Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
CHAPTER THREE. . . Greek Tragedy
"The truth is rarely pure and never simple." Oscar Wilde, The Importance of Being Earnest
What will his verse be. . ? The question lingers in the back of August's mind, cementing it's place as the current bane of his existence. Or one of the many banes. August Darlington already has an idea of what his verse entails: a teenager with an anti-establishment, if the world fucks me I'll fuck it right back, streak, all in the effort to gain his mother and father's attention. A Greek tragedy in the making: complete with absent parents and a teetering-on-the-edge-of-being-exiled Prince! August knows that Euripides and Sophocles would have a fucking field-day with the shit show that he has created. And the impending sunset paints the perfect picture for the next backdrop of August's tragedy; the warm reds and oranges of the ever advancing sun blurring together against the sky. The next scene? The Gryffindor Quidditch team meeting on the Pitch.
August holds a lit cigarette between his fingers, flexing his bruised knuckles that echo with phantom pain-the remnants of yesterday's sins. In his other hand, The Odyssey lays within the light, just enough sun for his eyes to scan the pages with keen interest. Excitedly, he's nearing it's completion. August's eyes flicker up from the pages, watching Lily huff with effort as she makes her way up the stairs of the Quidditch stands, brushing a hand against August's shoulder. He smiles softly, and crookedly-the glow of the sunset making his brown eyes even more piercing than usual, and his muscles rippled under his white shirt as he closes The Odyssey, and sets it down on the seat beside him.
"I wish you'd let me heal them." Lily says, into the quiet. "It won't take long or even hurt, I promise."
August shakes his head, sucking in a drag of smoke, and Lily furrows her brows in confusion.
"Why not?" Presses Lily. She crosses her arms with an agitated huff.
"I have a Quidditch meeting." August dismisses.
He feels for his book, running a thumb over the tattered pages as he bites the inside of his lip. He rises from his seat, shoving the book into his bag as he goes. August makes the move to step down the stairs towards the exit of the stands.
But Lily catches his wrist, holding him in place. "August, please just-"
"Lily," August pulls her closer, using his grip on his wrist, "I said no."
August pulls his wrist from Lily's grip, making his way down the stairs before she can catch it again. Head snapping to look down the side of the pitch, James' voice rings through the crisp air.
