felix felicis orig

[lobelia321]

Felix grew up in a garden of dandelions. They went up to his shoulders when he was very little. Later, they reached to his knees. Always, it was a garden to wade through. Nobody ever mowed it. It was not that kind of a childhood.

At the back of the garden was the pet cemetery. Hidden in the weeds and grasses so that you stubbed your toe on it if not careful was the row of wooden crosses: dog, cat, gerbil, fish. The row grew longer every year. Felix added wild pets, self-declared pets: a shrivelled worm, a curled-up bluebottle. These he found but there was also the caterpillar. He had torched the caterpillar with the aid of a magnifying glass. And the pile of ants: exploded under his death beam.

His hands were brown with the fresh soil of graves.

All this happened before he moved to the big city.

Comments

[thejennabides.livejournal.com]

Marvelous. There's an undercurrent, a sort of start nostalgia for childhood, that I really like.

[thejennabides.livejournal.com]

start = stark

(muskrit tyup gud today)

[lobelia321.livejournal.com]

Thank you. Orig fb is so kind!

[brightest-blue.livejournal.com]

Oh, you hit me right where it hurts. I had a pet cemetery too, for all of the critters I owned, found, or accidentally killed. What would I have done in the big city?

[lobelia321.livejournal.com]

Wow. You had a pet cemetery. *feels connected at the hip* I never had one; I made this one up.