes on her own for the first time. No, the moment she realized she was really, truly an adult was the moment she realized... she could type without looking at the keyboard in front of her. Never before had she done something like that-- she had always, always, looked at the keys to type. Until that moment when she became an adult.

Writing Doodle 025 - Selenophile

He loved her.

To those that knew, it was obvious, but to those that didn't, well, they simply didn't see the signs. Really, though, he loved her with his whole heart, with every piece of himself. Everything he did, he did for her.

And yet, they hardly saw one another. It was as though their lives were on complete opposite schedules. Still, he did what he could.

When he looked at her, she was radiant. Always glowing silver and fair, but never obscene in her beauty. She was perfect.

What he didn't realize, though, was that she would only glow beautifully when he could see her. He was the reason she shone. It was his light that caused hers. Perhaps he would never realize it. He was far too much in love to be reasonable, to see the reality.

She was the moon, and he the sun, and still he loved her like no one had ever loved before.

Writing Doodle 024 - Don't Cry

tw: suicide

Hey, I just wanted to let you know that I still care. I wish I was still there to text you "Good morning Girl Scout!" every day.

I'm here for you, even though you can't see me, or hear me, or feel me. I know you miss me... I can hear you all, and it hurts so much, I would almost do it again. I guess sometimes we just don't think things through. This was one of those times.

But don't you worry, 'cause every time you go to Taco Bell after work, I'm right there with you. I'll always be with you, watching over you.

And just because you never told me how important I was to you doesn't mean I don't know. I can still see everything you post, and I know. I know you were my best friend and I let you down, and I'm sorry.

All those texts you want to send me? Yea, I know about them. Of course I think that thing was funny, too. I'm laughing up here, even if you can't hear it at all.

So, I just want to let you know that I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I hurt you like that, but please don't do what I did. Please remember that you are special and there are so many people that love you. I love you, even if I'm not there to show you that I do anymore.

Writing Doodle 023 - Better Than Christmas

At the age of six, most children believe Christmas to be the most magical day of the year. For one little girl by the name of Beverly, though, this was not the case. Rather, Beverly found the most magical day of the year to be a day hardly thought of as magical: St. Patrick's Day.

On St. Patrick's Day, Beverly knew for a fact, that leprechauns would be out and about causing mischief and mayhem. Sure, Santa Claus brought gifts, but leprechauns were just so much more fun.

With a gleam in her eye, Beverly knew what she had to do: she had to catch a leprechaun. It wasn't going to be easy, though. Leprechauns were incredibly clever. She ran to her mother and tugged at her shirt, begging for a box that was big enough for a leprechaun to fit in. Of course, her mother thinks it's all in good fun and helps her find a suitable box.

Box all set up and decorated with aluminum foil and stickers, Beverly lay on the floor, peering beneath the box. Looking up at her mother, she says she needs several things: one of her mother's gold rings, a small cup of milk, and another small cup of Daddy's beer. Oh, and some thumbtacks! Confused, but wanting to kindle Beverly's imagination, her mother obliges the odd request, but keeps a careful eye on Beverly after that-- she didn't want her six-year-old daughter drinking any of Daddy's beer.

Milk, beer, and gold to catch the leprechaun's attention, and thumbtacks to ruin his shoes so he'll be forced to fix them before he can escape. It was perfect. Content with her trap, Beverly went to bed, a smile on her face and dreams of leprechauns in her head.

Writing Doodle 022 - In The Sky

Peering down, a small child stares at the vast burning ocean below with eyes full of terror and wonder. He has only just learned of the history of the earth. Years ago, the land used to be down there, in that burning mess. It was hard to believe. In fact, he wasn't quite sure he believed it. Maybe it was just a story. Another lie the adults told children-- like Santa or the Tooth Fairy. But maybe, just maybe, the story was true. Maybe mankind really had destroyed everything.

He began to wonder if the ground he stood on now was even genuine. Had mankind made these land masses to keep themselves from dying in the destruction they had wrought? After learning about how the world below had been destroyed, he could hardly find a reason to doubt it.

Honestly, he wished he'd never learned the truth.

