The Bagman's Direction

Chapter 35

Dear Journal,

That sounds tragically cliche and as much as I wish I could return to the unorthodox scribblings or astronomical doodles inside the margins I must emit my emotions somehow and since I sound smarter on paper than I do when I speak as I have more time to think about what I say, I must project it on these pages.

Harry hasn't been home for a week. Well when I say home I mean this imprisonment they call a cabin that I hold dear to my heart. He hasn't been heard of since the mishap at the lake and I worry his disappearance is linked to my foul temper.

-Louis

~

Journal,

Two weeks on the clock. My silver tongue has cursed my rotting heart.

~

Journal,

The credit goes to Harry Edward Styles for the encapsulation of my heart and soul but he is not using his achievement wisely. Instead he's run off because I said something that hurt his stupid feelings and quite frankly it feels like he's holding a grudge. Grow up, Styles and come back home. It's been one month and you're wasting valuable time that could be spent on future Games to freak out the president just so you can prolong a temper tantrum.

We need you here not on the pages of my journal.

~

Dear Journal,

My fingers are covered in paint that smudges against the pages. Splotches of purples, blacks and reds  inking up my skin because instead of having sex my recreation is art. I paint such dreadful things at the back of my journal. Images of death and blood and sorrow taking up pages I could write on about such things. If I had half of Harry's guts I'd seek him out. I'd find out where he's been hiding and confront him. He probably took off on his motorcycle to that secret house of his...

Niall told me specifically to be brutal to Harry and so I was. I was brutal when I told him he might as well slaughter me like he slaughters everybody else but clearly he couldn't take it and that frustrates me. What a baby and I just let him walk away? Maybe I'm a baby. Anyway so I'd confront him and tell him he's being a baby. A murderer is acting like a baby. The thought makes me laugh. Maybe I'll paint that next.

~

Love is an illusion, the feelings impossible to be proven.

~

Journal,

Liam took me out for a drive today. It felt nice to break free from the forest for a little while even if I wasn't allowed to exits the confines of the car. He had to go grocery shopping so I stayed buckled in the passenger seat as he took thirty minutes to get in and out and load the truck. As I sat sat and waited, a little girl wandered the car park. She appeared lost and yet naively happy. As she weaved in and out of the cars in her blue dress with a doll in her hand she managed to maintain a smile. Sometimes she would skip or sit down to take a break and talk to her doll. Her rosy cheeks and pigtails let me assume she was no more than five. I looked hastily for the parents every two minutes. How could they let this beautiful, oblivious girl walk the streets alone? She was clearly clueless of what life was like and needed to return to their embrace. I wanted to exit the vehicle and help her but I was under strict instructions. When Liam returned and got into the passenger seat, I told him about the girl and went to point her out but she was gone. She was gone.

Harry is gone. My eyelashes can't fix this now.

~

Journal,