Post by Daisy on Feb 19, 2005 18:44:31 GMT
It was far too cold for Daisy to be out. She was sure that if her doctor saw her he would ring her neck right now. She justified it by wrapping her entire tiny frame with layers and layers of warmth, but still the chill bit through and she could see the steady puffing of her breath as she walked slowly to the pitch.
Daisy was only hear to watch and observe, but breathed a sigh of disappointment when she found the pitch deserted. There was nothing here for her. Nothing at all.
She took tentative steps onto the pitch, walking slowly from one end to the other, then circling once around the center goal post, craning her neck and looking up. She dreamt of being held aloft by only a broomstick, feeling the wind through her hair. She dreamt of flying.
It was wishful thinking, that to an absurd degree. To think that she, someday, might be well enough to hold herself steadily while playing such a dangerous sport. The image brought a smile to her overly thin face, her brown eyes closing for a moment, her hair blowing around her face, haloing her. It was lit to a golden hue by the sun that reflected almost painfully against the snow. Daisy pictured a bludger. She pictured it hitting her. She knew that her bones would shatter.
Shuddering, Daisy returned to reality, brushing her hair out of her face with a leather gloved hand. She stood against the goal post and wiped the wistful expression from her face, knowing she was doing herself no good.
Daisy was only hear to watch and observe, but breathed a sigh of disappointment when she found the pitch deserted. There was nothing here for her. Nothing at all.
She took tentative steps onto the pitch, walking slowly from one end to the other, then circling once around the center goal post, craning her neck and looking up. She dreamt of being held aloft by only a broomstick, feeling the wind through her hair. She dreamt of flying.
It was wishful thinking, that to an absurd degree. To think that she, someday, might be well enough to hold herself steadily while playing such a dangerous sport. The image brought a smile to her overly thin face, her brown eyes closing for a moment, her hair blowing around her face, haloing her. It was lit to a golden hue by the sun that reflected almost painfully against the snow. Daisy pictured a bludger. She pictured it hitting her. She knew that her bones would shatter.
Shuddering, Daisy returned to reality, brushing her hair out of her face with a leather gloved hand. She stood against the goal post and wiped the wistful expression from her face, knowing she was doing herself no good.