Writing Doodle 021 - Wind

All I have to do is take one bite. Just one, and I'm gone. I turn over the apricot in my hand. It's skin is smooth, soft, and the fruit is too soft. It's over-ripe. It'll probably be sweet. Maybe too sweet, and I'm sure the juice will be sticky. But I want to get out of here, and this is the simplest way. I have no other choice, and so I bite into the over-ripe apricot.

The juice runs down my chin. It's sticky already, I can feel it. More juice is covering my hand, a small pool of it forming in the crook of my palm. It seems to be the only thing I can concentrate on. The rest of the world is slipping away. I realize I'm falling only just before I crash into the ground. The apricot slips from my grasp and rolls away lopsidedly. I just keep staring at my hand, though, amazed that I can't seem to feel my fingers anymore. Maybe this was a mistake.

* * * * *

I wake up after what feels like hours, maybe even days. There is a strong pain in my head that feels like someone's been hammering on it for a while. Another sharper pain flares to life when I try to sit up. I must have hit my head on something when I fell. I press my palm to my head automatically, as if it could cure the pain I feel. 

Finally, I look around, expecting to see the same place I was in before I took a bite of that apricot. Nothing is familiar. I'm somewhere completely new. There are no buildings, no furniture...nothing I recognize. The ground looks like it is made of precious gems, shining in the ambient light coming from some unseen source, but when I reach out to touch the glittering ground, it transforms before my eyes, turning into dust.

The handful of dust I picked up slips through my fingers, and as it reaches the ground, appears to turn back into shining jewels. I stand with caution, my hand no longer pressed to my head. The pain is the least of my worries.

The land is flat in every direction. There is nothing to see. I turn to the left, surveying the strange dream-like world around me. Nothing. I turn to the right, expecting to see the same nothingness, but as I turn, the world changes around me. I whip back to the left, and everything is gone. I can't help but wonder where I am, what's going on. Why did I take a bite of that fruit?

Slowly, I turn to the right again, the world coming to life around me. I stop when I see something in the distance. I recognize the shape, but I can't put my finger on why. Something about it draws me towards it, and I begin walking slowly, as though something could jump out at me at any moment.

As I walk towards the shape in the distance, the wind starts. At first, I think nothing of it. It's just a little wind. I keep going, but my steps have more conviction behind them now. I know that if I can just reach that shape, I'll have some answers. I don't know how I know this, but I know it's true nonetheless.

With each step I take, the wind blows more and more, harder and harder. Against me. It's as though the wind doesn't want me to get to that shape. Can the wind even have a mind of it's own, I wonder. I figure it's impossible, but I seem to be in an impossible place. Everything I knew about the world seems to be a lie here, so maybe, just maybe, the wind really does have thoughts and secrets like the rest of us.

I push forward against the wind. I have to lift my arm up to shield my eyes against it now, though. It's vicious, this wind, and it wants me gone. The shape in the distance doesn't seem to be getting any closer, but I don't trust my eyes anymore. Perhaps it is just the wind playing with my perception. I clench my teeth, duck my head, and push onward.

The wind is incredible. It's at least ten times as strong as anything I've ever experienced before, and I can hardly keep going. But I have to. I can't just give up now, I can't. Each step seems to take an hour as I struggle against the wind. I try to glance up, to see if I'm any closer to the shape I've been so desperately trying to reach, but the wind strings my face and forces me to keep my eyes shut tight. I feel like I've been walking against the wind for days now, so I have to be close. I must be close. If I'm not close, I don't know what I'll do. I pick up my foot to take another step forward and the wind seems intent on destroying me. It's strength is like nothing I ever could have imagined, and before I know it, I can no longer feel the ground beneath my feet. I'm being blown away. I suppose this is what leaves must feel like being tossed about by the wind. Still, I cannot open my eyes, and I have no idea where the wind might be taking me.

* * * * *

There is nothing I can do. I belong to the wind now. I can't even open my eyes. All I know is that I have been sailing in this wind forever. I am lost. Why did I ever bite into that apricot? I hope the wind will stop some day, that I'll be free, but I'm beginning to doubt. I am the wind's, and there is no escape.

