Shattered Foundations, Unbroken Love : a Larry Stylinson Tale

The struggle of meaning

Harry’s footsteps echoed through the ruins of the city as he wandered aimlessly, his mind heavy with thoughts he couldn’t quite escape. The devastation stretched endlessly before him—broken buildings, overturned vehicles, and the scorched remnants of what had once been a thriving place filled with life. Now, everything felt like a graveyard, each piece of debris a reminder of the countless lives lost in an instant.

Time had lost all meaning for him. Days blurred together as he drifted from one place to another, searching for something—anything—that would give him a reason to keep moving. Sometimes, he found scraps of food in the rubble or stumbled upon an abandoned shelter where he could rest for a few hours. But the emptiness in his heart remained, unyielding and ever-present.

The weight of his survival felt heavier with each passing day. Every step he took felt like a betrayal to his family, to Lily, whose small hand he could still feel slipping from his grasp in that final moment. The guilt gnawed at him, turning his thoughts darker and darker as he questioned why he had been spared when so many others had perished.

As he walked, Harry found himself drawn to the outskirts of the city. The roads became less familiar, the buildings more dilapidated, crumbling under the strain of the war that had ravaged the area. The further he went, the more isolated the world seemed. There were no survivors here, no signs of life. It was as if this part of the city had been forgotten entirely, abandoned to decay in silence.

It suited him. Here, among the ruins, he didn’t have to confront the living. He didn’t have to face their eyes, their questions, or the hope that somehow still flickered in them despite the horror of it all. He wasn’t ready for that. He wasn’t ready to be reminded that the world hadn’t completely ended, even though it felt like it had for him.

As he reached the edge of the city, Harry’s eyes fell upon a collapsed building—once a large factory or warehouse, judging by its size. The structure had been obliterated in the missile strikes, its roof caved in and walls blown apart. Debris littered the surrounding area, and the air still smelled faintly of smoke, though the fires had long since died out.

Something about the building drew him in. Maybe it was the fact that it had been left untouched by looters, or maybe it was the eerie silence that clung to the air around it. Whatever the reason, Harry found himself climbing over the piles of rubble, moving toward what had once been the entrance. His body ached with every movement, his muscles protesting after days of strain and inadequate rest, but he ignored the pain. It was easier to focus on the physical discomfort than the emotional storm swirling inside him.

The interior of the building was dark, save for the thin beams of light that streamed through the broken windows and holes in the ceiling. The large, open space was filled with the remnants of machinery, now twisted and mangled beyond recognition. Broken crates and rusted metal littered the floor, and the walls were scarred with scorch marks and holes where shrapnel had torn through.

Harry made his way deeper into the building, his footsteps echoing in the vast emptiness. The silence was oppressive, pressing in on him from all sides. But it was also strangely comforting. Here, he didn’t have to think. He didn’t have to feel. He could just exist, if only for a little while.

As he reached the far end of the warehouse, Harry’s eyes were drawn to a large, shattered window that overlooked the desolate landscape beyond the city. Through the jagged glass, he could see the barren wasteland that stretched out toward the horizon—fields that had once been green and full of life, now charred and blackened by fire and ash. The sight was haunting, a reminder of how much had been lost.

Harry slumped down on a pile of debris near the window, his body exhausted and his mind numb. For a long time, he just sat there, staring out at the wasteland, his thoughts drifting aimlessly. He thought of his mother, her soft smile and kind eyes. He thought of his father’s quiet strength, the way he had always stood tall even in the face of adversity. And, most of all, he thought of Gemma—her laughter, her innocence, and the way she had looked up to him with such trust in her eyes.

The memories brought fresh tears to his eyes, but he didn’t wipe them away. He let them fall, his chest tight with the weight of his grief. The loss felt like an open wound, raw and unhealed, and no matter how much time passed, it never seemed to get any easier.

Why had this happened to them? What had they done to deserve this?

Harry’s hands clenched into fists, the nails digging into his palms. The anger surged up inside him, hot and burning, mixing with the grief until it became something unbearable. He wanted to scream, to rage against the injustice of it all. He wanted to tear apart the world that had taken his family from him and left him with nothing but this endless, hollow ache.

But there was no one to hear his screams. No one to see his rage.

The world had moved on. The war had continued, and Harry was just one of the countless souls left in its wake, forgotten and abandoned.

He had thought, in those first few days after the missile strike, that maybe he could find a reason to keep going. Maybe there was still something out there worth fighting for. But as the days passed, that hope had withered away, leaving only the cold, empty truth: there was no meaning in any of this. No grand purpose behind the destruction, no reason for why some people lived and others died. It was all random, senseless, and cruel.

Harry had survived, but for what? To wander through the ruins of a broken world, haunted by the ghosts of his past? To live with the constant, unbearable weight of his guilt and grief?

As he sat there, staring out at the endless wasteland, Harry realized that he didn’t know how to keep going. He didn’t know how to make sense of any of it. The future stretched out before him like the scorched earth beyond the city—empty and lifeless, offering no answers, no solace.

And for the first time since the missile strike, Harry wondered if maybe, just maybe, it would be easier to let go.

                                ⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

Work work work work
Pookies again another full chapter still not into the  L O V E
ooehh!!