high flyer // l.s

s e v e n

Harry stood over the body of his sister, watching it fade away.

All this death.

All this pain.

All because he made one dumb decision.

The blood faded away and so did Gemma.

She didn't exist any more.

And neither did he.

They stopped.

There was nothing left of them.

And as the bathroom surrounded Harry's vision, it was all that he could do to stay there.

He didn't want to think about what he'd left behind.

He didn't want to think about the lives he'd ended.

And then they came.

The figures.

Floating, not doing anything.

Simply existing.

Louis, Gemma, Zayn.

Their bodies, blank and hollow, surrounded Harry.

Their words flowed through his mind.

Every hug, every smile.

It was there.

It was as if it was being erased.

Harry tried to cling onto the memories but they kept undoing themselves like a loose thread in a sweater of holes.

Eventually there was nothing left.

Nothing left to remember.

Louis, Zayn, and Gemma were gone.

Harry could barely remember them.

And then it stopped.

When they were nothing but shadows at the back of his mind.

And then Death appeared.

He was thin, and wiry, and so, so old.

He looked haunted, his cheekbones so concave they looked absolutely cynical.

"Harry."

He bowed his head, looking almost disappointed.

Harry was shaking, tremors wracking through his body.

This was it.

This was the end.

He would never see Louis, or Gemma, or Liam, or Zayn, or Niall, or anyone ever again.

"I-I'm not ready."

"Nobody ever is."

And then Harry realised just how haunted Death was.

He had seen this hundreds of millions of times before.

And it never changed.

Some stupid kid ended their life and then decided that they wanted to take it all back.

But he had a job that needed to get done, so he sent them on their way.

And Harry was just another face in that long, long line of stupid kids.

"It's time to go."

"No, no, I can't, no...please..."

Harry shook his head, the tears streaming down his face.

"It was too much. You did too much."

"Please, please don't do this..."

Death just smiled sadly.

Every time.

This happened every time.

He prayed for immunity from it, but it felt the same without fail. He wished God or Lucifer or whoever had built him had done so without conscience, without compassion, with nothing but apathy.

But no matter how hard he prayed and hoped and wished, it still broke his heart.

They were so young.

And they thought they had nothing left to live for.

Death knew better.

He knew what they would become. He knew what everyone would become.

He knew the places they'd go, the people they'd see the lives they'd touch.

He would collect them when their time was right and then they would come willingly.

But when they tore themselves from life, Death hated that.

And he hated to be the one to make them leave.

But everyone has their job and this was Death's.

And maybe Harry could understand that.

And although his hands were shaking and his body was numb, he reached out and took Death's hand.

Everything was calm, and Harry felt as if he was floating.

He was flying, and free, and he was okay.

He thought that this was what death was meant to be like.

It was meant to be beautiful.

And this was.

But Death wasn't done with him yet.

-s