Character Development - Bellatrix Lestrange

Bellatrix Lestrange is from the Harry Potter series created by J.K. Rowling.

*This character development post assumes the year is 1979 and Bellatrix is approximately 26 years old*

I should have been a boy.

A thought that frequents Bellatrix's mind. Being a born a boy would have made everything so much easier. For everyone. If only she had been born a boy. Maybe she wouldn't have been a disappointment to her father. Maybe she wouldn't have hated her mother. Maybe she would have had the absolute perfect life. Not that she really had anything to complain about seeing as how she lived an almost charmed life as the daughter of Druella and Cygnus. She was a pureblood, after all. At least she had done that much right.

The firstborn, Bellatrix was the trial. And what a trial she was. While the upbringing had been left to Druella, Bellatrix had always craved Daddy's attention, always strived to make her father proud. Yet Cygnus always seemed blind to her efforts. Her mother was so very determined to make Bella into a perfect lady. Bella wanted none of it. She tested her mother, pushed her mother's limits, pushed her mother to wit's end, if she could. All with a perfect, innocent smile on her face and a gleam of crazed hatred in her eyes. Bella was only two years old when her first sister, Andromeda, was born. People assume that two years olds are innocent beings-- terrible, but innocent, generally speaking. Bella was no such thing. If ever left alone with the baby, she would poke it, terrorize it, until it began to wail uncontrollably. The sound of Andromeda crying always seemed to put a sadistic smile on Bella's young face. It was all well and good, torturing the poor little creature until it cried. Until she was caught. Druella had been more than slightly peeved that it was her own child, her own daughter, causes so much unnecessary stress, making the baby cry every ten minutes. That was the very first time Bella was reprimanded by her father. At first, the two-year-old Bella had thought she had done something right, something to win her father's affection. Then she realized how wrong she had been. While the memory was only fuzzy, it stuck with Bella for years and years, only finally disappearing once she joined the Death Eaters.

After her father's reprimand of her behavior, Bella treated her sister a bit differently. While Andromeda was still very much a plaything, Bella made sure to take her little sister under her wing. There was a certain power in being an elder sibling, Bella found, and loved it, craved it, even. She treated her sister with a false kindness just to hold that power over the child. Of course, there was some underlying love, but Bella hardly noticed. It was the power that drove her then. Power and the thirst for her father's acceptance.

I should have been a boy.

Druella always tried with Bellatrix, but Bella never made it easy. Rather, she thought her mother tried too hard. All Bella really wanted was the acceptance of her father-- some indication that she wasn't a complete and utter disappointment. The desire to do right by him drove her mad some days. She was seven years old when she lost it entirely. Neither of her parents were there to witness it, but poor little Andromeda was. Bellatrix was so longing for any notice from her father, so fed up with her mother pushing andpushing her to be a proper lady. Bellatrix grabbed her younger sister by the upper arms as tightly as she could, tighter possibly, and screamed at her, told Andromeda she, Andromeda, wasn't good enough, that she would never be good enough because she should have been born a boy, and it was all. Her. Fault! Bella told her little sister that because Andromeda wasn't born a boy, their father hated them. Both of them. It was all her fault. That rage, that desperation for her father's love and approval, brought on Bella's first bout of magic. A rosebush standing nearby to the two girls caught flame. It burned brightly, drawing Bella's attention away from Andromeda, a smirk on her lips.

I should have been a boy.

As she grew, Bella acted out against her mother's wishes. She had a fiery temperament that could hardly be reigned in. There were a number of times she deliberately did exactly the opposite of what her mother demanded, times she acted out with unnecessary violence or unruly behavior. All of it to see her father. The father that hated her for being a girl. Such a disgusting word, really. Every time she was punished by her father, she liked it a little bit more. Of course, she always put on the face of agony and despair while it was happening, but as soon as she was out of sight, she was grinning like the maniac she was becoming.

