Madness ➮ Harry Styles AU

B1

Harry

The tires of my bicycle rolled faster and faster, synchronized with the motion of my feet. I watched with tired eyes as the narrow wheel crushed every red, orange, or yellow leaf (sadly I couldn't determine the color, for it was far too dark) that was unfortunate enough to lie it's path. Looking back, the institution grew smaller and smaller, until it was just a tiny spec surround by the blackness of the night sky; delicately dusted with sprinkles of twinkling stars. I was alone for the most part, except for the minority of cars that whizzed by from time to time.

And I liked it that way. I liked being alone. I didn't need to impress anyone, pretend to be something I'm clearly not, or just simply be pressured with the presence of other people. I don't mean that I'm antisocial or anything, I'm just saying that I prefer to be alone. Of course, being constantly surrounded by large groups of mentally unstable patients doesn't help with that, but... hey, it's a paid internship, so I do whatever I can do to raise money. Currently, I'm juggling four jobs, and yet... I barely make minimum wage.

But life goes on, and if you don't make money, then tough luck. You don't like your job? Deal with it. Have to life on the streets, basically scraping off of other, slightly more fortunate people's loose change? You have to manage.

The world is cold, cruel place, and anyone who thinks otherwise is either a fool, or wanted dead for living such a high, isolated life.

My mum says I should be thankful. Thankful that I have food on my plate, and a sheltering roof above my head. Frankly, and rather selfishly, I'm not.

I'm not grateful that I have to waste my life slaving the day away, while others get paid for doing absolutely nothing. I don't mean to sound arrogant, I just think it isn't fair. I've always wanted to do something with my life, something memorable, something worth repeating, yet.. I'm stuck here; working sixteen out of the eighteen hours of my wake.

With a deep and heavy sigh, I pushed down the metal kick stand of my bike, the scratching of the rust hurting my ears. It was very dark out, but luckily the grocery store was still open... not like I was expecting it to be closed anyways.

Above the automatic doorway, was a massive sign, illuminated in cursive, red letters. "Smith's" it read, with a smaller, more dull sign to the left sincerely promising, "a better, and more family friendly shopping experience."

I had absolutely no idea of what that cheesy slogan was supposed to mean. Although, I suppose it would be a bit more humorous, as well as more accurate if it said: "Exceptionally average!" because that's all it was. Just like any other normal grocery store.

I walked through the sliding, black double doors, while a cool rush of air originating from strange machine above, engulfed me. My feet carried me almost automatically to the right side of the store, where I picked up a bouquet of assorted, seemingly random flowers, and the cheapest, mylar balloon I could find. It was light pink, and shaped like a heart, the shiny paper reflecting off the hard light. I proceeded to check out to pay for my items with an employee who looked like he'd rather jump off the empire state building than scan my casual gifts.

I then left the place as abruptly as I arrived, not wanting to waste anymore valuable time. My knuckles were white against the rubber handle bars, and the balloon was tied into a pathetic bow on the left handle. I begun to grow even more tired than I thought was humanly possible, which made me wonder what would happen if I just passed out on the sidewalk. My long, unruly hair danced in the wind. I had wanted a haircut for quite some time, but between all of my jobs and errands, I hadn't had the time or money to do so.

After approximately fifteen long minutes that stretched themselves out much further than they should, I found myself parked in front of my destination; sweaty and tired as hell.