It is said that Adam and Eve were perfect until they disobeyed God. That they are the reason why there is an apocalyptic-like infection in humankind that causes us all to—at one point in our lives—become greedy, irresponsible people. But have we forgotten that it is God that knows how we will be born, live, and die? He had the power to stop them from eating the forbidden fruit, but he didn’t. He watched them before the world was thought to be flat in the large garden, he watched them disobey him.
Which was exactly why Harry hadn’t believed in God since adolescence. Yet, he still got the tattoo on his hand during his teenage years. God was, and still continues to be, a bystander. One of the people in a crowd staring at the opponents in a fist fight. One of the people that watches a murder but says nothing. God is the most disgusting bystander, and Harry hated him. Harry hated God, wanted nothing to do with the possibility that Harry resided on the earth because of the man. Because should God exist, it was God’s fault that his tainted future had happened to him. It was this possibly fictional man that had ruined him.
Well, God and Jane. Before God and Jane fucked him up, Harry was okay. Or, rather, it was Harry that fucked up one of the two others which resulted in his own self-demolishing. Either way, it seemed either Jane and/or God were the reason for Harry’s self-implosion. It was probably the both of them, because he’d managed to fuck up along the lines of Jane, and God didn’t like people fucking with his perfect little angels. So that was that.
But before that, somewhat aeneous flecked eyes skimmed Die With Me while feeling slightly empty since he’d skipped breakfast to get to the library earlier than Jane’s shift started but, of course, she was as early as he was to make up for her tardiness the previous day. Jane helped many children with finding their parents, checking out books, and directing which section contained what. It’d become an easy thing to do once she’d gotten used to it over the few short years she’d spent at Oakheart, and she began to love it as time went on.
Her mind couldn’t help but to drift to Harry. How his purpose was to no longer come to the library to see her—not that she was even positive he always came for her—but to read. Read his own book that he could just read at his own home with his own copy. Endless copies could be supplied to him, yet he showed up to one of the most known libraries in all of New York to read. Jane guessed it was because there was no true environment in his own home; there weren’t other people to observe, different smells to ponder, almost endless novels to read, and the sometimes interesting librarians.
Harry picked up on Jane’s habit of biting the inside of her cheek, and he found himself doing so while reading. Why was Andrew such a self-centered bastard, Harry wondered. Of course, he knew that Andrew wasn’t depicted to be a selfish type of person, other than ignoring Olivia’s battered state so he could find his own closure while ignoring the closure she needed to survive. Andrew didn’t think of the fact that he could get hit by a bus and it wouldn’t matter because he was already six feet under, but Olivia couldn’t carelessly cross the street. He dragged her along without asking more questions than necessary, “Are you hungry?” Things like that. Andrew was accidentally selfish, Harry told himself, he just had yet to figure out why he’d written the character to be that blind to others’ feelings.
Sometimes characters reflect the author. Some intentionally, some accidental. If the author was a nice person, at least one of the characters was based off of the author, in the author’s opinion of themselves, of course. Had Harry blindly written Andrew about himself? Having tunnel vision and only seeing his own happiness at the end, not paying attention to the people around him and his lack of peripheral vision to those who are hurt around him. Was Andrew a wake up call, or just another excuse to press the snooze button and continue on with this illusion that Harry was always right, no matter what?
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Burgundy || HS
Fanfiction[COMPLETED] A color so dark that possesses such potential-burgundy. Could a color so dark be deemed worthy of love? If black could be the inevitable twilight and it could be adored with a side of whiskey, then surely burgundy could be worthy of some...
