Ordinary Bloomer - L.S

One

Harry was rudely awoken by the generic radar alarm tone.

Rolling over, mood already shifted due to the disturbance, his face turns into a frown.

The alarm didn't sound right in his ears this morning. It was too loud.

Taking a deep breath, Harry swiftly settles onto the edge of his bed, waiting approximately one minute before making an effort to stand up. His doctor had taught him to wait for the blood to return back to the brain from the legs due to the change in posture to minimise any dizziness.

Harry Styles was a twenty-five year old, somewhat-ordinary man who lived in a small, run-down flat in the middle of London. He worked an ordinary job, his walls were painted in an ordinary shade of white and his breakfast consisted of an ordinary sachet of oats and an apple. Every day was Groundhog Day and it was exactly the life Harry had pictured for himself.

There was only a slight concerning element to his life, he suffered from obsessive compulsive disorder.

Harry believed life was too much to bare. Sometimes the sound of the rain was too loud, his heart would not beat in the correct way in his chest and the sun shone through the wrong window of his house in the afternoon. He remained in control of everything he could possibly remain in control of, although life definitely does not work that way.

Harry would stand up from the edge of his bed, shower, brush his teeth, change into his suit and eat his breakfast whilst staring at the continual rainfall and the grey sky.

Harry would then pack his lunch which would consist of muesli, blueberry yoghurt, a sandwich and no more than one chocolate.

He would then check his watch, mutter an infinite amount of curse words, realising he is late to being early, check his belongings for the fifteenth time and walk out the door in a timely manner to begin his trek to the office.

The summer storm had turned into small droplets as Harry walked, his head down to watch the cracks of the concrete underneath his feet.

All Harry wanted was for his life to be simple. It was predictable; every step was completed in an orderly fashion and he relished in it. Although, as mentioned before, that is not how life works.

Before Harry could look up, he was shoved down to the ground by a figure on a scooter and showered with the contents of a scalding hot coffee, automatically staining his undershirt, burning his skin at the same time. He yelped in pain. The strangers' and Harry's belongings went flying.

"I am so incredibly sorry!" A voice yelled next to him, although Harry could not focus on anything besides the trembling of his hands and the way the liquid was dripping down his skin.

He couldn't breathe. This was not supposed to happen. Harry was not prepared for such a scenario. His shirt felt too tight against his skin, his hands were dirty and grazed from being shoved down to the ground and he could not breathe.

"Sir, are you okay?!" The voice once again yelled, shuffling over to Harry to ensure he was okay.

Harry felt like the world was about to cease. He felt like he was going to throw up the entire contents of his morning oats.

Harry scrambled to find his bag, frantically pulling out a white bottle of pills. He absentmindedly shoved one into his mouth, swallowing harshly against the grainy tablet.

Five minutes turned to ten of these two men sitting on the sidewalk and he could finally breathe again.

"Sir? Please answer me! Are you okay?" the man spoke once again.

Harry was finally able to focus on the voice booming next to his head. A young man, with tear-stained cheeks, holding a bunch of tissues in his hands sat next to him, rescuing out to wipe his cheeks.

"No! No, I'm okay." Harry panicked, springing to his feet, not wanting to be anywhere near a strangers' tissues.

Harry collected his belongings in a hurry, picking up whatever his grazed hands landed upon in the process; "I need to go." he exclaimed, his voice hoarse and unrecognisable from his panic attack moments prior, practically running to his office down the road.

His entire day was ruined by one man with stupid purple socks.

The purple wasn't even the correct shade for his complexion, he thought to himself, trying to steady his breathing before slowly walking up the stairs into the place he spent every waking moment in.