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woke up and wished that I was dead.<i></i><SIZE size="50">Iz, can you go get a slab from the fridge for me? Please? Eyes of an eerie azure and a now bloodshot red trembled in an upwards glance to ones of almost identical hues and the brave façade Leah had thrown on for their guests. Izaak wished he could pretend as well as his sister, reminisce and celebrate Alexis life while secretly dying a little more on the inside. But he could not; he couldnt even finish his eulogy. So he nodded sorely, rubbed tiredly at his unshaven cheek and lugged himself up from the cheap plastic chair. Thankyou. But he waved his sisters apology off, because they both knew that really she was the one doing him a favour. After all, neither of them were exactly oblivious to the accusatory whispers passing between witches and wizards unfamiliar to him and surely Alexis too. No doubt the wizarding papers had a hand in these foul words of him flying amongst them. Clenching the inside of his cheek between his forceful molars, Izaak stared up at the building looming before him, his home, if it could be called that anymore. A contemplative sigh was racked up from his chest, to be haunted by its memories or to be drowned in a mix of tiresome condolences and conversations that ran circles around his still freshly grieving mind? Each as much a strain on his heart as the other. But in figuring that some time to clear his thoughts could only be healthy, Izaak shuffled slowly towards the back porch.
The boisterous gaggle of voices creeping up his backstairs seemed to die away from Izaak with every pace he sunk further into the empty house. Yet not one step was automatic or natural in manner. <COLOR color="#0083a7">Left, right, left, right, he all but sighed to himself, placing one slow foot in front of the other as the musty scent of zilch ventilation assaulted his senses. Alien in a house that used to be home. His knuckles bulged and starched, clasping tighter around a band of jewellery far too delicate and feminine to be worn on the likes of calloused fingers like his. If one had not known better, one might think it was strength he was attempting to squeeze from its sterling silver band, or encrustment of topaz and diamond. Ludicrous, you might say. But the broken shell of Izaak Jay Finch begged to differ. What else was there left to hold onto but the promise ring he had given his late fiancée? What other token of their love had kept as hard as diamond through this treacherous week? She was gone, their daughter was gone and it seemed they had smuggled his will to live with away them. And so, as his zombie-fied body sent the airborne dust sprawling in his mechanical ascent down the hallway, Izaak gripped the promise ring as if it might just be enough to bring his girls back down from heaven. To pass through the hallway was literally like a stroll down memory lane. Even the setting sun filtered in through the venetian blinds and glorified the framed photographs like some kind of bloodied spotlight. Everything from their pre-relationship days to her pregnancy; it was all there, everything but a photo of their now never-to-be wedding. The very one the couple had been beaming about in what had been, unbeknownst to them, their very last moments together. Izaak kept his cold blue eyes hard ahead though, for thankfully the muscles the accident had pulled in his neck permitted him little other option. He passed the rooms that they had once gone about their daily lives in; the laundry was probably still harbouring clean clothes in the dryer, the bathroom undoubtedly still smelling of her vanilla shampoo, the linen cupboard still stocked with sheets and blankets and doonas they had cuddled under not all that long ago. How could anybody ever expect him to live contently in this house ever again? Izaak frowned, his stomach flipping sickeningly at the thought of having to put it on the market before he pushed those thoughts away and continued on his brave journey into the kitchen.
He purposefully ignored the book she had left on the breakfast bar and the keys she had strewn beside it. Izaak knew exactly where they were and kept his peripheral vision clear of yearning to be picked up and used. But as his tired fingers reached for the fridge door, Alexis belongings quickly became the very least of his worries. Heavy footsteps thundered down the hall, he could hear their urgency, their anger, their power. Where he was used to the quiet pad of Alexis feet over their boarded floors and where he was certain that his own had never been so violent, Izaak began to grow uncomfortable at this heaviness in his house. His fingers slipped from the forgotten refrigerator and the alcohol inside. The aches in his body played up sharply as he turned to face the intruder. He winced through the pain. He waited for the confrontation. And who but Pierre Richarde should come barging into Izaaks broken state? Those lurid green eyes seemed familiar almost, but the green he knew was a happy one. This was nothing but ablaze. Instinctively, the twenty-one year old shuffled a step backwards but the man that had been set to be his father in law had already pinned him, by the throat, against the fridge door. The shouts that abused his ears were writhingly furious, distraught too as the older man proclaimed unnervingly over and over that it was all Izaaks fault that Alexis was dead. It didnt need to be said any louder, any clearer, anymore. The estranged lover had known the instant he had lost control of his Chevvy that it would all be his fault but he had never thought it would end so horrifically. A stony, nonchalant expression hardened his distraughtly handsome features as his body began to scream out for the oxygen Pierre Richardes violent grip was depriving him of. But there was a place, just one, that seemed to be his reservoir of pent up emotion. For as his azure eyes began to glistened with still tears, they pleaded the man not to let go, to choke the murderer of his precious daughter to death or better yet, to snap his neck clean in two. Because in that moment the realisation struck Izaak Jay down like bolt of lightning. He was the sole cause for what must have been hundreds of peoples tears. Pierre Richarde was no exception.
