CHAPTER ONE - THE BOY WHO LIVED Mr. and Mrs. Dursley of Privet Drive were the last people to be involved in anything strange or mysterious. Mr. Dursley was the director of a firm called Grunnings, which made drills. He was a big, beefy man with hardly any neck, and a large mustache. Mrs Dursley was thin, blonde, and had twice as much neck for spying on neighbors. The Dursleys had a small son named Dudley - the “finest” boy around. The Dursleys also had a secret, and they were afraid someone would discover it. They couldn’t bear it if someone found out about Petunia’s sister’s family - The Potters. The Dursleys knew that the Potters had a small son, and they did not want Dudley associating with a child like that. It was a peculiar morning. Mr. Dursley hummed as he picked out a tie for work, while Mrs. Dursley gossiped away as she wrestled a screaming Dudley into his high chair. None of them noticed the large, tawny owl flutter past the window. Mr. Dursley go...
How far does a person have to hurt until they can't take it anymore? What methods of torture can we use to inflict all the pain in the world on a person? When we do inflict these methods of torture, will we finally feel a sense of retribution? I feel like Christ Walking through the city and carrying a cross on my back I can try to say it was my fault At least, that is what others insist on telling me That I was "selfish" and "only thinking of myself" Oblivious and unawares of all the other insults they threw at my face The truth is, however, that I can look back to how empty I feel inside Then I am not so sure anymore If it was my fault or theirs See I can feel the feelings of the entire Planet From this sensitivity, I can surely mistake that there is some sort of flaw in my own emotionality Only then I can also see the criticisms of everyone else Realizing just how true and how potent these feelings are for some people Then I am not certain anym...
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