Badlands >> H.S. AU

1.0

[Based on 'Control']

I picked my way through the underbrush, careful not to make too much noise. You never know where they might be in these parts. I could see my destination up ahead, an opening in the tree line. I began moving toward it at a faster pace, eager to get there already.

Finally reaching it, I stepped out from between the trees to a flat mountain-side plateau that overlooked everything below. Treetops glistened in the early evening sunlight, brighter than usual thanks to the rainfall that had ended a few minutes ago. Rust red stone rose to each side of me, peaking at the top to become the mountains we call home.

And at the bottom of the mountains, down where the desert met the forest, was the city.

The streets down there wound through tall glass buildings and smaller brick townhouses. I could practically see the grime and filth from my vantage point far above, and I swore I caught a faint whiff of the stench as it drifted up the mountainside.

I could sense the danger and despair from where I stood, and I gave a silent prayer to whatever twisted God watched down over me that I wasn't still down there anymore. Those forsaken streets are the very last place I'd ever want to dwell in. Hell would be better.

But in reality, I might as well still be stuck in the maze of glass and brick and diseased matter. Because no matter what we tried, the desert was always there to trap us and keep us forever in this hellhole.

The desert keeps us stuck in the Badlands.

These cursed wastelands were home to the worst place you could imagine. A place so foul, so wicked and greedy that if you turned your head for a second, your hair was gone, chopped off with a pair of rusty scissors and already sold away. If you turned your head for ten seconds so was your virginity, stripped clean from your being by the lusty, disgusting creatures that dwell within those city limits.

I remember a time when the city I now gazed upon was a thriving place where you never had to worry about even locking your front door. You trusted your neighbors because they trusted you. People were happy. Now, there isn't a lock strong enough or advanced enough to keep those savages from breaking down a door. Trust was a mere fantasy, a truth that was never witnessed by those held captive in the clutches of the men we refer to as the bourgeoisie.

If I haven't made it clear enough how repulsive the citizens of the city are, just know that no soul will ever be as corrupted as those of the bourgeoisie. They are worse than the scum of the earth. They've created all this turmoil, making animals of their people. But while they might be the most corrupted sounds in existence, they have souls, unlike their leader...

Harry Styles.

Satan himself, as some call him. He certainly must have no soul, since the things he has done would have killed it by now had he been born with one.

He is certainly the most ruthless, determined, headstrong people I've had the misfortune of encountering, even if only for a grave few moments.

It was three years ago, just after my seventeenth birthday, and I'd been woken by screaming downstairs...

//

{Three Years Earlier}

"Don't you dare touch my daughter you monster!!" My mothers shrieks racked through the house. The walls of my hidden compartment in the attic shook.

"Where is she?" An unfamiliar but identifiable voice was down there too. "You know the rules!"

"I'll never tell you! You'll never find her either!" She was crying. I could tell by the way her raspy voice shook and cracked slightly. "She will stay as pure as she can in this fúcked up place we have to call home," she yelled before there was a loud thump and a bloodcurdling scream.