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Rackers

a letter to the youngest

There have been so many times and so many ways I have wanted to show you that I see you. I hear you. I feel you. I have wanted to say it and show it in ways that I’m not sure have ever made you understand, so I will do it the best way I know how: I will write it.

It’s like when the doctor says depression is different for everyone, obviously; but I was born with it, and yours was circumstantial and curable. I have had moments when I am mad at the world for being born with it; why did I have to be born with the predisposition of everything being that little bit heavier? Where a default mode is a constant sadness? And then I have to check myself before I wreck myself. Because, yes, I was born with it, and I have to learn to live with it, but you had to live through something people should not have to at a young age. There are so many cruel things in this world and you had to be shown this when you were too young.

A weight was pulled over your eyes so everything from then on was just a little bit harder, heavier, tainted with an irrevocable sadness. You learned too early that life is just not so fair. There are two ways people can go when they deal with something like that when they are young; softer, kinder, and absorbent of the world around them, or harsh, cruel, and unforgiving. Be thankful in that you are the former; you still laugh through the breakdowns and fight through the bullshit.

Though we lost the same person, the five extra years I had were formative and valuable and you had to learn to pave your way in that I couldn’t even imagine.

But in this I want to show you that there is beauty in even the hardest of times. In the people surrounding you who are able to make you laugh just by one sentence, one movement, one weird little inside joke. In the days even rolling out of bed seems the hardest thing to do, it’s another day toward a life of wonderful, shitty, beautiful things. And while you scream at the world for being so fucking unfair, for taking the best and most amazing woman we could have ever been graced with, all we can do is be thankful we had her, she had us, and we have one another. She lives on in you in the way you laugh and your sense of humour, and all you need to do is look at yourself in the mirror. You are more similar in ways you never have given a second thought to. She, the youngest; the world was harsh to her as soon as she came into it, but out of that mess she stepped out golden. She pushed on through, just like you. Look at the people around you. And trust in the bloody universe cause it’s gotta sort its shit out somehow.

Out of chaos comes a reverent beauty.

Categories
Rackers

the complexities

There are many things I am not.

Sure of myself, in a constant state of contentment, religious, alone. I know I am not a bad person.

There are many things I am.

Confident in who and what I am, lonely, comfortable in what I have, kind, privileged, angry, depressed, yet more happy than not. Trusting in the universe.

I think people forget the complexity of everyone around them. Obviously we are all the centers of our own universe; naturally, there’s nothing wrong with that. We are the only ones living inside our head: we can and will only understand the complete complexities that come with your own emotions, your memories, everything you have ever experienced.

There are many things people think I am not; this depends on the moment in my life they met me, how long they stayed, how much I opened up, how much they shared of themselves. What part of myself I shared with them, because it is not, will not ever be possible to share the entirety of oneself with another.

There are many things people think I am; they are correct and incorrect all in the same. As we are about everyone.

What is it about this person whom you have never met, that you so dislike? The stories you have heard and the people they have associated with. Perhaps they dated someone before, or after you. Perhaps they did something to your friend without even knowing they were hurting them. Why do you put so much effort into thinking about, caring about, bitching about people who have never directly affected your life? Who are just simply blindly finding their way as much as you are.

Do you know how fucking nonsensical it is to actively not like someone because they have something you want? Or because they did something you don’t approve of? Or simply because? Because you can’t find a reason but you have so many negative feelings you have to lay them on someone else.

Purposefully hurting someone because you can’t make sense of the mess in your own head. Allowing your ego to get the better of you, throwing people aside as if they are objects and not as complex, possibly even more, than you.

Getting so focused in on whatever you are going through that you forget those around you have seen or done or been in similar, or even worse, situations. Not thinking about what you are saying to those you are saying it to.

We have all experienced life in different ways. Even those who have experienced the exact same situation; lost the same person, cried tears about the same thing; each person felt it in a multitude of different ways. Still grieve in their own separate ways.

For a moment just stop yourself. Stop yourself from complaining about someone who indirectly hurt your feelings, stop complaining about not being good enough, or losing someone, or missing someone. Look at the person you’re complaining to and ask if they have seen it all. Turn your complaints into contemplations and explore what you are feeling, what you have felt, what you are going through.

Because by god I am tired of people complaining about the insignificance of bullshit, of people who haven’t done anything to them, or of something they’re going through and they talk as if the person they’re laying it on haven’t already been through it.

Turn it into a contemplation.

A contemplative stare, and a breath that signals that I made it another moment. A slow sip of the harsh, cheap red wine running down my throat and everything quietens just a sliver; it all slows. We made it another moment. We all made it another moment. We have many more laughs to share, tears to shed, the shittest and yet best of life is yet to come. The beauty of the unknown.

