The Wanderers // Harry Styles

Chapter 1

Memories, like smoke in the lungs of a cancer patient swim inside my head, taunting and teasing me. They aimlessly wander away into the midnight air, vacating the demolished life left in its wake. Observing the swirls of my family's history in the form of white smog, I shiver. Not from influence of the February breeze but rather the endless cycle of garbage that has happened to me and maybe the fear that it will happen again. Staring at the night, I think of all that has changed since I left my mother back in New York.

I think of all the people sleeping in their homes, dreaming about nothingness: not realizing how rapid my world is changing, as they live, day in and day out unchanged.

My grandma has always told me that I was a child of the night, born at 2:29 a.m under the moon...I used to say she was idiotic. But as my life moves along, my 18 years of living on this earth have proven my grandmother to be nothing but trustworthy. Maybe my grandmothers myths that closely remember those of Indian Moon Legends are the reason I can't seem to gain a wink of sleep. And maybe its the reason I sit on vile roofs at five in the morning pondering my past when I should be sleeping, preparing for my first day at a new school tomorrow. Looking towards the dark of the sky I try to ignore the combustion that can be heard through my Aunt's neighborhood. Now my neighborhood.

I moved in a few days ago. The unpacking process was not fun. I also can't seem to decide how to organize my closet, but on the bright side I have decided to paint my room a nice shade of blue, if that's okay with my Aunt Barren of course. Interrupting my thoughts the commotion unfolding one street away has become to much for my wandering mind to ignore. Climbing toward the north end of the flat roof my feet patter above my Aunt's room below.

I hear it before I see it. The hideous sound of car tires skipping pavement can be heard in the distance. Skimming the pavement of 5th avenue, far to fast for standard laws, I can feel a disaster waiting to happen.

The uproarious screeching pierces my ears, the noise like a cat crawls closer. Tiptoeing as fast as I can, I suddenly pause. Metal grinding into one of its own brings the noise to a silence. The collision was enough to hold me and what seems to be the rest of the earth in place. Fearing what lays on the other side of the roof, my muscles lock. My scared thoughts wash away amount of courage I believed I once had. My breath is shallow and I can hear the racing of my heart like hooves of horses on a track in my eardrums. My body seems to have taken a mind of its own and isn't cooperating with my pleas to move forward. Taking one last breath I continue my way toward the cars steam, currently stretching towards the midnight sky.

Peering over the edge of the roof, all the action is open to my eyes display.

Relief washes over me when I see a middle aged man dressed in a black tuxedo with a infuriated look on his face. I'm happy he doesn't seem to be hurt in any way. I can't help but subconsciously wonder what kind of businessman is out at these hours of the morning. Quickly dismissing my thoughts as it is to far to see his ring finger from my angle, I bring myself back to the crisis at hand. Seeing the man glare to the right I follow his eyes to see a car collision with two teenagers standing close by.

A boy and girl. Guessing by the scowl on the late night businessman's face, they were the cause behind the crash. Both have to be around the same age. I briefly notice a smudge of purple, but before I have a chance to continue analyzing the scene all my attention seems to be draw to the young boy.

He can't possibly be any older than me. Thick eyebrows fur in distress, chocolate brown curls fall down his forehead, framing his gorgeous face. My heart accelerates, thumping at a beat unknown to man. I'm so distracted by the beautiful creature I almost miss the concerned look gracing his face. He seems to be in a moment of frantic disbelief as he stares at what appears to be a Ford denting a Mercedes. His forest green eyes dart back and forth from his car to the other, as mine do on him.