Entry 46: Literary Atrocities - My Immortal, Chapter 19
Welcome back to the descent. Chapter 19 of My Immortal—subtitled im nut ok i promise—offers a masterclass in manufactured angst, bizarre anatomical implications, and a complete disregard for logical space and time.
The Author's Note and "Poorblods"
Let us first examine the author's note, which is deteriorating faster than the narrative itself.
AN: plz stup flaming da story if u do ur a foken prep n ur jelous ok!11 frum noq un im gong 2 delt ur men reviowz!111 BTW evonyd a poorblod so der!1 fangz 2 raven 4m da help!11
In a desperate bid for legitimacy within the Harry Potter universe, Tara clarifies that Ebony is a "poorblod" (pureblood). The fact that she feels the need to assert this while simultaneously insisting Ebony is a vampire who sleeps in a hot-pink velvet coffin demonstrates a staggering lack of comprehension regarding her own world-building. Furthermore, she threatens to delete "men reviowz" (mean reviews), proving that Tara's primary motivation for writing is the fragile cultivation of an echo chamber.
The MCR Concert and Draco's "Secretive" Behavior
The chapter opens with our protagonists "angerly finking about Dumbelldore," but their spirits are lifted by an impending My Chemical Romance concert. Ebony retreats to the common room to "cut classes," where she encounters Draco being "secretive."
I asked what it was and he got all mad me and started crying all hot and angsty (rnt sensitve bi guyz so hot). “No one fucking understands me!1” he shouted angrily as his black hare went in his big blue eyes like Billie Joe in Boulevard of Borken Dreamz. He was wearing black baggy paints, a black MCR t-shirt and a black die. (geddit insted of tie koz im goffik)
Draco Malfoy, the quintessential pureblood supremacist of canon, is here reduced to weeping in "black baggy paints" and a "black die" (a pun Tara must, once again, laboriously explain: geddit insted of tie koz im goffik). His hair falls into his eyes like Billie Joe Armstrong, a comparison that forces us to reconcile the image of Tom Felton with early 2000s pop-punk styling. It is an aesthetic nightmare.
The Incomprehensible Argument
What follows is an argument so profoundly devoid of context it borders on the avant-garde.
“Accuse me? What about me!” I growled. “Buy-but-but-” he grunted. “You fucking bastard!” I moaned. “No! Wait! It’s not what it fucking looks like!” he shouted. But it was to late. I knew what I herd.
What did she hear? What does it look like? We have no idea. Tara provides absolutely no exposition. Ebony simply decides to be offended by Draco's stammering and flees to the bathroom. The dialogue is utterly untethered from reality, serving only as a vehicle for Ebony to dramatically sob.
Tears on Feces
And then, we arrive at what might be the single greatest typographical error in the history of the English language.
I ran to the bathroom angrily, cring. Draco banged on the door. I whipped and whepped as my blody eyeliner streammed down my cheeks and made cool tears down my feces like Benji in the video for Girls and Bois (raven that is soo our video!) I TOOOK OUT A CIGARETE END STARTED TO smoke pot.
"I whipped and whepped as my blody eyeliner streammed down my cheeks and made cool tears down my feces".
Feces.
She meant faces. She wrote feces.
I must pause here. The visual of Ebony weeping black eyeliner onto her own excrement while smoking a joint in the girls' lavatory is so horrifying, so surreal, that it transcended mere incompetence and achieved a bizarre, grotesque poetry.
The Apparating Hagrid
The climax of this chapter is the sudden arrival of Hagrid.
Suddenly Hargrid came. He had appearated. “You gave me a fucking shock!” I shouted angrily dropping my pot. “Wtf do you fink you’re doing in da gurl’s room?”
Hagrid cannot apparate. Hagrid is not permitted to do magic. Furthermore, no one can apparate within Hogwarts. Yet, here he is, materializing in the girls' bathroom like a massive, bearded voyeur.
But he is not alone. Dumbledore—or "Albert," as he now wishes to be known—has accompanied him, brandishing a "black wanabe-goffik purse." And what pressing business does the Headmaster have in the girls' lavatory while a student is smoking marijuana?
“Hey I need to ask you a question.” he said, pulling out his black wanabe-goffik purse. “What are u wearing to the concert?”
The Headmaster of Hogwarts breached the girls' bathroom to ask a teenager for fashion advice regarding a My Chemical Romance concert.
The structural integrity of this narrative has completely collapsed. We are no longer reading a story; we are observing the fever dream of a severely concussed teenager.
Join me next time for Chapter 20, assuming my liver holds out.
- Professor Bartholomew Barrington