The year is 1872, the Rogues of London move away from their hometown and out to sea in search of new adventure. However, oceans bite back, pirates are waiting, and stranger love is to be found out there.
Larry Stylinson, including all of One Direct...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Our old man passed away last month. He left us the same day that the apple tree lost its blossom, early and in the morning that seemed colder than the others. I wonder if it was he who had taken the world's heat, for a man as good as he used to be was definitely not worthy of a hurtful death like the one that had ended him. On that day-that day in early spring-he'd collapsed on the floor from a heart attack, and when he had, the last of the sun disappeared behind a dark cloud.
When I think about it, I think that perhaps his ending was one he'd needed. His thin hair had fallen out, he'd stammer so much when he spoke that no one could understand and it'd frustrate him. When he'd serve coffee in his beloved Coffee House, the watered-down liquid always drizzled down the sides of the teacups. I'll never say it aloud, but perhaps his end was his new beginning, and even if it must have been a frightening way to die, it was probably for the best.
Harry hadn't taken it well at first, but then who would? He'd grown up in his old man's arms, learned every trick in the book from him, and to have someone just announce his sudden death like the doctors had done, Harry couldn't have possibly reacted any other way than the way he had.
He'd stormed out of the house, smashing the sign on his leave, and he hadn't returned until the morning after; spending the whole night getting drunk off his arse in the Marilyn Bar by the port.
I don't think he'll ever get over his old man's death; he doesn't know it, but I can hear him cry in his sleep. He gets nightmares, dreams where he'll shout out and cry, and sometimes they get so bad that I have to shake him awake. That makes me wonder, it makes me wonder if what he'd been making me believe this whole time is actually true? Was it possible for a man like Harry to just walk away from his burning family, or was he just ashamed about the fact that he couldn't save them, and had convinced himself that he'd not had the heart to care?
In any case, it's too late. They're gone, the old man is too, and many more will probably leave. Death always conquers life, and it's up to the living to reciprocate gifts in exchange for the good times they had received. However, we won't be here to lay fresh marigolds on our old man's grave, nor will we be here to remember those who've come and gone in this town where we live. You see, we're going on a journey but this time- we won't ever return.
*
Over the sounds of larks in the trees and business men rushing to their meetings, a sweet and serene voice could be heard.
"If I bloody fall in, I'll make sure to drag you down with me!"
"You won't fall.. When have I ever let you down, silly little boy?.."
"Do you honestly want me to answer that?! My skin will decay if it touches salt water for too long, I'm warning you, that's what the plague doctors have been saying."
A single blue eye watched both men on the dock. It observed with a cold, stern gaze that couldn't mean anything other than a harsh judgement. For sure, the Leader of the Steampunks was fighting every fibre of his calm composure, wondering how long it would take him until he'd crack and let out his outburst of anger. A breath left his lips, warm but heartless as he picked up the nearest object around him. Without a word or a change of expression, he flung the metal spanner between the men, listening to it bounce off the edge of the dock and plop as it landed in the water. Both voices stopped, and two surprised faces turned.
