the art of scraping through

The Cupboard Under the Stairs

There's an art to life's distractions

To somehow escape the burning weight, the art of scraping through

Some like to imagine

The dark caress of someone else, I guess any thrill will do

Someone New- Hozier

-

   The cupboard was dark and stiflingly warm. Sweat slid down the side of Harry's face and soaked his back where he lay sprawled out on his thin mattress on the floor. His thin sheet was bunched up on the side of the mattress, as it was far too warm to have it anywhere near him. Harry had slept in this cupboard for nearly ten years; ten miserable years since the day he'd been left on the doorstep of his aunt and uncle as a baby. Long enough to tell apart and name each spider that had spun a web in the corners near the ceiling. Long enough not to cry over the loneliness anymore.

   Harry wasn't quite sure how long he'd been locked away in his cupboard this time. Somehow, on his cousin Dudley's birthday, the glass containing a Brazilian boa constrictor had disappeared while they had all been on a trip to the zoo. Uncle Vernon had been so furious with him, Harry didn't eat a meal for almost three full days. After that, all he got were stale crusts of bread every now and then, and a glass of water or two when they felt like it. Harry was exceptionally small for his age- both in height and in weight. Really, the only exceptional thing about him was the scar that cut across his forehead in the shape of a lightning bolt, something he'd gotten in the car crash that had killed both of his parents. Some of his teachers had brought up concerns about Harry's weight before, especially since both Vernon and Dudley were exceptionally large and still getting larger, but the Dursleys had always brushed it off. They made it known to Harry in the very beginning that he would only be given what he needed, as that was all he deserved for causing them so much inconvenience by being forced into their care. Harry couldn't really blame them.

   Even so, his stomach twisted in his belly, throbbing with hunger. His hands trembled and his breathing was quick. He was used to it, but the desperate hunger never became comfortable no matter how often he endured it. Harry tried not to focus on it, making up stories in his head of strange unknown relatives coming to take him away.

   The light in the hall clicked on. It filtered through the thin vents on the door of the cupboard and illuminated slivers of Harry's calves. There were footsteps on the staircase above his head– too soft to be Vernon or Dudley– and then a figure stood in front of the door, blocking the light from coming in. There was a noise as his aunt Petunia fiddled with the locks on the door and then she pulled it open.

   "Breakfast." she demanded, "Now."

   Harry scrambled up, his vision going blurry– well, blurrier than normal– for just a moment as he adjusted to being upright again.

   The light in the hallway made his eyes water as he hurried to the kitchen where Petunia was setting out silverware. Harry took the carton of eggs from the refrigerator and started on scrambling them. He made sure to cook enough that there might be enough for him to eat if his uncle was feeling particularly kind that day. Vernon could easily blame his starvation on a lack of cooked food if he didn't.

   The summer holidays had started, Harry soon figured out. He had been locked in his cupboard for that long. And when Dudley came barrelling down the stairs for breakfast, he learned that his cousin had already broken his new video camera and his remote control airplane, as well as knocking down Mrs. Figg from two streets over with her crutches for her broken leg as he took his new racing bike out for the first time– all three were brand new presents from his birthday.