How will I ever be whole again? [ENG][PG-13]

Titel: How will I ever be whole again?
Språk: Engelska
Typ av text: Fanfiction
Antal kapitel hittills: 5
Färdigskriven: Nej
Rating: PG-13, på grund av många psykiska inslag om depression och ångest.
Beskrivning: George är på väg att gå under efter sin tvillingbrors död. Inte bara för att han har förlorat sin bäste vän, utan för att han känner sig skyldig, något som inte är helt oklanderligt. Ni får följa honom in i en djup svacka i livet, och hans kamp att ta sig upp igen, och framför allt, hitta tillbaks till sin familj. Kommer förmodligen även skrivas en del ur Mollys synvinkel.

Jag tar emot all sorts kritik och respond. Säg till om ni vill läsa mer, annars känns det lite tråkigt att hålla på. Ber om ursäkt i förväg ifall min engelska inte är den bästa, säg gärna till om felen så jag kan ändra dem.

Chapter 1
George sat on a lonely chair in the bedroom which he always had shared with Fred. Fred’s bed were still unmade, some of his clothes still lied in a stack behind it. It was quite small, because most of his clothes were in the apartment in Diagon Alley, above their Joke Shop. Although, nowadays it didn’t look like a Joke Shop. The toys, sweets, games and every other kind of goods were still on the shelves, waiting to be bought, but along with them on the shelves lied loads of dust, and every here and there, one could find a rat, most likely dead. The sign about new items were up in the window, but the ink had started to fade, and only one of the two read-haired men was still in the picture, not smiling at all. The nose biting tea-cups were still jumping around, waiting for a victim for their next nose-attack, but the enchantment seemed to subside, because they seemed to jump slower and slower for every minute. Over all, the shop didn’t look as welcoming as it used to, and the door had been locked for almost a month.

“Are you up there, George?” a women’s voice called. She sounded worried, with all rights.
“Yes, mum”, George answered in a weak voice. He wiped away the tears from his cheeks, but more streamed out from his eyes; it seemed useless to wipe them away.
“Dinner’s ready”, said Molly, taking one look at her son and then burst in to tears along with him.
“Leave”, George said in a sharp voice that didn’t seem to belong to him.
“I’m sorry, honey”, Molly said, slightly ashamed. “I shouldn’t lose control this way. It’s hard for all of us. But please, will you come down for dinner? You haven’t left this room for days.”
“And I don’t want to, either, so just go away.”
But instead of leaving, Molly walked through the room, pulled out another chair from the air with her wand, and sat down next to her son.
“George, please. I’m begging you. Come down for dinner. Let us help you. It’s tough for all of us, you know.”
“I’m not hungry.”
Molly sighed, just a little bit to load, because George took great offense. He stared at his mother for a while with empty eyes, then, just when he was about to say something, Molly rose from her chair.
“I’m sorry, George, I’m only worried about you”, she said, trying to keep her voice steady, but anyone could hear how much she trembled underneath. Then she left the room, closed the door and walked downstairs again. George sighted with relief. He didn’t want to face his family again, he had no interest at all in talking to them. Every time he had tried to join them at dinner, they had ended up talking about things that George couldn’t handle.

He waited for a while, heard footsteps coming back, knowing a plate had been put on the floor outside his room. He ignored the plate as usual, knowing that sooner or later he would get so hungry that he wouldn’t be able to resist a piece of roasted chicken. He sat back on his chair, staring at an old family photograph hanging on the wall. He was only 5 years old when it was taken, standing beside his twin, waving a toy wand and laughing. He thought it looked like Fred was fading away from the picture, as if he was turning into a ghost. But that was just George sorrow taking over the reality. Because on the picture, Fred was still as solid and full of colors as one can be on a black and white photo, and his smile was as big as ever. It took most of George’s power not to rip the picture apart, burn it up. He hated to wake up every night and see his family staring at him, because he didn’t felt like he belonged to that family anymore. They felt distant, as Fred did, as everybody did. Yet he sat there on the old chair, staring into their faces, and wondered when he ever would have the courage to tell them what they didn’t know about Fred’s death…

I like it! Tycker även att din engelska såg bra ut

Fortsätt skriva. Det var jätte bra! ^^

Tack!

Chapter 2.
“What is the point of even wake up in the morning if I barley can get out of my bed, and even less get out of this room filled with all the happy memories that nowadays killing me inside? What’s the matter of going to sleep if I wake up five times every night, only to look over at his bed and feel the pain start seize up in my chest? And why do I even pretend that it’s not true, why do I keep thinking that he’s coming back tomorrow? I saw it with my own eyes, I saw his dead body lying in the great hall along with so many others, feeling that his death was unworthy, feeling that everybody should pay attention to him, because he was the most important person in that room, and yet they all cried for someone else, leaned over someone else’s body, some distant person who didn’t matter at all as much Fred did, and still does. And even though I know that they had their own family to mourn about, their own meaningful faces to look at, and still I can’t feel selfish when I say that I don’t care about the other deaths, I don’t care about how the others felt then, I just know that my twin brother deserved to be remembered alone, with only him in peoples mind. But I guess that could never happen in a war, to many people die to someday be forgotten. But I will never forget.

So I can’t feel guilty about that but still there’s something fretting in my mind, some sort of guilt that keep chasing me in my dreams, even when I’m awake, and I will never get rid of it, because I should have been the one to die, it wouldn’t have been him, and not only for some noble ‘I’d-die-for-you’-reason, but because it should have.”


While George was sitting in his deep thoughts, still on that same old chair and watching that old photograph, his mother, father and elder brother were down in the kitchen in the middle of a conversation about him.
“He is not like before.”
“It’s not that weird. No one of us is like before.”
“I know, Bill, but I couldn’t ever imagine him being this depressed. He and Fred was always the happy ones. It’s like a new part of him shows. I’ve never even seen him cry before.”
“I guess things changes.”
“Yes.”
“Can I talk to him?”
“No, Ginny. Weren’t you cleaning your room?”
“But he’s my brother! I care about him! What does it matter if my room’s a bit messy, when he is up there almost dying in sorrow?!”
“But he doesn’t want to talk to anyone, Ginny.”
“We must do something. We must contact a Healer.”
“He’s only wounded on the inside, Bill.”
“They have cures for that as well, dad.”
“He would never agree on it.”
“So what? If that’s the only way…”
“But it’s not! We can help him!”
“No, you can’t.”
George was standing at the bottom of the stairs, newly arrived. And then he was up on his room in a moment again, as if he had disapparated.

Aw, den är jättesorglig, du beskriver det bra även på engelska! Det känns verkligt, jag blir helt ledsen. ;_;
Det finns lite småfel här och där, men det gör ingenting. Det du skulle kunna tänka på är att skriva vem som säger vad (konversationen i köket). Det blev lite svårt att fatta. x3
Annars jättebra, fortsätt!

Håller med dig på alla punkter! =)
Jätte bra skrivet, so keep writing!

Wow, det här var verkligen fint. Som Wingardium Leviosa säger, så finns det lite småfel här och där, men inga större saker.

På nästa punkt håller jag dock inte med Wingardium Leviosa. Jag gillar när konverstaionerna är lite svårtolkade, lite jobbiga att läsa, så att man nästan måste läsa dem igen. Det gäller dock bara om det händer någon gång då och då, om det är författarens avsikt att göra språket lite kallare och kortare. Just i den här situationen tyckte jag att det passade rätt bra, medans i en annan situation/scen så kanske jag skulle tyckt annorlunda.

I alla fall, bra skrivet, jag ser fram emot mer! *bevakar*

Tack så jättemycket, all of you. Min förra tack-kommentar försvann, har ingen aning om hur.. Anyway, här är ett till kapitel, inte så jättebra, men intressantare kommer (sen ber jag om ursäkt om jag blandar ihop AM och PM, det ska iallafall vara på morgonen.. haha. Om det är något annat specifikt språkfel får ni gärna säga till så jag kan tänka på det.)

Chapter 3.

Three am the morning after, George sneaked down in the kitchen for a glass of water. He knew that if he only had the strength to resume his magical powers for full, he would have spared himself these moments of sneaking down as quiet as possible, and watch out in every corner so that no one was there. He was of course very good at sneaking around, after all the mischief’s he’d done along with Fred. But as every other night, there was someone there to discover him.
“Sneaking out again, are we?” said the mirror.
“Shut up”, George whispered back.
“If I were you, I’d wash my hair”, the mirror snorted back, slightly offended.
George ignored the mirror and kept up his way to the kitchen, where he drank three full glasses of ice cold water. But something caught his eye on the way back to his room. It was in the mirror. For a moment, he thought he had seen Fred in there. Other people maybe wouldn’t have noticed the difference, unless they took a look if both of the ears were there, but George knew all the difference between them. The person he had seen had had bigger eyes than himself, a more straight mouth and his cheekbones had been just a little higher. George slapped himself a few times in his face before he looked up in the mirror again, but the lower cheekbones, the more skew mouth and the smaller eyes were back.
“I’m going mad”, he muttered to himself. “I’m really going mad.”
“I cannot say I disagree”, said the mirror.
George gave out a shriek, he had totally forgotten that he still was in the front of the mirror.
“You should lower your voice, young man.”
George had no time to think what he would do if someone came before he had disappeared, because Ginny, who slept on the first floor, had already put her head outside her bedroom.
“What’s that noise all about?” she said, scratching her newly awakened eyes.
“Sorry, eh, goodnight Ginny”, George said, feeling that a flush started to spread all over his face, matching his shining red hair.
“Oh, is it you, George?” said Ginny. She blinked and looked curiously out in the half dark room, trying to catch her brother with the eyes. “I was wondering when I’d see you for more than five seconds.”
“Well, I guess 20 is the new record”, George said. He couldn’t slip the annoyed undertone in her voice. “Goodnight.” He started to walk up the wobbly stairs, but Ginny was as determined as always. George would be regretting that he had learned his sister to never give up, no matter what it was about.
“George! Listen to me!” she shouted and followed him.
“Shut up, please, go to bed again”, George said, half begging, half forcing. He walked quicker and quicker without looking back, but when he came to his door which stood half open, Ginny slide in before him.
“Get out of my room”, said George, pointing out.
“No. Not until you listen to me”, Ginny said.
“I don’t want to listen to you!” He grabbed his wand from his desk, not knowing what he was doing.”
“I don’t care! I’m gonna talk and you’re gonna…”
BANG.
George didn’t know how it happened, he hadn’t intended to do anything to Ginny except looking a bit threatening to make her leave, but suddenly Ginny was forced backwards and hit the wall with a loader BANG than anyone would believe have been caused by a small girl like that.
“Okay”, said Ginny furiously, rising up slowly. “If that’s how you want it. Just fuck off then. I mean it.” And she went out of George’s room, limping little and rubbed her left shoulder.

Wow, jag älskar verkligen Ginny i den här berättelsen! Hennes personlighet är precis som jag föreställt mig att den ska vara, haha.
Och du gjorde precis rätt med AM och PM, så inga fel där.
Brabrabra!

Vad duktig du är!
Fortsätt skriva, gillar detta jätte mycket!