[ hi ] h.s.

▒Prologue▒

▒Song of the chapter - Mad World by Gary Jules (I recommend listening to it throughout this chapter but it's entirely up to you)▒

▒Notice: This chapter in particular can/may be triggering with talks of suicide so please keep that in mind whilst reading and be cautious. I will put a notice at the top of any chapter where there happens to be sensitive language used▒

▒Prologue▒

1944

I stand in the heart of the dead attic. I carefully observe my visible breath, escaping the barricade of my raw lips in rushed, hurried puffs. My salted tears feel significantly more nipping in this room, the cool moisture reacting in an alien manner against the hot and flushed flesh of my cheeks. I feel goose bumps form over my naked arms and I hear my teeth begin to chatter together, rushed and frantic, much similar to the unpleasant thoughts running through my head.

It's no use pushing them away now.

What's done is done.

It's too late for me now.

It's early December, the weather being cold, unforgiving and unwelcoming - exactly mirroring the essence of what I feel in this so-called 'family' home. I hate this damn house and hope that one day all that remains will be a lonely pile of powered ashes and nothing else.

I gently set my candle down on the stack of old, unused art equipment that I never got round to using, the magnolia wax dripping down onto my forefinger in the process burning a small expanse of skin, but I don't care. At this point, I am frankly too tired to care.

The buttery glow of the small flare illuminates only a small space of the attic, the glow barely reaching the four corners of the room but it's beautiful nonetheless and the glow feels enchantingly warm. For a moment I'm infatuated with the simplicity of the flame; how it sways and burns so delicately and effortlessly in sync with the draft of cold attic air.

Beauty that can be easily diminished...just as easily as it could burn and destroy.

I sigh whilst intently watching a single bead of wax drip lazily down the shaft of the candle. It isn't rushed or frantic, it simply travels down the slope at it's own desired pace. I've never felt more tranquil in this peculiar moment. Despite why I am up in this room, I feel surprisingly calm and at peace. Almost as if I was meant to be here, to perpetually stay in freeze-frame of inner serenity.

I would without a doubt stay here forever if I could but the unfortunate fact is that life is a constant and I simply can't keep up with the continual ammunition thats being thrusted in my direction.

No one can dodge bullets with a lack of armour.

I drag my aimless gaze away from the enticing flickering flame and turn to the glazed window, wishing to admire the open countryside sky one final time. The glass happens to be patterned with dozens of little beads of moisture, which I quickly swipe away with my hand without much thought. I don't bother wiping away the uncomfortable wetness on my trousers for there is no point. I simply deal with the unpleasant chill. I have lost the will to care anymore.

The sky is a dark, a dreamy inky shade of indigo and there are no stars, the moon seeming to stand out immensely brighter than usual against the somber expanse. It looks breathtakingly beautiful. Big, full and gloriously charming.

I allow yet another single tear solemnly depart my water-duct, it's bitty being languidly travelling down the side of my nose before comfortably settling in the concave of my cupids bow. This is the last time I will be gazing out at the peaceful night sky; my favourite thing of this world. I know wherever I may be going next that I will miss the view from this window.

If there is a heaven, I hope it's in the highest of highs, settled somewhere with a hell of a view...if I'm actually lucky and blessed enough to go there that is.

I shamelessly release a blustering sob as I press my palm against the window, immediately feeling the icy glass against my skin. My mouth parts at the contact and a shaky breath is released instantly steaming up the glass of the window pane again.

I shake my head in definite defeat.

It's time and I have to do this now.

I am not a coward.

I steadily tread backwards from the picturesque window, positioning my somehow numbed self in the centre-most part of the room.

I breathe in.

And out.

And in.

And out.

I close my eyes.

And without fault I successfully do it.

I feel the sudden required pain causing me to abruptly release an involuntary groan followed instantaneously by the unpleasant sound of my breath catching in my windpipe. I hear the clamorous crash of my body rudely greeting the ground, one of the wooden floorboards innocently squeaking under my weight.

That's the last thing I feel; my body limp against the chilled flooring.

It's sudden and quick - just how I wanted to go.

My vision blurs gradually until my eyes are completely blinded, but just as soon as the darkness arrived a crisp, clean, bright, white light takes over my eyesight.

For a moment, I think I know where I am but when the white glow begins to dilute, I see it.

I'm standing up in the attic and right in front of me, I see my body lie there, in a lifeless heap on the floor. My eyelids blink rapidly trying to process the abnormal scene.

As I'm observing it, I instantly feel a pang of guilt, rendered by the confusion of the surrealism of the uncanny situation.

What the hell is happening?

I let out a pained wail fueled by my frustrated bewilderment before strutting angrily over to the nearest wall of the enclosed space. Without much thought, I raise a clenched fist before jabbing it violently with force against the surface in an attempt to try and release my shear fury.

My fist goes straight through the paneling. Shocked, I slowly begin to retract my hand, my eyes carefully grazing over the skin.

What just happened?

I must be having another one of my nightmares.

This isn't real.

I walk back to the center of the space and stare down at the body.

I feel like a crazed maniac.

I am hallucinating.

I sit down uneasily, legs crossed on the floor, my eyes staring at the pool of blood forming around the figure like a stencil. Some of the crimson liquid escapes my view by vanishing between the cracks in the hardwood.

This isn't what I wanted.

I know now, when it's unforgivingly too late that I, Harry Edward Styles, immediately regret my decision.

▒Author's note:▒

I never write fanfic but I was talking to a good friend of mine who requested I write a Harry fic for her birthday and I love harry and one direction so I might as well am i right ladies ?

ayy lmao

So this is for you Julie, Happy Birthday you cupcake x

Hope you guys enjoy

- em