Post by zoeyshay on Aug 18, 2009 22:34:09 GMT
Zoey sat cross legged in front of the small fireplace in her mother’s living, staring into the fire. The dancing orange and yellow flames amused her in a way, but then it just seemed to lose her. She felt like she was getting lost in her own mind. It drew her in like a black hole, slowly sucking her in and blocking everything out. It would begin with her surroundings, the sounds, the vision of the couches, television, hallway that led to the kitchen, and then the sound of dishes clanking gently, the sound of the flames licking the metal top of the fireplace, the sound of the rain gently tapping the window glass and soon, everything. Zoey was known for zoning out and losing concentration completely, but it worried her. If she was going to be an auror, she couldn’t afford to lose concentration. She needed all her senses on end, ready to pick up even the most hidden speck of dirt on the radar, ready and fast thinking. She couldn’t afford to be caught off guard, trapped in the darkness of her own head.
She often vented and worried about it to her mother, of course, after she explained to her what an auror was. She used muggle terminology, explaining that it was almost exactly like a police officer, but more dangerous and stealthy. Like a spy, but even more dangerous. That was what Zoey liked about it most, being on end. The action. She couldn’t wait for the action. The thought of a battle, like a duel, but with no rules excited her, got her heart beating every time she thought of it. She also liked the idea of being an important figure in the community. Not just some other shop owner or bartender or vendor, no. It was ten times better than that. A small smile spread across her face as she envisioned herself flicking her wand and deflecting curses and hexes shot at her, and protecting people. Yes, protecting. Protecting sounded good to her too.
The sudden ring of her father’s voice, a voice she had rarely heard, only three or four times, interrupted her from her insane battle going on in the walls of her head. The glow of the spells faded, the face of the criminal poofed in the expression of a victorious grin, and Zoey scowled. It wasn’t even a real battle and she felt the burn of defeat, the let down of her failing throbbing in her chest. “Zoraida?” her father’s voice called again. She got up, her eyes leaving the dancing fire in annoyance and looked up to her father. “Yes, dad?” she asked, a hint of anger in her voice. She had no real reason to be angry. He hadn’t done anything but destroy the battle of a lifetime that was taking place in her mind and break down the seemingly impenetrable wall that was building around her subconscious.
“Yes, father.” He corrected in his slick voice, she could tell something tainted it. It would be an absolutely lovely sound, like an angel’s voice, if it weren’t for the dark tone that flooded it. Zoey rolled her eyes and looked at him. “Let’s talk.” He said, motioning for her to sit as he walked and took a seat in the arm chair. “I think I’d like to stand.” Zoey smiled, getting over the small and pointless anger. “No. Sit. Now.” He seemed to growl, and she glared at him. “I’d rather stand.” She said stubbornly and crossing her arms. She could have sworn she saw an angry beast in his eyes and he glared back at her. It was menacing, like it was a threat. It probably was. In the few confrontations she had with her father, he showed that he obliviously liked control. Not like. Needed. He needed it. It was like it was a drug. The more he gained, the more he became addicted to it. Now he felt he needed to control everything. Zoey was determined he wouldn’t control her. She slowly sat down, her eyes locked on his.
She never knew silence could burn, tear a whole thorugh her head and stab her mind. She could have sworn she felt the stab, until her father’s voice interrupted again. “What house are you in, Zoey?” he asked, the menace in his eyes and voice toned down a bit, but it was still there, lingering like it knew it would be needed again. “Gryffindor.” She answered, proud. Zoey couldn’t even imagine herself in any other house. “Gryffindor…It certainly shows.” He said in almost a laugh. “You are very hot headed and stubborn.” He commented, as if she wasn’t even there or else she didn’t care. “Excuse me?” she raised an eyebrow and gripped the cushions of the couch tightly, her face turning red. “Hot headed,” he pointed out, noticing the sudden rush of blood into her cheeks. “It’s a shame.” He frowned, looking down. “What’s a shame? Shame on what? Gryffindor?” Zoey almost shrieked. The clanking of the dishes stopped and her mother appeared in the hallway. “What’s going on he-“
“Go away, Rachel. Wizard talk.” Her father waved his hand and her mother turned around. “You can’t just boss her around like that! She’s a person! She’s my mother! She has every right to know what the bloody hell is going on here! Mum, he thinks I’m a shame!” She shouted, standing up. But her mother had disappeared. “Zoey. Cool it.” He commanded, the menace in his voice worse than before. “No. I will not. I am hot headed, remember?” she said, walking out and slamming the front door behind her with as much force as possible. She looked around, trying to listen to the pattern of the rain drops hitting the concrete and roof, but her father’s words just seemed to block everything out. Shame? What shame? She was proud to be a Gryffindor. There was no shame. Shame wasn’t in her vocabulary. Not of herself.
