Reaper [Zarry]

Harry

I'm late, I'm late, I'm late late late. Whisking up some papers I left scattered on the dining table, hastily pouring some coffee into my reusable cup. My hair is a mess, tie knotted lazily.

Time isn't on my side. I'm racing, rushing, running out of the door, fumbling for my car keys, shakily turning them in the ignition.

My mind is somewhere else today. I don't know why my alarm didn't wake me up. Maybe it did and I hit snooze and rolled back over.

There's a car coming from the other direction, barreling through an obviously red light. It's too late, the vehicle in front of me already driving through the green signal

and then

a

c r a s h

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l

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The impact is jarring, scraps of metal flying, tires squealing, flames fanning. Smoke billows from the windows and my heart is racing in my chest, body trembling as I grip the steering wheel. My knuckles turn white and I release a breath, somewhat relieved.

It's so fucking selfish.

That could have been me. What if I wouldn't have been running late? Could that have been my car, completely smashed?

The thought makes me shiver deeply and I'm on my phone, dialing help, cheeks stained with tears.

I could have died today. I've never really thought about it. I'm too young. Usually I just shrug it off, push it to the back of my mind.

It's like I think I'm invincible. Everyone dies. It doesn't matter how old you are, how rich you are, how strong you are.

I have a lot of will to live.

That means nothing.

Because it's real. I swallow the lump in my throat, reporting the scene of the accident with a broken voice.

My heart shatters with the wail of the sirens. I'm quivering at the sight of a stretcher.

By the time I get to work, I'm full on sobbing at my desk, still shaken up.

My concentration is lost. Did I call my mum today? Did I tell her I love her?

Suddenly, I feel empty. A pang of regret strikes me and my heart is weeping until there's nothing left.

I never say it enough. I never appreciate what I have. I don't cherish every moment. I check the time too often and curse my luck.

Why am I in such a hurry? Where am I going? Where do all those people on the streets scurry off to? What's so important?

I've never been religious but I'm clasping my hands together, head bowing as I mumble

"Please please please be okay. It wasn't even their fault. It wasn't even their fault."

My pulse is strumming in my neck.

All the innocent lives taken each day: taken by suicide because they think they don't matter, those taken by violence, by the sharp blade of a knife or eyesight failing, gunshots ringing in their ears.

I'm alive, I'm alive.

"Thank you," I exhale gratefully."Thank you God, thank you."

Always count your blessings Harry. Pray before you eat. Be patient. Be kind. Take nothing for granted.

"Hello?"

"Mum," I let out an anguished cry. "I'm okay but there was an accident on the way to work. I saw it all happen. I saw it-" my voice cracks. "I miss you. I want to hear your voice."

"Oh Harry," she replies softly. "You're always working. You never come to see me. I'd be so crushed if that was you. I can't afford to think like that. You're my baby. I love you so much."

"I love you too," I whisper. "With all my heart."

"Maybe you should take some of those vacation days, you've been so stressed lately. It can't be good for your health."

"Okay," I chuckle. "I'm getting that promotion next week. I'm determined."

If there even is a next week.

"I'm sure everything will turn out just fine love. Don't stress about it too much, okay?"

"Alright, I've gotta go."

When I get home, I'm exhausted. I flop onto the couch and switch on the telly. The news is blaring and my eyes strain as they stay glued to the flashing screen.

A young woman and her infant. Both dead on impact. The man is in critical condition.

We could have swapped places. Rather it have been me than them.

Who decides fate? Is God really that cruel? Why did he spare me and not them? What did they ever do wrong?

Why not one more day?

Buying time, that's our favorite thing. A human folly.

We have no control over time. We don't choose when we die. It just happens.

I busy myself in an attempt to take my mind off things but I'm itching to understand why. It doesn't make any sense.

My feet tap nervously and chew at the cap of my pen, scrolling down the page as I add something to an Excel spreadsheet.

What's the meaning of this, of working so hard when I'm just going to die anyway?

Shouldn't I be happy? I've been stuck in this mindset for too long: hard work and dedication equals happiness. It might bring success but am I really truly happy?

I feel hallow and alone, suffocated by work; smothered by prospects of money and climbing up the rungs of the corporate ladder.

Is that who I am? Surely not. I used to be so carefree. I didn't care how much money was in my bank account. All I cared about was things that matter. Things you can't count.

You can't count the brightness of a smile or the softness of someone's voice. You can assign values to a lot of things but not people. No person is worth more than another.

Everyone makes mistakes but they don't define us.

What I care about is the way my mates chuckle after I crack a joke. The gentle hum of a song on the radio and the warmth of the sun of my skin.

I'm here on this Earth for a reason: to change things. To make a meaningful impact.

If I can touch just one person, I can die happy. That's all I really wish for.

A/N: I love Harry so much 😭😭😭