Repent

prelude

HARRY'S POV

She stared at me with her underestimated, heartbreaking irises, scrutinizing me with her perceptions. "The way you can end all of this, Harry, is for you to converse with your rivals. Those people out there, they want to kill you, to mesh you into abandoned sand at the souls of our feet."

Her high but light comprehensible voice tinged through the empty space, sending harsh, undeniable shivers down my spine, my eyes glued to hers fearlessly, like tape onto a flat surfaced paper. I gulped, audibly. "You're not guilty, Harry. All the lies, the cheating, the rumours that had been going around about you, and to you, I believe that they're not true."

Her worthiness, her trust, her courage, her words, all the features, the quality that rang through her was enough to make me rethink my thoughts, over and over again, just like going in a never ending journey.

Emptiness gripped through the quality of the room, nothing but silence covered our atmosphere. Guilt, passion, and confusion raided my whole clouded, figurative mind. A tight, coy, sly smile was plastered onto her soft, plump looking lips, enough to make me return the actions, but not all, not all of her equally favoured smile that had me drenched from all the evil that I thought rang through me.

The chanting of each, and every one of them were heard blaring through every space of this building that I had been so, so kindly but not in my favoured ask to arrive in. The beating of my heart was fast enough just like how my mind was reeling on me running, sprinting, freeing myself out of the building, out onto the road, into freedom. Freedom for life. Simply, the screaming, yelling, chanting of protestors had my thought spinning the other, negative direction.

"For all of my time in here, I didn't know that my progress could lead me to death." My words were shaken, shivered, out of tune, scared shitless, eyes bulged out in all, full, equality of fear that raced down my body like snake slithering down onto a flat surface of a floor.

My lips trembled in the thought of dying, leaving the world in a very, very painful way. The thought of my neck, snapped into two, or a knife hunched into my bare back, draining out the blood from each and every one of my insides, my eyes, my vision getting dizzier, while getting dizzier. And once again, I'm dead, just like my nightmares, like my painful, intense, dreams. Or either, their professional ropes invented from consequences. I shivered. I hovered over the thought of my life ending in guilt, pain, regret.

"Progress takes a lot of work, death, well . . . it's simple,"

Her hands were tightly clutched onto that damn pen that she carried all the time, my chest heaving up and down at her whole speech. The time of that I had been waiting for had happened, and I couldn't believe my thoughts of having a chance of surviving.

Soft, baby blue, gentle, famous, irresistible orbs stared at me after her words being said, after the whole sentence that flowed, freely, with all the whole right in the world, from her mouth. I knew, so, so desperately that she needed to reach her hand out, forming hers against mine, so perfectly. My heart fluttered, manly. "If words are not spoken in time of extinction, how are you going to be able to survive?"

How? How? How could I survive this with even words being spoken? How could I say what I was thinking without one lash to my bare back? The marks, the expulsion, the witness of their cruelty, their crude behaviours were plastered behind the skin of my tanned flesh, my eyes wavered around the space of the closet.

This was my last time. My last minute. My last time to say the truth from my mouth. How could I say the truth? When, I didn't even have the right to have a mouth in this damn place. How could I speak my mind? Through her words, how could I set myself free, from the cruelty, pain of each of them? The protesters. This was, my last chance. My last chance to speak, yell, scream, all the damn things that I could do, right now.

I could, go out there, stare like a fool, and get charged.

Or, I could . . .I could, repent.