Zoey felt a jiggle of the door handle under her grasp and she let go. She listened to the fiant voices, making out the words. “Leon, she’s just a teenager. You don’t need to-“
“No! She is my daughter. She will obey me!” he yelled to her. “You filthy muggle.”
“Leo-“ Was all she heard before she ran. Her black hair stuck to her face and the rain stung her eyes, along with the furious tears that were leaking out. Thank god it was raining, the tears blended in with the rain drops that ran down her face. No one would be able to tell she was crying, if she even saw anyone. It was dark, probably 10 at night and it was raining. No one in their right mind would be out, but Zoey was out of her mind. She was in reality, for once. It angered her. Everything seemed to anger her at this point. It wasn’t in her character to be mad. She was very easy going, but no one, no one, insulted her. But she let that slide after her own father insulted her mother. Her mother was the dearest thing to her. She had played both parental roles for twelve years, and then Leon had just walked in and took them from her? That was rubbish.
She was in the middle of an intersection. She didn’t know where, but it wasn’t far. She’d be able to find her way home. The only thing, well, things that mattered to her was that she needed to get a hold of herself, the real her, not the angry part of her, and she needed to teach her father something. She leaned against a light post and closed her eyes. Her father’s face was vivid in her head, as if the staring contest she had with the filthy beast that hid in her father had burned his face into her eyelids. It was grinning in victory, like the criminal that she had battle. He was the criminal. She could just feel the force of the wand in her hand as she cursed him, sending him flying…
No. She was the criminal. The face turned into her own as she battled herself. She needed to find herself again. She focused on Hogwarts, all her friends, Quidditch, and she smiled. It faded as she remembered her first Quidditch game. She pretended to grip the beater’s bat as she smiled, and swung, replaying when she whacked the Bludgers away. She opened her eyes, smiling. She had one. Zoraida Shay had one, the real one. Now if she could keep it like that. She never wanted to do that again. Never. It wasn’t her. She looked around and squinted as she saw a figure across the street. “Hello?” she called to it, wondering who would be out in the rain at night, besides her. No one in their right mind would be out here, and it was true. She wasn’t in her right mind before. She was in someone else’s.
She often vented and worried about it to her mother, of course, after she explained to her what an auror was. She used muggle terminology, explaining that it was almost exactly like a police officer, but more dangerous and stealthy. Like a spy, but even more dangerous. That was what Zoey liked about it most, being on end. The action. She couldn’t wait for the action. The thought of a battle, like a duel, but with no rules excited her, got her heart beating every time she thought of it. She also liked the idea of being an important figure in the community. Not just some other shop owner or bartender or vendor, no. It was ten times better than that. A small smile spread across her face as she envisioned herself flicking her wand and deflecting curses and hexes shot at her, and protecting people. Yes, protecting. Protecting sounded good to her too.
The sudden ring of her father’s voice, a voice she had rarely heard, only three or four times, interrupted her from her insane battle going on in the walls of her head. The glow of the spells faded, the face of the criminal poofed in the expression of a victorious grin, and Zoey scowled. It wasn’t even a real battle and she felt the burn of defeat, the let down of her failing throbbing in her chest. “Zoraida?” her father’s voice called again. She got up, her eyes leaving the dancing fire in annoyance and looked up to her father. “Yes, dad?” she asked, a hint of anger in her voice. She had no real reason to be angry. He hadn’t done anything but destroy the battle of a lifetime that was taking place in her mind and break down the seemingly impenetrable wall that was building around her subconscious.
