Ephemeral (Harry Osborn)

Prologue

~Harry's POV~

She didn't know him.

Actually, she had never even met him.

But she was there, at my father's funeral amongst everyone that either was or pretended to be in despair at Norman Osborn's death.

I don't know how I knew she was different.

Maybe it was the way she held herself or her serene facial expression.

Maybe it was because of her clothes.

All of the other patrons of the funeral wore black.

Most of them were immersed in it from head to toe.

But she was not.

Instead of the standard inky cloth, she wore green.

It would be revealed to me later on that green was in fact her favorite color.

She told me that green stood for life and growth.

It was ironic, really.

She wore green to every funeral she had ever been to, and that was quite a few funerals.

She wore something that symbolized life to an event that was caused by death.

There was a reason she had been to so many funerals.

More often than not, she didn't even know the person that was being buried.

She went to funerals because she wanted to make up for the fact that no one would be going to hers.

I had asked her why she thought no one would give her a proper burial service.

"Because everyone who loved me enough to come to my funeral died before they had the chance."

It hurt me when she told me that.

I had researched her later that night and discovered that her family had died.

Her mother from sickness. Her father from an overdose. Her younger sister from a car crash. Her twin brother from a gunshot during a bank holdup.

When I asked about her friends, she said that she didn't have any.

After the day that I spent with her, something in me decided that I would be her friend.

I wanted to be a person that would go to her funeral.

I told her that. She had smiled and made me pinky promise.

I think I was her first friend.

She never quite knew how to act around me.

Other people found it awkward, I found it endearing.

There was never a dull moment around her.

When she thought we were being quiet for too long, she would ask me an absurd question that I never had the answer to.

When she didn't like my plans for the day, she would roll her eyes at me and then we would spend the day roaming the city together.

I guess I should have told her about my disease.

It was the same disease that killed my father.

She deserved to know that her only friend didn't have a very good chance of making it to her funeral.

But looking back, I don't think I could have told her.

She was too innocent, too naive.

She looked for the silver lining in everything and believed that every person could be good if they just tried hard enough.

If only she realized that sometimes the evil in a person could overpower the good.

Had she realized that, maybe she would still be here.

Had she known what kind of monster I was, maybe I wouldn't have lost her.

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This is just an idea that has been running through my head. I may or may not continue this story depending on personal inspiration and feedback from the readers on this site. 

That being said, I hope you like it!

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