There must have been a red welt looping his throat or a bruising in his oesophagus when the strong hands finally fell from Izaaks neck as the former President of Magic crumbled before the young mans stunned gaze, into his wifes frail arms who Izaak only realised was there at the turn of events. The kind woman, the one had loved and still did much like a second mother, poured her sincerities into Izaak. Her apologies, her pity, her distress. But there was not much else he could stray his eyes from other than the tight embrace his loves parents held. Izaak would never have that, you see. Because if he couldnt have it with Alexis then he didnt want it with anybody. Piece by piece, he began to break himself. His breaths became laboured, jagged, painful in the midst of the moment. His eyes on Strellas, hers on his and Izaak could not have felt more under the folds of hell itself if he tried. He knew what it was like to lose a daughter, he knew what it was like to have to lose two but to inflict that kind of bottomless pain on someone, especially someone like Strella, was unbearable.
Izaak couldnt stomach it any longer, frisking away the onslaught of tears with a jilt of his head, the young man bolted through his front door. He needed some fresh air, he needed to clear his head, he needed to feel the life surging through his veins again but most of all, he needed her. There was not a pace his long, lean legs could match that felt fast enough as he tore up towards the North Bondi headland. The muscles in his calves burned something crazy, the breath was snatched from his chest at a ghastly rate, but the twenty-one year old didnt even seem to notice when he finally came to a jolting stop upon the zig-zag of cliffs. It became apparent all of a sudden, that this altitude was just so many more metres closer to the heavens, to his lover. And so it came naturally to Izaak to want to edge that little bit closer, that little bit higher, as if it might just be enough to reach up and take her from the sky. Alexis, Her name was lost breathlessly in the ocean breeze though, as it tumbled past his face. So he stepped until the stony edge pressed against the arch in his foot and projected his voice once again into the salty wind. I need you back. Had he lost his mind? Was he so desperate now that he thought calling out to his lover from the terrifying height of the cliffs was actually feasible? His tears came steadily, soaking his face and plopping down from his chin as the excuse of a man he had been worn down came into play before his mind. A lonely shudder stole over his aching body, shifting his weight forward to a spot where the mud underfoot was fresh. His leg began to slip, the knife-like rocks and the vortex of water were swirling dangerously below and in a strained attempt to steady himself, Izaak shot his arms out either side of him. It all happened in the tick of a second, the blink of an eye, the beat of a heart. And Izaak only had time to comprehend with a flush of heat and wide-eyed horror that death was looming inevitably ahead before gravity began to work its magic.
woke up and wished that I was dead.
The boisterous gaggle of voices creeping up his backstairs seemed to die away from Izaak with every pace he sunk further into the empty house. Yet not one step was automatic or natural in manner. <COLOR color="#0083a7">Left, right, left, right, he all but sighed to himself, placing one slow foot in front of the other as the musty scent of zilch ventilation assaulted his senses. Alien in a house that used to be home. His knuckles bulged and starched, clasping tighter around a band of jewellery far too delicate and feminine to be worn on the likes of calloused fingers like his. If one had not known better, one might think it was strength he was attempting to squeeze from its sterling silver band, or encrustment of topaz and diamond. Ludicrous, you might say. But the broken shell of Izaak Jay Finch begged to differ. What else was there left to hold onto but the promise ring he had given his late fiancée? What other token of their love had kept as hard as diamond through this treacherous week? She was gone, their daughter was gone and it seemed they had smuggled his will to live with away them. And so, as his zombie-fied body sent the airborne dust sprawling in his mechanical ascent down the hallway, Izaak gripped the promise ring as if it might just be enough to bring his girls back down from heaven. To pass through the hallway was literally like a stroll down memory lane. Even the setting sun filtered in through the venetian blinds and glorified the framed photographs like some kind of bloodied spotlight. Everything from their pre-relationship days to her pregnancy; it was all there, everything but a photo of their now never-to-be wedding. The very one the couple had been beaming about in what had been, unbeknownst to them, their very last moments together. Izaak kept his cold blue eyes hard ahead though, for thankfully the muscles the accident had pulled in his neck permitted him little other option. He passed the rooms that they had once gone about their daily lives in; the laundry was probably still harbouring clean clothes in the dryer, the bathroom undoubtedly still smelling of her vanilla shampoo, the linen cupboard still stocked with sheets and blankets and doonas they had cuddled under not all that long ago. How could anybody ever expect him to live contently in this house ever again? Izaak frowned, his stomach flipping sickeningly at the thought of having to put it on the market before he pushed those thoughts away and continued on his brave journey into the kitchen.