“Yes, father.” He corrected in his slick voice, she could tell something tainted it. It would be an absolutely lovely sound, like an angel’s voice, if it weren’t for the dark tone that flooded it. Zoey rolled her eyes and looked at him. “Let’s talk.” He said, motioning for her to sit as he walked and took a seat in the arm chair. “I think I’d like to stand.” Zoey smiled, getting over the small and pointless anger. “No. Sit. Now.” He seemed to growl, and she glared at him. “I’d rather stand.” She said stubbornly and crossing her arms. She could have sworn she saw an angry beast in his eyes and he glared back at her. It was menacing, like it was a threat. It probably was. In the few confrontations she had with her father, he showed that he obliviously liked control. Not like. Needed. He needed it. It was like it was a drug. The more he gained, the more he became addicted to it. Now he felt he needed to control everything. Zoey was determined he wouldn’t control her. She slowly sat down, her eyes locked on his.
She never knew silence could burn, tear a whole thorugh her head and stab her mind. She could have sworn she felt the stab, until her father’s voice interrupted again. “What house are you in, Zoey?” he asked, the menace in his eyes and voice toned down a bit, but it was still there, lingering like it knew it would be needed again. “Gryffindor.” She answered, proud. Zoey couldn’t even imagine herself in any other house. “Gryffindor…It certainly shows.” He said in almost a laugh. “You are very hot headed and stubborn.” He commented, as if she wasn’t even there or else she didn’t care. “Excuse me?” she raised an eyebrow and gripped the cushions of the couch tightly, her face turning red. “Hot headed,” he pointed out, noticing the sudden rush of blood into her cheeks. “It’s a shame.” He frowned, looking down. “What’s a shame? Shame on what? Gryffindor?” Zoey almost shrieked. The clanking of the dishes stopped and her mother appeared in the hallway. “What’s going on he-“
“Go away, Rachel. Wizard talk.” Her father waved his hand and her mother turned around. “You can’t just boss her around like that! She’s a person! She’s my mother! She has every right to know what the bloody hell is going on here! Mum, he thinks I’m a shame!” She shouted, standing up. But her mother had disappeared. “Zoey. Cool it.” He commanded, the menace in his voice worse than before. “No. I will not. I am hot headed, remember?” she said, walking out and slamming the front door behind her with as much force as possible. She looked around, trying to listen to the pattern of the rain drops hitting the concrete and roof, but her father’s words just seemed to block everything out. Shame? What shame? She was proud to be a Gryffindor. There was no shame. Shame wasn’t in her vocabulary. Not of herself.
Zoey felt a jiggle of the door handle under her grasp and she let go. She listened to the fiant voices, making out the words. “Leon, she’s just a teenager. You don’t need to-“
“No! She is my daughter. She will obey me!” he yelled to her. “You filthy muggle.”
“Leo-“ Was all she heard before she ran. Her black hair stuck to her face and the rain stung her eyes, along with the furious tears that were leaking out. Thank god it was raining, the tears blended in with the rain drops that ran down her face. No one would be able to tell she was crying, if she even saw anyone. It was dark, probably 10 at night and it was raining. No one in their right mind would be out, but Zoey was out of her mind. She was in reality, for once. It angered her. Everything seemed to anger her at this point. It wasn’t in her character to be mad. She was very easy going, but no one, no one, insulted her. But she let that slide after her own father insulted her mother. Her mother was the dearest thing to her. She had played both parental roles for twelve years, and then Leon had just walked in and took them from her? That was rubbish.
She was in the middle of an intersection. She didn’t know where, but it wasn’t far. She’d be able to find her way home. The only thing, well, things that mattered to her was that she needed to get a hold of herself, the real her, not the angry part of her, and she needed to teach her father something. She leaned against a light post and closed her eyes. Her father’s face was vivid in her head, as if the staring contest she had with the filthy beast that hid in her father had burned his face into her eyelids. It was grinning in victory, like the criminal that she had battle. He was the criminal. She could just feel the force of the wand in her hand as she cursed him, sending him flying…
No. She was the criminal. The face turned into her own as she battled herself. She needed to find herself again. She focused on Hogwarts, all her friends, Quidditch, and she smiled. It faded as she remembered her first Quidditch game. She pretended to grip the beater’s bat as she smiled, and swung, replaying when she whacked the Bludgers away. She opened her eyes, smiling. She had one. Zoraida Shay had one, the real one. Now if she could keep it like that. She never wanted to do that again. Never. It wasn’t her. She looked around and squinted as she saw a figure across the street. “Hello?” she called to it, wondering who would be out in the rain at night, besides her. No one in their right mind would be out here, and it was true. She wasn’t in her right mind before. She was in someone else’s.