Nine years old and a terror. Bella hardly cared to be ladylike, but could easily put on the facade and play along. That much she had learned from her mother. Druella seemed to find enjoyment in dressing her eldest in hideous colors-- pinks and purples that complemented her dark complexion. Bellatrix hated every second of it, but always seemed the proper little lady when they went to family gatherings, to parties, to play dates. Of course, when the adults' backs were turned, she found a particular enjoyment in prodding little Sirius with her boot, watching him fall to the ground, just as he was learning to walk on his own. He was her cousin, so she was obligated to tolerate him, but she hoped she wouldn't be arranged to marry this child one day. She hated him for being a boy, for being the one who would carry on the Black family name-- the name that should have been hers to carry on.

That was the year Narcissa was born. From the way her mother had acted, Bella knew it had been a miracle she was even having another child, and, just like her father, Bella hoped and hoped for a little boy. Much to her disappointment, it was another girl. Another girl. Peering down into the cradle, Bella sneered at her new baby sister, hissed at her that the baby that it was a disappointment, that it was supposed to have been a boy, a miracle. The baby cried and Bella slipped out of the room unnoticed. The baby had such fine hair, so very different from her own and Andromeda's. It almost made Bella curious how the baby would turn out. Almost. But nine-year-olds didn't really care about that sort of thing.

I should have been a boy.

Getting her Hogwarts letter was the happiest Bella had ever been-- aside from punishments by her father, of course. There was absolutely no doubt in her mind that she would be sorted into Slytherin house. It was, after all, the best house. She could hardly wait to attend, but seeing as she was born on such a dark day in January, she would have to wait. When the day finally came that she was to be sent off to Hogwarts, Bella was overwhelmed with glee. It was strange to her, feeling so joyful without causing something pain or being punished by her father. Yet she felt it all the same. In two years time, Andromeda would join her at Hogwarts, but glancing at the blonde two-year-old before leaving on the train, Bella would never be at Hogwarts with her youngest disappointment of a sister, Narcissa. At least this one looked like the princess their mother had always wanted. Bella was only sorry that she wouldn't be there to counteract their mother's joy with her terrorism. But Cissa was her sister-- baby sister-- and she felt a certain affection for the fair thing.

Hogwarts was everything Bella had ever dreamed it would be. Being one of the first on the list, she was sorted into Slytherin, as expected, without any deliberation on the Hat's part. A crazed grin on her face, she joined the table and her fellow housemates. It wasn't long before she got a reputation for being ruthless, and it wasn't uncommon for students to call her crazy behind her back as she embraced everything that it meant to be a Slytherin. She openly disliked muggle-borns and looked down on half-bloods. Generally speaking, students outside of Slytherin were, at best, ignored. Of course, when a professor happened to be around, Bella acted the perfect lady she'd been raised to be, a twisted smile on her lips.

Second year. That was when Rodolphus joined the ranks of Slytherin. Bellatrix recalled her mother informing her of an arranged marriage that was to take place between the two of them. Bella had felt nothing at the news-- well, perhaps a slight tint of joy that she wasn't being made to marry that baby of a cousin of hers Sirius Black. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she tried to imagine the scandal of keeping her last name, ofinsisting that her husband-to-be take the Black family name, as well. It was, clearly, the better of the two names, so why shouldn't anyone want to have it? But since she couldn't do that, couldn't keep the Black family name, she had to bebetter. She had to be the best. She was already a girl, which made it difficult to be as outstanding as she knew she should have been, but it didn't hold her back. She constantly held it over Rodolphus's head that she was ahead of him, that she knewmore than him. Clearly, she was the better of the two. If she could have gotten her way, she wouldn't be marrying anyone.

I should have been a boy.

It was her third when when Andromeda came to Hogwarts as a first year. There was a part of Bellatrix that was excited. Excited to have her sister here with her, to be able to point out the mudbloods to avoid. There was so much expectation riding on Andromeda that Bella had never outright mentioned, but it was there nonetheless. When Andromeda was called up to the Sorting Hat, Bella sat up straight, tall, expectant...proud, even. When the Sorting Hat didn't place Andromeda in Slytherin immediately, Bella grew worried, skeptical, as she stared with a white-hot intensity at her sister sitting before the entirely of the great hall. Finally, the Hat declared Andromeda placed in Slytherin, and no one, not a single person, cheered louder than Bellatrix did as her sister took her rightful place at Bella's side.