He purposefully ignored the book she had left on the breakfast bar and the keys she had strewn beside it. Izaak knew exactly where they were and kept his peripheral vision clear of yearning to be picked up and used. But as his tired fingers reached for the fridge door, Alexis belongings quickly became the very least of his worries. Heavy footsteps thundered down the hall, he could hear their urgency, their anger, their power. Where he was used to the quiet pad of Alexis feet over their boarded floors and where he was certain that his own had never been so violent, Izaak began to grow uncomfortable at this heaviness in his house. His fingers slipped from the forgotten refrigerator and the alcohol inside. The aches in his body played up sharply as he turned to face the intruder. He winced through the pain. He waited for the confrontation. And who but Pierre Richarde should come barging into Izaaks broken state? Those lurid green eyes seemed familiar almost, but the green he knew was a happy one. This was nothing but ablaze. Instinctively, the twenty-one year old shuffled a step backwards but the man that had been set to be his father in law had already pinned him, by the throat, against the fridge door. The shouts that abused his ears were writhingly furious, distraught too as the older man proclaimed unnervingly over and over that it was all Izaaks fault that Alexis was dead. It didnt need to be said any louder, any clearer, anymore. The estranged lover had known the instant he had lost control of his Chevvy that it would all be his fault but he had never thought it would end so horrifically. A stony, nonchalant expression hardened his distraughtly handsome features as his body began to scream out for the oxygen Pierre Richardes violent grip was depriving him of. But there was a place, just one, that seemed to be his reservoir of pent up emotion. For as his azure eyes began to glistened with still tears, they pleaded the man not to let go, to choke the murderer of his precious daughter to death or better yet, to snap his neck clean in two. Because in that moment the realisation struck Izaak Jay down like bolt of lightning. He was the sole cause for what must have been hundreds of peoples tears. Pierre Richarde was no exception.
There must have been a red welt looping his throat or a bruising in his oesophagus when the strong hands finally fell from Izaaks neck as the former President of Magic crumbled before the young mans stunned gaze, into his wifes frail arms who Izaak only realised was there at the turn of events. The kind woman, the one had loved and still did much like a second mother, poured her sincerities into Izaak. Her apologies, her pity, her distress. But there was not much else he could stray his eyes from other than the tight embrace his loves parents held. Izaak would never have that, you see. Because if he couldnt have it with Alexis then he didnt want it with anybody. Piece by piece, he began to break himself. His breaths became laboured, jagged, painful in the midst of the moment. His eyes on Strellas, hers on his and Izaak could not have felt more under the folds of hell itself if he tried. He knew what it was like to lose a daughter, he knew what it was like to have to lose two but to inflict that kind of bottomless pain on someone, especially someone like Strella, was unbearable.
Izaak couldnt stomach it any longer, frisking away the onslaught of tears with a jilt of his head, the young man bolted through his front door. He needed some fresh air, he needed to clear his head, he needed to feel the life surging through his veins again but most of all, he needed her. There was not a pace his long, lean legs could match that felt fast enough as he tore up towards the North Bondi headland. The muscles in his calves burned something crazy, the breath was snatched from his chest at a ghastly rate, but the twenty-one year old didnt even seem to notice when he finally came to a jolting stop upon the zig-zag of cliffs. It became apparent all of a sudden, that this altitude was just so many more metres closer to the heavens, to his lover. And so it came naturally to Izaak to want to edge that little bit closer, that little bit higher, as if it might just be enough to reach up and take her from the sky. Alexis, Her name was lost breathlessly in the ocean breeze though, as it tumbled past his face. So he stepped until the stony edge pressed against the arch in his foot and projected his voice once again into the salty wind. I need you back. Had he lost his mind? Was he so desperate now that he thought calling out to his lover from the terrifying height of the cliffs was actually feasible? His tears came steadily, soaking his face and plopping down from his chin as the excuse of a man he had been worn down came into play before his mind. A lonely shudder stole over his aching body, shifting his weight forward to a spot where the mud underfoot was fresh. His leg began to slip, the knife-like rocks and the vortex of water were swirling dangerously below and in a strained attempt to steady himself, Izaak shot his arms out either side of him. It all happened in the tick of a second, the blink of an eye, the beat of a heart. And Izaak only had time to comprehend with a flush of heat and wide-eyed horror that death was looming inevitably ahead before gravity began to work its magic.
Out of Character: