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The Insecurity of the Wicked by Paid AccountHourglass winnercarondelet

Rating: PG-13. Created: December 29th, 2005. Updated: May 29th, 2007. Read Reviews (6)
Disclaimer: Characters, the magical world, etc, is property of J. K. Rowling and Warner Bros, not the owner of this fic.

Title: The Insecurity of the Wicked, I: Castigation
Author: carondelet / carondelet11
Character(s) / Pairing: Peter Pettigrew
Rating: PG-13 (adult situations; violent imagery)
Notes: originally published 06 July 2005 \ 1359; this is an experimental drabble(ish) series based on one word prompts which will hopefully make some sense in the end. The word count is set at 530, an arbitrary number.
Word Count: 530
Spoilers: Books 1-6
Summary: Even though you know the bad things that are coming for you, you don't try to escape. You know what is seeking you.
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters, settings, and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling as published by, including and not limited, to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. The use of these characters and settings is for entertainment purposes only; no infringement is intended or should be inferred.





The Holy Bible: King James Version

The Psalms 22:14

A Cry of Anguish and Song of Praise

14 I am poured out like water, and all my bones are out of joint: my heart is like wax; it is melted in the midst of my bowels.

§ Castigation §

With voices screaming they sang their farewell. On a moonlit eve the master of their betrayer drew their last breaths and you lost your true face. The song that plays, forever, in your memory, leads you into a field at night...

The sleeping dog has awakened. You can hear him. Hear the footfalls, feel his breath. Warm, against your pale, taut skin. He hunts you, in your dreams, in shadows, in glimpses, unseen. The sleepless brotherhood is eternally chasing you, seeking to create a future with no tomorrow. Alone, you close your eyes against the recollections in the night.

They are trapped, forever within darkness. But their blood, their hearts, burn like embers, crimson against his black stain. They are like the knights of old, armoured by their dedication and their care. Such love and courage does not go out. It creates a bravery that rails against the dying of the light.

These thoughts persist in your mind until your vision burns. You believe it to be their sentence. The flames of their disappointment, your regret, the shame of your desire to keep living.

The sleeping dog has awakened, pursuing you. Every step, upon every road, wherever and however you might travel, he continues to haunt you. He is there, somewhere. Everywhere. Someday, when you have tired of the struggle, he will appear at your side. Ready.

There is a point between the earth and the sky, a point at which all sheep look to. A point that you stare at as you try to understand. And fail. Such things as faith and belief are without meaning to you. All in your life has lost its definition; nothing is now more important than ephemeral release.

With every sunset, at every moonrise, you hear them sing to you their last goodbye. You hear your guilt whisper in your dreams, from now, on and on, into forever. You know that you will hear their song one more time, the last time you see the sun fade into the twilight. It could be the final kiss; it will be your end song. It will be no melody of love; there is no such radiance for you in his darkness. The time for causing pain has ended. Everything will disappear. Even the stigma that burns beneath the frayed arm of a down-at-the-heel frock coat, the painted mockery of your weakness. Embraced, upon your arm. It will not be cleansed by spilled blood or by cynical tears.

You want to cry. You want. You don’t. Red dreams...stinging...inside a shell, dissolving...something like a mirror breaking. Spilling across the ground. You see black. And just a little pain. The former darlings of your loathsome heart are starting to sing for you...sing slowly...sing for you a farewell, so sweet the sound of days past, moments that remember you as a different man.

Even though you know the bad things that are coming for you, you don't try to escape. You know what is seeking you.

The sleeping dog has awakened, pursuing you, through dreams, through truths. The road that you have wandered must end somewhere.

Wormtail, you really should have let sleeping dogs lie.

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