masterpiece | harry styles

Masterpiece | A Mute Doll

Masterpiece | A Mute Doll

Summer....Harry always hated summer and he will forever hate summer. The people, the festivities, and the constant nagging heat drove him insane. He rather be tied to an iceberg in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean than be in the heat for a minute. Everything about summer and the people that loved summer he despised. It was his least favorite season out of the whole year and he did whatever he could to avoid it. Being a very anger-tempered man made him very cranky and bitter—but when was he ever not cranky or bitter?

He hallucinated when he was in the open heat, and it felt like he could hear other's people thoughts when anybody walked pasted him. That man always wore black clothes and most of them covered his skin from having contact with any of the sun's rays. It didn't matter if it was freezing cold or it was a hundred degrees outside..he still wore whatever the fuck he wanted to wear. Again, he tried to avoid going outside as much as he could but it was almost impossible for him. He had to go outside with this annoying ass weather sometimes.

The man lived in an apartment in the heart of where all the crime took place. He heard gunshots, glass breaking, he was close to robberies, and he heard screams outside his apartment—only if he wasn't hearing it in his head—probably every other week. Police would come knocking on his door but he wouldn't dare answer to those pigs. He didn't respect the law, and he sure as hell didn't respect the people who made the laws. In all honestly, he thought everything was a total pile of shit and he would only dare to burn up the city's capital if he could.

"Crazy Man" is what they call him around these parts. It all started when he moved to this city after he was released out of the asylum. Everybody took note of the tall milky skinned man who had a untamed haircut that matched a chestnut brown color. Harry had cold intimidating green eyes and a glare that could maybe kill anyone. Yes, he was indeed crazy and he knew that personally, but at the same time he didn't know how crazy he could actually get. He hasn't snapped in maybe over thirteen years and who knows when he snaps again? It'll be unexpected and maybe even worse.

"No, no, no, no, no," Harry chanted as he shook his head frantically. It has been five minutes of him trying to look for some red paint..but it turns out that he had no more.

Find a fucking job, a inner voice yells which caused Harry to flinch slightly at how loud the voice echoed in his head. Yet, he chose to ignore it.

It was clear that he had no more red paint in his studio apartment and that made him grip his hair slightly from the annoying feeling of him having no more of the substance.

Harry is a struggling painter if one must say. Being twenty-eight years old it has become his greatest obsession going into adulthood and it keeps him from doing other bad things like drugs. After being in an asylum for nine years it did him good because it almost disconnected him from reality the moment the tip of his paintbrush brushes against the canvass.

But he had no more red paint, and the only way to get it was to go outside.

"No, no, no," Harry grunted the moment he stepped outside in his all black long sleeve and black jeans. Out of everything he hated, it had to had to be something he couldn't control.

People looked at him weirdly, and people whispered about him too. He was known for the red paint due to the fact he always had red stained paint on his hands or even fingertips. There were times where the police publicly harassed him about it and it took a lot of convincing for them to leave him alone, but of course, those pigs always kept an eye on him.

It was his call not to take the driver's test to get his license because he knew that he would probably kill himself by driving the car into a lake—or running people over with the vehicle too. So he walked anywhere and everybody if he had to.