Typeguy
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Cry No More - PG13
In the heart of Bulgaria's most southern stretch of vast forestland was a small cottage situated upon a hill on mildly high altitude. The shadow of the remarkably tall and vast sea of trees surrounding the cottage dawned down onto the dry and uninhabited soil given character only by the wild and thick roots cutting the earth wildly apart, though very much beatifully so.
Below the small hill were old Krum Cottage stood weakly on its brick foundation was a misty grey dam. Locals in Colposk Town often speculated upon the subject of what mysterious magical creatures haunted the vast and deep lake. Mountains with pale snow at their peak lined the shore opposite the small Hill and Cottage while sparse greenery grew from the bank at its side, the occasional sunflower sprouting merily from the damp silt. Mist moved in, so that most of the lake was not visible to Hermione Krum and her sole Child Karen. Hermione’s glowing blue eye's were fixed upon the lake as she sat thinking on the moist bank side adjacent to the hill were her home lay. A small tide that never met the shore let in a soft breeze which caused her long, shiny ginger hair to blow softly behind her rough, pale face. Hermione turned to face the bold beatle-like black eyes of Karen, which resembled her father's remarkably. Karen stared back, the band that had tied her bushy hair back falling onto the mud as her hair slipped out of its knot and peaked all the way unto the earth.
"Vot's ze' matter?" Said Karen, in a soft and sympathetic tone, her strong eastern acsent maturing her tone.
"Iz' it Vict-" she started.
"Do not call your father by his name!" snapped Hermione, her face stressing with annoyance. "How many times do I have to tell you Karen?" despair
"He iz' not my father!" Shrieked Karen, her young face stubborn and insistent.
"Keep your voice-" Hermione’s voice was terminated by her husband's loud, echoing call.
"Hermoninny!" Roared Victor's voice, as bird's burst from their nest's in horror.
Hermione froze. Victor had heard Karen insisting that he was not her father. Her organs seemed to sink and she felt uncomfable emptiness in her stomach. A soft and warm tear fell gracefully from Hermione’s face, dropping softly on a lily near to the shallow waters. She knew it was coming; it had just been a matter of when.
"Go to the San's house for the rest of the afternoon, Karen. I'll pick you up in the evening." Said Hermione, trembling.
"Vot' iz it mummy! iz' e' govin' to do it again?" Said Karen clinging onto her mother tightly. "No!, I von't let you go mummy, no!"
"Let me go, Karen!" Said Hermione, trying to get her daughter's torso off her body in order for her to depart. "Please!" she said, another warm tear flickering out of her large blue eyes. "Let go-"
"HERMONINNY!" Roared a Krum's voice, as this time dozens of birds zoomed off, their small offspring behind them as the branches shook due to the abrupt exit of its inhabitants. Karen let go, stared at her mother for a moment, utter horror visible on her milk-white face and she set off in a run toward a small tunnel cut through the huge roots that lead into town. Hermione stood up, her legs slightly wet, and set off away from the soft silt of the lake's bank. Barefoot, she began the ascent onto the hill were her small collage home lay. After a slight struggle and minor bruises burning the sole's of her feet, Hermione took one last gaze at the peaceful lake before her, the horizon dominated by white mist, though the tall mountain range's that stood beyond the lake's shore were visible, their ice caps looking as pale white as ever. Knowing her fait of horrible abuse by her husband, Hermione turned to face the brick cottage before her, the tree's seeming as intimidating as never before. Knowing Victor was awaiting her arrival, violence against her his motive, she knocked against the old pine door, dominated by fear. What seemed to be the last bird remaining in the thick branches stared at her, its orange eye's as Sympathetic as Karen’s. The door opened….
*
Hermione wished, harder than she had ever wished in her life, that she had followed her daughter through the rough tunnel and into safety. What stood ahead of her reaped evil, misery, depression and unthinkable amounts of mortal pain, with no way to prevent it. Knowing that she had no choice, Hermione took one last tearful glance at the Bird in the thick and wild grey branches of the foreboding treetops. Its large yellow pupils shut, and then opened again, only to reveal a droplet of silver tears. The tear landed on a lifeless sunflower on earth below the hill, and to Hermione’s amazement, it let out a cloud of steam, and began to re grow into the rough soil beside a thin tree root.