 

Categories
Rackers

Harry Potter fan fic

Professor McGonogall sat at her desk and poured over the pile of reports on her desk. The feather quill tickled her cheek as her eyes glazed over and ink spilled onto the desk. She performed a spell to clean it up and stood out of her chair, stretching in an almost cat-like way. Walking toward the window overlooking the school grounds, she couldn’t help being plagued by memories of her years as a student at Hogwarts. Of a lifetime dedicated to the intellect behind magic and for the students who need a little extra push to reach their potential.

She watched a spot moving closer in the dark sky and noticed it was a small, snow white owl coming right toward her window. She opened it up so it wouldn’t lose momentum, as it tumbled in and rolled atop the pile of reports, scattering them on the floor.

Minerva sighed, exasperated, cleaning up the mess quickly with a flick of her wand and took the letter from the leg of the owl. She handed it some money and a treat for the road and it nipped her hand in thanks, flying off back into the night.

Unrolling the letter, she noticed it was from her brother. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach and she burped one up; it fluttered away as she walked to her cupboard, pulling her miniature cauldron out to make herself a hot butterbeer. She poured liquor inside to ready herself and settled herself on her couch by the fire.

Minerva,

It’s been a while. I am currently in Cairo, Egypt, living with a friend I met a few years ago. He went to Durmstrang, but I promise he’s good people. I wanted to get in touch. I miss my big, nerdy sister. I know we had our differences, but we are all each other has left in this world. Give me another chance, please. I booked a flight to come visit England next month.

I never meant to hurt anyone and you know I personally didn’t. I was young and I got caught up with the wrong crowd. I was never as smart as you; when it came to magic nor when it came to reading people. You must forgive me.

Yours,

Caelus

Minerva re-read the letter over and over again, downing her butterbeer and staring into the flames. She contemplated throwing the letter in the fire but a well of emotions had bubbled up in her chest. She shifted into a cat, desperately needing to clear her head, jumping right through her open window. She watched a little rat scurry past her into the shadows, frightened, and she ran right for the Forbidden Forest.

As she entered the darkened, dense area, where the forest becomes thick with trees and roots, she noticed an old man sitting on a tree trunk, flickering a deluminator.

‘Minerva,’ Albus Dumbledore’s calm voice cut through the silence.

The cat stared at him, frozen, with one paw hovering from the ground.

‘Do me a favour and shift back to yourself. I know you need to talk.’

Categories
Rackers

alternate reality

I woke up today and you were there. Didn’t feel any different, it wasn’t wrong, it was as it should be. You’ve been here for the past five years.

I walked out and you were sitting on the couch, slowly eating your weetbix.

“Morning Kel,” as you laugh at my dishevelled hair and odd pyjama outfit.

“Morning ma,” I say, walking straight towards the kettle. “Want one?”

“Yes please.”

Two teas, white with two. I make it in our current favourite mugs of the time; they always change with the season.

“Would you judge me if I ate chocolate for breakfast?”

“Nah, chuck me one too,” you reply, and I throw you a Picnic.

“Got uni today?”

“Yeah, but I think I’ll skip it.”

“Lazy ass.”

I laugh, busying myself making the teas.

“Just feel like having a mum day.”

“I won’t complain, kiddo.”

Mundane things, like helping you hang out the washing and updating you on my life. It had felt like I hadn’t talked to you in years, but I swear I’d seen you yesterday. We drank multitudes of tea and took turns going to the toilet, laughing at our weak bladders. I made you crepes for lunch. We talked, and just talked. I told you how I’d been feeling and you held my face in your hands and you said it’s all normal, kid. It’s okay to feel this down, as long as you’re working on it every day.

We watched our favourite movies and laughed and cried in the exact same spots. We napped at the same time of day, and I woke before you. I sat a moment, watching you sleep. The crevices of your face and the beautiful lines that showed a lifetime of hardship. A wonderful life. It was a melancholic moment, as if it was telling me something; your sleeping face, looking young, and peaceful.

You woke and I made yet another cup of tea.

“I’m having this weird sense in my tummy that something’s a bit off,” I say to her.

“Bit sad?”

“Nah. Different kind. Almost like this life isn’t mine.”

I looked over at her and a tear trickled down her face and childlike confusion ran through my mind. I held her hands in mine and I told her I loved her and she told me she loved me, too, and I had a sense of déjà vu.

Worlds colliding and in line with one another, an alternate reality. One I don’t get to live in. A dream world.