Reticent (h.s fanfic, punk Harry)

Chapter One

HARRY/PAST

I was a pessimist. There was no way around it. Kind wasn't a word it was a figment. A mirage. A mask. People put it up to feel good. It was never for a kind gesture. People were nice to others so they wouldn't go to hell. But I didn't worry about that. Because there was no hell. And there was no heaven. This was hell. This life itself. We were all seeds to a garden that had no water and no sunlight. But we persisted like mosquitoes on flesh to grow. Some grew with all the advantages. All the riches in the world. All the sunlight. All the water.

I was more of a dandelion. I was just yanked from the safety of a broken flower to float wherever the wind took me. And I was told to grow. And no matter how many times I was mowed down. I was forced to grow. I don't want to. I want my roots taken out. Every single one of them. But I had to give to the Gardner because now I was being harmful to his plants. I had to give back. I had to turn into a flower.

There was no fucking way.

No positivity stood in front of me to guide the dark shadow I walked around with. It was all negative. I was being led by a dark shadow-I was following the one dark cloud filled with lighting and thunder. Water never came and sunlight was too busy for the other. The flowers. The roses.

My downs pushed me. Guilt pushed me. I couldn't look at Anne. She was dying each day. And some days I would despise myself because I would wish for her death sooner. Then I would wish for my death. But both left me in a spot that I wanted something dead. Sometimes I wanted to be buried. Sometimes Anne. And every single day I wanted him buried. And I wanted to do the ultimate pleasure of rubbing dirt on his face. That's all I wanted. Just a little revenge.

Sweet revenge.

But I wouldn't get it. Everyone was out here on this god awful planet for a reason. Maybe I was an asshole in another life. So he made me a bastard now. I wish I was a bastard. I wish she had aborted me. I wish they had just decided not to.

I wish they had done something so I wasn't walking around the dirty streets of this fucking shit hole.

Because I hate it all. I hated every single day of my life because I was alive. Living was punishment. Being born was a crime. I didn't want to pay anymore. I didn't care about taking the cowards way out anymore. I wanted to embrace it.

Then again everyday I found myself so entranced with the euphoric idea of death, but I would only see Gemma and Anne's face in front of me. Then I would hate them. Then I would hate myself. And then I would go into work with a sick twisted motivation. Death was a nice motivation. It was a good one to convince yourself you didn't need something. We all die one day, so why try. And in this case, Anne or Gemma dying saddened my already broken heart.

It was scattered everywhere. Anne held a piece of her own. Gemma had a piece. And they were wringing it out like an overused rag they didn't want to throw out.

And work would go the same. We would do the same shit. Get the same minimum fucking pay. Then I'd come home to a dying mother and a hungry two year old. It was all a fucking cycle. It would go round and round like a Ferris wheel and there would be no stops. And no new sceneries.

It was all gloomy.

But He proved it would be worse. And He proved that there would be others like me. Because Louis came in frazzled and bruised and beaten, and held a very pained Jay in his arms. His father was at it again. The booze was never enough for Ray. It was never enough for him to feed off. He had to keep himself entertained and maybe pushing his wife around was a grand way to do it. Oh the pleasures of living this way.

Jay stayed and vowed never to go back. Only Louis went the next day to get their things. And he took longer than normal. I wanted to go but Gemma bawled her eyes out when she decided she needed food and something to play with. Jay was busy hurting and Anne was too busy trying to make it go away.