I should have been a boy.

As the years went by, Bellatrix grew to be more and more ruthless, more and more violent, more and more angry, more and more crazy. Everyone could see it. Yet she still somehow managed to climb to the top of the social ladder in Slytherin. The best of the best, as if Bellatrix Black would ever consider settling for less. She walked the corridors with her head held high, a sneer on her face, and a threat for any mudbloods that happened to cross her path. If Bellatix was grateful to her mother for one thing, it was the skills to fake everything and be a proper socialite. Andromeda was growing into a bigger and bigger disappointment. It was almost as though, and the thought made Bella laugh like a crazed hermit, Andromeda didn'tcare about blood purity. Then Andromeda started to actually spend time with that one mudblood-- not even worthy of Bellatrix forgetting his name, let alone remembering it-- and the disappointment climbed ever higher. Bella could only hope that Andromeda hadn't influenced baby Cissa into being accepting of mudbloods. Hatred for Andromeda had started then and would only grow and grow the more time she spent with the mudblood. On that fateful day when Andromeda actuallymarried the filthy mudblood, though, was the day she ceased to exist. Andromeda was no better than the other mudbloods, for all Bella cared. It was a betrayal, and should she ever encounter Andromeda again, Bellatrix was certain she would kill her sister without a question, without hesitation.

I should have been a boy.

After graduation from Hogwarts had come and gone, Bellatrix had only one thing on her mind: Lord Voldemort. He had grown to be ever-present in her mind as she learned more and more about him, about his Death Eaters. It was everything she ever wanted, as as soon as she was able, she went to join the ranks of her fellow purists. It wasn't simple adoration Bellatrix felt when she first came upon Voldemort, oh no. It was love, the strongest she'd ever felt, and yet it was still a corruption of the emotion, far from pure. There was nothing she wouldn't do for him, nothing she wouldn't do to proveherself to him. Killing was easy, torture was even easier, perhaps because it was just so enjoyable. Everything she did, she did for him. She had to be the best, had to prove she was the most devoted, the most loyal. Being a girl would not hold her back, not this time.

Voldemort had become everything. The Death Eaters were her life. As a married woman, she had no need of an occupation, and so all of her time was spent working for Voldemort. She found herself craving him, craving his attention, his acceptance, the way she had once craved her father's love and acceptance. While she still wanted to make her father proud of her, he had been replaced by Voldemort, the only man she would ever really love.

I should have been a boy.

Upon marrying Rodolphus, Bellatrix was reminded of her wifely duties-- that she was meant to produce an heir, to carry on the bloodlines. The idea sickened her. If only she had been born a boy, everything would have been perfect. She would have carried on the Black family name, would have been the best son any pureblood family could have asked for. But she had been born a female, meant to bring some other man's child into this world. She was not meant to be a brood bitch, giving birth to whelps every few years. Besides, were she to have children, they would be carrying on the Lestrange name-- a name far inferior to Black, and which she refused to pass on. So she did what any sane woman would do and cursed herself until she was barren, no longer able to produce children. The scandal of it being found out did not bother her in the slightest. She refused to be used for breeding, plain and simple.

As time wore on, she decided Rodolphus was the best possible match she could have been made. He was similar to her, if less devoted. But at least he shared her ideals and goals and was a pureblood. What more could she have asked for? Not to mention the fact that he didn't tell a single soul about her inability to bare him children. There was no divorce, so scandal. While he wasn't the Dark Lord, he was...alright. In fact, she almostappreciated him. Almost.

I should have been a boy.

The thought still haunts Bella's every moment, every step. She was denied her rightful place as the heir of the Black family name, and, of course, she blames her mother. Things have gotten better, though, since the days of her childhood when she was nothing but a mere disappointment. She has proven herself a capable dark wizard, ever loyal to the Dark Lord, nearly to the point of obsession. Enjoyment comes from the killing, maiming, and torturing of mudbloods and those nasty Order members. But she knows, in her heart of hearts-- even though it is black as pitch and, generally speaking, quite shriveled-- the Dark Lord will have his way, and she will be there at his side when it happens.