Harry in Greendale//h.s au

Chapter One

Harry

I thought it had started on the first day of winter. The day I met her. It was the beginning of the end of my life.

I was seated on a wooden chair, a pencil in my pale and quivering hand, when I first saw her for who she was. She had been in the background of my life for a while now; a little whisper over there and a fragment of brown hair in the corner of my eye, but never had she been the focus of my view.

If only it was that simple.

Day after day I watched her. She wouldn't talk or look up from her book, but she seemed content with the loneliness in a way I never was. To me, loneliness was something to be feared—a poisonous substance to be avoided. Although, I had a deadly habit of ignoring the toxic label on intricately detailed colourful bottles and swallowing it whole.

Rose used to sit in the same chair as this new girl. I would draw her with my finest pencils with the utmost admiration.

A smile covered my face at the mere thought of her.

Rose.

R

        O

S

         E.

R-O-S-E.

Beautiful. Happy. Lovely. Mine.

She was the gatekeeper of my soul. The purpose of my life. The rainbow after the storm. She was my oxygen and my smile and my pity and my pain.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

In the time it would take for a bullet to leave a gun, my grin had disappeared.

I took a death breath. I needed to forget it. They told me I needed to let go of that night. To let go of Rose. But the moment I let go of her would be the moment I let go of myself.

I got out my pencils and started to draw the girl. She reminded me of death. Immortal sadness was hidden in her every action, but unfortunately for her, she shared a pulse with the living.

With every swift turn of my hand, memories of my darling Rose flooded into my mind until it blocked out my present.

When I looked up I saw her: the love of my life--the girl who made my life worthwhile but took my soul away the second she left. My heart jumped into my throat and I ogled at the perfection that sat before me. Her blonde ringlets cascaded down her back and peach lipstick was drawn perfectly on her thin lips.

She looked up from the blue rocking chair nearest to the window. Her eyes squinted and her blindingly bright teeth were on full display. With a wave of her hand, my sanity slipped away from my body for a mere few minutes.

Miss Lolita rushed over to me and snapped me out of the beautiful nightmare. It had been occurring more often lately. It was quite peculiar. In my therapy sessions, I wanted to tell them of these hallucinations, but I feared being labelled more insane than I already was.

It was okay, I told myself. Everything was okay. Seeing your dead fiancé wasn't that bizarre, was it?

I had become lost in my own world and oblivious to the tears that had formed in the corners of Miss Lolita's blue eyes as she bent down and wrapped her arms around my waist. She gave me another tight squeeze before she sat down on the chair opposite me.

I leant forward, my eyes focused on the chair, hoping desperately to see the pair of icy blue eyes I had fallen in love with, but the familiarity of disappointment flooded my blood stream.