i migtht not Able to finish last i think im tired - by iza200117
This beautiful piece by iza200117 follows a narrator who is overwhelmed by his success, and evokes a feeling of fulfilment and joy on the surface. However, this piece’s register creates a sombre and foreboding tone. The piece begins with “Sorry,” evoking an air of regret, and the erratic enjambment, along with the stuttering rhythm and inconsistent metre, unsettling the reader and suggesting, perhaps, that the narrator is exhausted, not overwhelmed, and dragged down in some way by his success, which is supported by the “*sigh*” and the narrator’s procrastination (“ill will still do it next week”).
As the poem ends, Iza200117 turns his attention towards the videogame, “Calling All Mixels”, but captures the exhaustion of the narrator by cleverly having him refer to the title erroneously as “Calling of the Mixels”, drawing attention to his error by having it repeated at the end of two lines.
Truly, this piece is a superficial beauty, but delving deeper rewards the reader as much as Ulysses before it, or Harry Potter before that.
A muggle-born’s sibling sends them a howler in the middle of the school year and it arrives while they eat. When they open it, all it does is simply scream “WHAT TEAM?”. Nearly all the muggle-borns shout “WILDCATS!” before returning to their meal, leaving the pure-bloods in total confusion of what the hell they just witnessed.
I accept and fully support this headcanon
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