high flyer // l.s

n i n e

Death took Harry to a room that was completely foreign to him.

It was white and filled with rows upon rows of books.

Upon closer inspection, each book was named.

Harry looked towards Death questioningly.

"It's the Archives. It holds a record of everything that a person has done in their life, and what they will go on to do. We're here because you need to see yours."

Together, the pair trudged through rows upon rows of books, each holding a different person's life story.

Death stopped suddenly and began flicking through the books on a particular shelf.

Harry looked up and saw Gemma's book, saw Anne's book.

Every person to exist and to ever have existed with the last name 'Styles' had their stories printed across these pages.

"Harry."

Death had found the book he was after.

"I need you to read this."

And Death handed the book to Harry, its cover dusty, its spine cracked. The page he'd opened it to smelt like ashes and aging libraries.

"You wrote this when you were thirteen," Death says with eyes as dark as obsidian.

But Harry didn't need to be told that.

He recognised the script of the letters, the curve if the 2s, the sharp backward curve of his Ts.

And he began to read.

27th February, 2007

Dear Journal,

There's this boy at school, and he seems so unhappy.

He's constantly faking his smile and he has these horrific lines up his arms.

There's something wrong.

But there's what can I do?

He gets bullied, and I don't want to go through the same thing.

Please let someone help him.

Harry remembered the boy.

He remembered wanting so desperately to help him, but he was scared.

11th March, 2007

Dear Journal,

Something happened at school.

All of the older kids know, but not my year.

The boy with the sad smile hasn't been in school recently.

I don't know why.

People miss him.

I miss him.

The boy never came back to school. It tore Harry's heart to shreds when he found out the truth.

14th March, 2007

Dear Journal,

The boy with the sad smile is dead.

He took his life on the 7th of March, 2007.

It was his thirteenth birthday.

He left a note.

It wasn't much, it just said that he didn't want to go through another year.

He said he was sorry.

He has nothing to be sorry for.

Only we have to be sorry.

We let him do this to himself.

We didn't care enough.

Or maybe we did, we just never showed it. We just let it happen.

Joseph Hall hung himself on the March 7th.

And I will not let anyone go through the pain that I am going through.

Not if I can help it.

Because Joseph Hall did not deserve to die.

And neither does anyone else.

Harry's hand was shaking as he passed the book back to Death.

He'd promised not to let anyone go through the pain that he felt when Joe had died, and here he was, making so many people feel that pain.

Death took his hand, and suddenly he was amongst an entirely new set of books.

"Read this."

Death handed over another book, but this time it was addressed to him.

Dear Harry,

You're the boy that helped me up.

You're the boy who cleaned my bloody nose, who held ice to my eye.

Thank you.

You probably don't know who I am, but you saved my life, for a short while at least.

But now it is my time to go.

You probably won't see this, and if you do, you probably won't care.

But thank you.

Harry had never seen this before.

There was another segment underneath it, this one so new the ink hasn't yet turned black with age.

Dear Harry,

I'm dead, and I have been for a while.

You're big and successful, but you're so sad.

Don't be sad.

You see, although I'm happy up here, I have regrets.

I could have fought, but I gave up.

Don't give up.

If you're reading this, it means you did what I thought you'd do.

Fight.

Fight death.

Fight yourself.

Survive.

For me, and for Louis.

Because I can't let the people you love hurt like this.

Harry Styles overdosed on the 24th of December, 2014.

But he will not die.

Not if I can help it.

Because Harry Styles does not deserve to die.

And neither does anyone else.

-s