"Fawkes?" Said Hermione, looking hopefully at the Treetop, but there was no more sign of any life, with only the branches swaying softly at their high altitude above the hill were the cottage lay. Hermione entered what had become her home for the past miserable six years of her life. The single large square room was dark, gloomy and damp, a felling of foreboding being let off from its stiff atmosphere. Only little amounts of weak light were let in due to the mould, dust and webs saturating the single window at the room’s top-left corner. The room had a single old wooden roundtable at its right, three chairs tucked neatly under it. A dully shining crystal chandelier was hanging gracefully at the centre of the room under it a blood-red circular rug, tropical patterns glittering in contrast to the stone cold wooden-clad floor. Near the exit out of the living area was a grand leather sofa, were Victor often sat reading the local newspaper, ordering Hermione to make him large flasks of coffee every time his Quidditch team lost a game. Hermione looked left. She smelt an odour deeply resembling that of smoke. The Tarambla, a traditional Bulgarian cooking object was before her, large paches of black polluting the walls surrounding it and ash at its base. The Tarambla was a long, box-like cooking machine, powered by wood at its fireplace below a square shaped white plate of heat, were the object to cook was placed. Today, a silver pot boiled madly on the Tarambla's plate, the flame at the base weak blue but apparently very hot. Vast Rows of shelves that rose up to the ceiling were to be found beside the Tarambla, pots, pans, and plate's occupying them, with an occasional cooking book at their side. Were the shevles ended stood another door, this time clean oak with a cracked mirror at its centre. The door creaked open softly. A heavily-bearded man with oddly thick black eyebrows and an extremely off centre scared nose slouched in, his face screwed up and angry. Hermione sighed in fright. She knew what was coming.
CLAP.
Hermione let out a shriek of terror, a cold tear dropping down to the ground. Her Husband had slapped her with extreme might, his fingerprints bore stininging on Hermione’s read and tearful face.
CLAP.
"PPLEASE!" Screamed Hermione, getting down on her Knees, begging for Mercy at Krum’s feet.
"VOT DID YOU TEV'LL MV'Y DAUGHTER!, ZAT' I'AM NOT 'ER FAZ'ER?" Roared Victor, pushing Hermione flat on her back, her bushy hair feet away from the Tarmbla's hot blue flame.
"Noo! Please Victor, Please, I didn’t-"
CLAP.
Hermione got up, pushing Krum off her. Her face was burning with pain, her heart leaking with misery.
"PLEASE!" She shrieked, running to take cover behind her husband's sofa.
"VOMAN!, GET HERE NOW!, HOV' DARE YOU!" Yelled Victor running towards the Sofa, his face ugly and even more screwed up in outrage.
"Let Mummy Go!" Said a young voice. Karen burst into the room through the door with speed, hurrying behind the sofa and shielding her mother with her young torso.
"SEE!, YOU AV' TURNED 'ER AGAINST ME!" Spat Victor, who was trying to move Karen out of his way.
"NO! Please." Yelled Karen under her mother's frantic sobs. She put her small and pale hands together looking into Victor's wild eyes, begging. "leave 'er!"
Victor froze, and for a split second, only Hermione’s heavy breathing and occasional wail of despair could be heard. After a minute or so of glancing at Karen, Victor opened his mouth, this time not shouting and seeming calmer.
"Zo' not come betv'een me, and m'vy daughter. Z'o you undersv'and?"
Hermione let out a soft tear, and replied, mumbling. "Y-yyes".
"Till' death zo' us part, you shall abide bv'y my conditions v'oman.".
Karen was clinging hardly onto her mother, tears flickering from her face. Hermione let out another wail as Victor left the room. The prospect of a lifetime with Victor and his continuous abuse was unthinkable.
---
You are what you chose to be, and that is out of your own accord.
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