Shine (A Harry Styles Fanfiction)

Prologue

(Alexandra Tucker, April 6th)

"Will!" I scream, searching the dry, barren landscape for any sign of him. My throat burns from lack of water and the sun beating down on me burns my skin and scorches the sand I stand on. A harsh wind sweeps across the sand and whips the particles against my bare skin, making it sting on contact.

"Will!" I scream again, whipping my head from side to side, searching for any sign of the boy that I love. Everywhere as far as I can see is sand. Hot sand and blue sky somewhere far away where the land meets the sky; the horizon.

I don't know what makes me do it, but I start to run towards the blinding, white-hot sun. Stumbling through the sand, my feet sink deeper and deeper with each step I take, burning more and more of my body. My face would be soaked with tears by now if I weren't so dehydrated. I ignore the pain and wade through the sand that is now up to my waist. I can feel my skin blister where the burning substance comes in contact with it but I don't stop moving. I need to find him.

Just as the sand reaches chest height and continuing becomes impossible, Will appears in front of me like an angel sent down from heaven. His blonde hair is buzzed short and his uniform and face are stained with mud, which makes me wonder how he managed to find water. The deep blue of his eyes flashes with panic as he sees me.

"Alex! What the hell are you doing here?" he yells running towards me just as I sink down again and the sand covers my shoulders. He desperately tries to dig me out but fails, screaming in agony as the fiery sand leaves blisters on his arms. I am about to reply when a gunshot rings through the air, loud and clear, making me snap my head in the direction it came.

A man stands there, blood dripping from his mouth and a menacing smile on his face that reveals his blood-stained teeth. In his hands he holds a gun, the gun used to fire the shot I heard just seconds ago. This man isn't dead, he is the killer. Which begs the question; who was he shooting at?

A thud sounds from behind me just as the sand creeps up to my chin. I slowly turn around, somehow knowing what I will find when I do. Will has dropped to his knees in front of me, a pained expression on his face. Behind him lie a thousand other soldiers, each one dead and faceless. The pile of their bodies is set on fire, creating a constant wave of heat that is almost unbearable.

Screams of friends and families of the dead soldiers fill the air, but I barely hear them. All I can see is the gaping bullet wound in Will's chest, right over his heart. Blood seeps out of him, staining both his uniform and the ground in front of him deep red. Will looks down at me and smiles one last time before he falls backward into the flames along with his comrades.

The scream that escapes my lips joins the screams of the families of the fallen soldiers. I am one of them now, and Will is one of the many brave men and women who died serving our country. My cries are cut off as the sand engulfs my entirety, covering my mouth, ears, and eyes so that I am submerged in a suffocating darkness.

-

I wake up sweaty and panicked with the sheets twisted around me, something that must have happened while I thrashed in my sleep. My breathing is heavy and my hair whips my face as I desperately shake my head from side to side, trying to clear my thoughts.

He's not dead, he's not dead, I tell myself, wiping the tears from my cheeks as I try to steady my breathing. My mother and father have long since stopped coming into my room every time they hear me screaming; it happens too often. I can't blame them since they were never able to calm me down. The only person who has that capability is almost 8,000 miles away.

Not dead yet, a voice in the back of my head adds before I mentally slap her. I don't need to be thinking like that, not if I can help it. Which I can't, but it feels better to blame my subconscious mind rather than my conscious one.