71 Ramblings of a Man
A man, no need to know anything about his origins, sat in the dark cell with a diary in his hand.
The diary read-
Today is the first day of my prison sentence... the diary I'm writing in was from my wife... I wonder how she is doing. The air here is terrible, absolutely horrible. The dementors are dementing. I have ten years left until I can leave... I will make it.
It's terrible, very terrible here. This is a place no man should live or even be in. The dementors aren't the worst thing in here, it's the piece of shit they give us to eat. I can't stand it. I miss my wife's cooking. I can still make it out alive.
I... I can't... it's to horrible... I... I miss my family so much.
I CANT! FOOD IS TOO HORRIBLE! SAVE ME! THE MORE I EAT I BECOME SOMETHINGBPESS HUMAN!
I can't make it... I'm going to die... I regret attacking those muggles... I should've contained my anger...
I want to die. Kill me
iNhJivV. have. h VahbC VH. AcCv. c. Can't Bb bB. bj zdVN. help H CThBvHikbCadFV NbJ
There was a clang outside the cell but the man ignored it and continued to mumble to himself quietly.
It was nothing new, it was time for him to eat.
The man ignored the meal he was served as he instinctively knew that the thing he was served wasn't actually meant for consumption, more as a punishment for sinning.
"Hey, you. Eat up."
The man paid no attention to the cook's voice, for it was a ritual for the cook to ask him to eat. And he refused, always.
This was his routine the man thought.
In Azkaban, routines can keep you sane. It keeps you going. The feeling of letting repetition run your mind instead of thinking numbs the pain of reality and depression.
He was hungry though.
And the food smelled especially delicious today.
The man dug his fingernails into his palm. The pain brought him back to reality.
At first, the man would rush towards the food, expecting something different from yesterday's meal. However, after a couple months, his hope and desire was replaced by disappointment. For all of the years he had spent in the prison, the food had never changed.
The same brick and the same pool.
He wasn't, he told himself, he would never ever let himself hope again.
Cause when hope doesn't prove to be good enough, despair is what embraces you instead.
But it smelled so good...
But he wouldn't eat.
He didn't want to be disappointed.
"Oi, you. Come out and eat."
The man frowned.
Usually, they leave the food on the floor, not wasting a single thought on whether the food was eaten or not.
They didn't care if the prisoners died.
One less cell to visit every day.
Who cares about the life of a criminal?
The man gave a weak chuckle.
That's right, I'm not a person, I'm a criminal. I deserve to rot away in this prison.
There was another clamor and a new voice.
"What's going on here?"
It was a beautiful voice. Young, full of vigor, seeming with intelligence and confidence.
Something that was rare in Azkaban.
"S-Sir! I w-was distributing t-the food!"
"Is he eating?"
"N-no sir! I-I I'm attempting to g-give him the f-food sir!"
"You useless son of a bacteria in the rear end of a dying Acromantula. Go down to the kitchen and await my orders."
"N-no p-please Sir, g-give me a s-second chance."
"I SAID GET OUT YOU IDIOTIC SHRIMP DICK!"
The man hesitated.
This wasn't the Azkaban he was used to.
"Sorry sir, it was rude of me to scream in front of your cell like that."
Was he talking to me? Why? No one would want to talk to a criminal like him. He must be talking to someone else.
"Oh my, you look absolutely starved. God damn those momma boys who can only wear an apron. They deserve to eat the things they make for the rest of their lives. And to add to that the living conditions here, it's absolutely horrible. Inhumane."
The man flinched and started to tremble.
Who was this boy who could understand his feelings and his pains? Why was this boy here? Is this a dream? A nightmare?
In Azkaban, happy dreams are the ones that people fear the most.
For they disappear the very moment you wake up and see a hooded figure leaning closer to your face.
There was a the click and a creak. A sound almost unfamiliar to the man. But he heard familiar sounds too, footsteps.
The footsteps got louder and louder until it stopped right next to the man.
"Are you ok?"
The man looked up and froze.
A boy, twelve years of age, beautiful black hair and night eyes, snow white skin, and an angelic face.
The boy smiled and pushed a bowl of rich, creamy soup towards the man. A heavenly light came down from the heavens and peeked into the tiny window of the cell, just barely illuminating the boy.
Just like an angel who came to rescue sinners.
"Here eat some, and I promise, it's better than what they gave you before."
The man took the bowl and started to cry.