the bellow of a man.
My nerves are agitated, and I can feel my heart beat twice faster than I could keep up with. My breath, I couldn’t catch it. I count backwards. Ten, nine, eight...f***.
It’s no use, I am pushed past that point of no return. That point I desperately try to stray from, but I always find my way back home to it; don’t I? Pacing around this room, a dim light storage cubicle used for hauled cargo underground right below the metro. The one place I feel safe, secure, but alone. My throat feels pinched, like an allergic reaction to the truth, and I finally begin to pant as if I forgot how to breathe. I slap my head a few times with the palm of my hand, “f***, f***, sh*t,” I repeat trying to make sense of it all, but it wasn’t so easy to swallow.
I point my wand at a few glass bottles, my hand unsteady but my eyes held determination, to prove to at least myself I was something special. “Come on!” my voice adhered the distress, and it only escalated when I continued to thwart myself. “Come on!”
I yell louder under the roar of railway cars that moved above me in a series together. It drowns out my despondency, but I am used to be unheard. My face becomes saturated with frustration, I arrest my breath, and concentrate despite the conclusion being unambiguous; trying to make something transpire, anything at this point. Make me believe, correct that faith in myself I had before Hogwarts, before the derisive harassing, before the undeniable truth. I’m not one to give up on myself so easily, but this was different. I didn’t relinquish who I was, I gave up on the misrepresentation of a distorted boy.
Subsequently, I throw my wand at the bottles, knocking them over and I am left demoralized. I hold a hand over my nose, catching itinerant tears that whisk across my cheek. The emotion brims, sending me sinking down on my arse, wailing into my hand; muffling my whines and bellows the best I could. Everything was a lie, all of it. Something my parents had kept from me for years, just to uphold their own selfish intentions and masking it with innocence. I was a disappointment, something they couldn’t accept, couldn’t admit; so they created a son that they wanted. A son who was not me. I wasn’t a wizard, I was a mistake.