Scorpious Malfoy

United Arab Emirates

A fire sign.
But really chilled out.
Can't cook.
Likes PJO, HOO, ToA and LoTR, HP and MR
Potterhead as well.
Loves books.
Elder sister
Trying a novella

Message to Readers

This is #Draft3

The true essence of words

December 7, 2020

My hair drips wet in the rain. I should have bought an umbrella, but after what I heard on the phone, my mind is blank. What is the use of an umbrella when you are sinking in an ocean of misery?
 Anna’s hands squeeze mine, to reassure me.
‘It is alright’, she whispers, but her voice quivers as well.
She lost her mother just a few months ago, so she knows how to balance her emotions. Her heart was never compressed like mine. She is an open, free type. My emotions are like a diamond, they are as hard and as tight and almost impenetrable. It reflects the light it gets, hiding its content. But losing my mother has made me replace the diamond with coal.
The rain sounds like a soft lullaby, but the ringing in my ear turns the sound into thunder-strikes. I can’t feel the soft grass under my feet or my father’s hand on my shoulder.
I close my eyes and try to remember my best memories with my mother, and surprisingly the first thing that comes across my mind is the letters I wrote to her in the past few months. 
With no sibling, our love for each other isn't split. We shared our love only with our father, who loves us right back. But I and my mother had a special connection.
 My mother believed that letters bring out the essence of words. So ever since I went hostel in Australia, I make it a point to write a letter to America every 2 months once.
Our letters don’t ask how we are doing. Nor do say ‘I love you’. We talk all that over the phone every day. Our letters are written to express emotions which we couldn’t express while talking.  
I remember those letters word to word, and I don’t want to leave the past.
21 January 2020
Dearest Mother, 
I don’t know why; I am feeling a bit… dislocated. My feelings are strung neatly on a highly tensile wire. One small disturbance can cause the calmness to break and send my emotions haywire. Like the flickering flame of a lamp. Like the calmness before a world-shattering storm. 
I know it sounds weird. The papers are filled with countdowns of good beginnings. the Expo. the Olympics. And all the astrologers are predicting that this will be the year of great realization.
 I wonder what all that means with the year starting by setting Australia literally on fire.
I don’t know what is gonna happen, but I have a feeling that it is going to affect us all… 
With love,
30 January 2020
My dearest,
You cannot tend a flame in an ocean. So bring it ashore and steady the flame at your own pace. Handle it with care and fill it with the oil of happiness. Remove the dust of worry. Keep the lamp on the steady surface of hope, and the flame will burn for the years to come.
With love,
 21 April 2020
Dearest Mother, 
Well, so much for ‘something’. The world has slowly but steadily started to wake up to greet our new guest. 
Everything is slowly changing in the dorm too. The changes aren’t prominent, but you can feel the change in the air. It is like knowing when summer changes into winter. You can’t explain it, but you know it has changed.  
With love,
P.S: The lamp is now lit and steady in the altar of love.
30 April 2020
My Dearest,
The winter and the summer both give happiness, my love, even though they are the definition of antonyms. Therefore whatever the future may hold, it is all for good. When the spring birds are as happy as larry, what could go wrong? 
With love,
21 July 2020
Dearest Mother,
Anna’s mother got the virus a week ago. I attended her funeral just yesterday. Seeing that made something snap within me. Frustration, I guess. I am tired of being surrounded by fear and caution. It feels like as though somebody is wrapping me tightly in a damp blanket. The cold is soaking through me, making me shiver, yet at the same time making me feel humid. I want to run away from the blanket and be free. But if I do that, it would be beyond irresponsibility.
I am curious if the virus will be a summer or a winter for us, mother. Will this season be warm and educational, or will it be cold and bleak?
With love,
28 July 2020
My dearest,
You forget, there isn’t only one meaning for ‘cold and bleak’. It depends on the way you see a word, my darling. 
To me, the journey with the virus is a rose. Even though the stem is prickly and painful, the rose on the top gives a certain calmness and realization. Maybe the astrologers were right. Maybe it will be a year of great realization. But the question is, will you see the realization or hide it with the damp blanket? 
Never lose yourself and never forget that knowledge is eternal and everywhere, Jackson.
With love,
My eyes snap open. I had never realized how much my mother encouraged me to think about the various shades of meaning.
The last words of my mother when I was leaving for the hostel were, ‘The roses entwined are ever thine, ever mine and ever ours. Sing to the birds, talk to your mind and listen to the wise.’ I had run these words in my mind so many times to understand their true meaning but hadn’t even come close until today.
 I am suddenly aware of the unposted letter sitting in my pocket. The one which I never had the chance to post. I squeeze Anna’s hand tighter to reassure myself.
‘Come on, let's go’, she says softly.
I nod. I was wrong. It is time to move on. 

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1 Comment
  • Ava Marie

    This is so beautiful, I can't describe the feelings this piece gave me with words, it was a pleasure to read

    about 1 month ago