No stranger would it be...
written by Eleven
Eleven's short life has been messed up since day one. This Journal is for others to better understand the girl most refer to as "Weirdo" or "Freak". Some of her thoughts, memories, fears and her journey to hopefully being accepted one day.
Last Updated
05/31/21
Chapters
6
Reads
642
Snow
Chapter 2
Eleven was bored. Alright, the telekinetic child born from Dark Magic in a Laboratory didn't know what 'bored' was, but she currently hadn't been doing a thing. Normally she had someone to follow around, or something strange caught her eye and would keep her entertained for hours. But today was slow, dull even. She was lounging about on one of the benches in the hall leading from the Library to a corridor that led towards the Main Entrance when she overheard a sudden uproar of excited chatter. "Snowing, it's snowing!" A first year exclaimed, practically pulling her older sister along as if it would stop and never happen again.
The girl sat up and decided to see what all the commotion was about. Wandering down the hall she squeezed past a group of chattering Ravenclaws, discussing Quidditch practice and pushed on the large doors leading outside. The sudden change in temperature almost entirely took her breath away. Finally squishing herself through the opening and hearing the door close behind her; she was almost suffering a sensory overload. The air made her lungs feel like they were full of something with actual density, something she was not used to at all. The sight of her own breath had confused her for a moment before the wind gently blew. It caused the last layer of glistening snowflakes to skate along the ivory white ground. As if each one was a tiny ballerina in a much larger group, all pirouetting along in a silent play.
She brought her gaze upwards to see the sullen clouds cluttering and almost completely enveloping the skies above. And a tentative smile slowly came to her lips. It was peaceful. "Pretty," She whispered before taking a few steps forward. The soft crunch of her shoes packing the snow down was strange. And with the exception of her own steps and the sounds of kids squealing as they tossed snowballs at each other; it was silent. So very silent. the snowflakes steadily fell at their own pace, some so tiny you could barely catch a glimpse and others large and fluffy, almost resembling feathers. It was then she decided she really liked the snow. And now wondered what all she could do in it and with it. But first, she needed some gloves.
The girl sat up and decided to see what all the commotion was about. Wandering down the hall she squeezed past a group of chattering Ravenclaws, discussing Quidditch practice and pushed on the large doors leading outside. The sudden change in temperature almost entirely took her breath away. Finally squishing herself through the opening and hearing the door close behind her; she was almost suffering a sensory overload. The air made her lungs feel like they were full of something with actual density, something she was not used to at all. The sight of her own breath had confused her for a moment before the wind gently blew. It caused the last layer of glistening snowflakes to skate along the ivory white ground. As if each one was a tiny ballerina in a much larger group, all pirouetting along in a silent play.
She brought her gaze upwards to see the sullen clouds cluttering and almost completely enveloping the skies above. And a tentative smile slowly came to her lips. It was peaceful. "Pretty," She whispered before taking a few steps forward. The soft crunch of her shoes packing the snow down was strange. And with the exception of her own steps and the sounds of kids squealing as they tossed snowballs at each other; it was silent. So very silent. the snowflakes steadily fell at their own pace, some so tiny you could barely catch a glimpse and others large and fluffy, almost resembling feathers. It was then she decided she really liked the snow. And now wondered what all she could do in it and with it. But first, she needed some gloves.
