Home Is You | l.s.

1

(Harry's point of view)

I'm covered in blood. It's hot, and it sticks to my skin. It covers my entire body. And it burns. It burns my skin as it dries, it burns my nose with its smell, and it burns my memory with the bodies it once belonged to. It's a constant reminder of the lives that are lost every moment this war continues. It reminds me of the lives that I've taken with my own hands, something I can never give back. It is a feeling that doesn't go away, even after the blood is gone, washed away with everything else. Memories can't be washed away. I've tried so many times, but they stick with me and burn into my head. Just like the blood burns my skin.

I've watched countless men scream in agonizing pain as they die. They bleed on the sides of roads, knowing that in minutes they'll be dead. Knowing they'll never see their families again and that they're alone.

I've watched my friends die in this war. They're shot right before my eyes, their bodies hitting the ground like stones, one after another. And I can't save them. There's nothing I can do but keep running. Keep going.

I watched my general get shot, his body falling heavily to the ground. He laid on the pavement, gasping for air and groaning in pain. He looked me straight in the eyes and told me to run, to get as far away as I could from this. He said I was too young and innocent to bare the pain of war. But that didn't stop the pain from coming. It came, and it only intensifies as the days turn to weeks, weeks to months.

I've watched thousands of men become just another number added to the list of casualties from this war. Their faces flash through my mind every time I close my eyes. They haunt me, reminding me of the things I've done. The things I will never be able to take back. I don't want to kill. I don't want to be killed. I want to go home. I want to see my family. I want to forget everything.

But I can't. This war has taken everything from me. My sanity, my hope, my joy, and it crushes it before my eyes. I have nothing left. I'm broken. And all that remains is the lifeless body of a man, with the memories to haunt him for a lifetime. Nothing can save me from this pain.

I let out a loud cry as the thoughts circle through my head for the millionth time. I cover my ears with my hands and dig my nails into my scalp, trying to block out the sound of gunshots. I squeeze my eyes shut, but the faces are there. The bodies are there. I scream as loud as I can and tense all my muscles, willing the pain to go away. But it doesn't.

Another bomb goes off yards away from me, the impact throwing me into a wall. I yell as I hit the ground and immediately curl my knees into my chest. I rock back and forth and cover my head. The tears keep coming, forming a steady stream down my face. I want it all to stop. I want it all to go away. I just want to die.

"Styles!"

Large hands grab my uniform and shake my body violently. "Harry get up!"

I sob and shake my head, squeezing my eyes closed. "I can't!"

"Yes you can! Come on!" The hands pull me to my feet and push me forward. I pick my head up and swipe at my eyes as I stumble.

"GO GO GO!"

I'm pushed again, the movement setting me in motion and I take off running. I leave the screaming men and burning buildings behind. I run through the streets and towards the train station as fast as my legs will carry me.

The sound of my boots echo through the street off the buildings, once occupied by civilians. The people are long gone, having packed up and left to search for safety.

But there is no safety. No one is safe during this war. You can't hide from it. It corrupts everything in its path and leaves nothing but destruction behind. It's unforgiving and cold. It's responsible for all the pain and the death that surrounds me now. And it will be responsible for all the pain and death that has yet to come.