Harry had never been fat. He'd never been a big eater. Restaurants? He'd always thought them a waste of money, and he had plenty of money to waste. Crisps? What was all the fuss about? There were so many more fun things to do than eat brainlessly night and day like grazing cattle. Before the end, of course. There wasn't much to do anymore. Food was in no short supply, so Harry ate. When the loneliness felt like a lead anvil on his chest, he'd shake a bag of cheese puffs down his throat. Every time he thought about those come and gone, he'd jam an oatmeal cream pie or a Zebra cake in his mouth. And it worked to quiet those horrors. Only for minutes, but if he kept eating, it kept working. His shirts, when he bothered to wear one, said "2XL." He'd remember seeing obese people pouring over the sides of their scooters, and silently condemning them for their weak wills. They just learned the trick sooner: If you keep feeding yourself, you can silence all the noise. And even at his vainest and thinnest, he'd rather be fat than dead.
Testiculus Odiferous. That was a thing now. At first, the stench of his un-showered balls, would send him in search of water and soap, but a year or so into his last-man-on-earth schtick, he got used to his own body odor. Didn't even notice it anymore. The only reason he still wiped when he took a crap was because to forsake toilet paper was uncomfortable. He quickly learned shitting himself was a road he didn't want to go down. The itch. The maddening itch.
And he had 3 years of beard growth. He thought he couldn't grown facial hair, but his whiskers were tickling his belly button now.
Harry looked a mess. The tabloids would have been aghast, but trolls and haters there were none. I'd take the noise of the paparazzo and the booing of the haters over this maddening silence any fucking day, Harry thought. He pushed another Little Debbie into his mouth, wiped the crumbs from his scraggly whiskers, and leaned back the driver's seat of his car. He'd sleep now, and tomorrow, he would change his searching tactic.
What did birds do when winter nipped at their wings? South--they went south--and so would Harry.
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Harry Styles at the End of the World
FanfictionHarry spends his days in loneliness, searching the planet for another person. When he starts to see signs of life, he begins to wonder, Could HE still be out there?
