My name is Harry. Harry Styles. I was born about a hundred years ago to a man and a woman who everyone presumed was a very happy couple. I use the word presumed, because it wasn’t so. We were middle class workers. My dad and I would work together and did from the moment that I was of age to do so. My sister and my mum stayed home, spending their days trying to impress people who didn’t matter. The neighbors were always coming to parties that they hosted and my father and I were dressed to impress every night that we held these occasions. I absolutely hated them.

But my mum was lonely and needed friends that weren’t my sister, Gemma. My father and I were always gone off to work so that we could afford what we had without struggle, but work itself was a struggle and I began to wonder if it was really worth it. I was not the only one to think this. After all, there is nothing worse than a lonely woman. She turned to the affections of a not so rich man and one day father and I got off work early. Gemma was off shopping for grocery and when we walked in to catch them in a moment of passion, my father was never the same.
Their marriage was crumbling and so was I. The family I loved and adored was not as picture perfect as I let the other’s believe. My family was so wrapped in sin and lust and giving into their own needs. My father driven by his greed to succeed and my mother driven by her lust for a man that was not her husband. Then Gemma became pregnant out of wedlock and I began to wonder what was wrong with me? What was my sin then? It took me a few months to come to the conclusion.
It happened when I met a boy who was working alongside me for the first time, though he was a bit older than me. He had these bright blue eyes and this light brown hair and he was always smiling. He had this laugh that could make even the saddest soul cheery and he had a mum who was very nice to me when I met her. It wasn’t until I spent the night at his house that I realized my sin. It had manifested into a being and not only that, but one of the same sex. I loved him. I wanted him. I had him. The love we made that night was striking and I had to cover his mouth with my hand to ease the sound of his pleasure filled moans as I drove the most private part of me inside of him again and again until this feeling of ecstasy and bliss was overwhelming me yet escaping me through a white fluid that spilled out of him the moment I pulled out. He was my sin.
It wasn’t long before our love making became frequent. We were merely teenagers driven by our sin. My hands spreading his rear, hitting that spot that made him squeal so delicious again and again. Then one day we told each other we loved each other, because how could we not after so much love making? I dreamed of him constantly and missed him when we could not be around each other. We planned to run away when we got enough money. We planned to go somewhere where they would accept us, though we didn’t know where. We never got there though.
I found out he had hung himself the day after my 19th birthday. He’d apparently told his father he was in love with another man and had been told to get out of the house in the name of Jesus. He’d gone to supposedly pack his things, but when his father came into his room in an angry rage, the other was there, hanging and lifeless. I never got to see his body. I never got to say goodbye to him. My life became a miserable downward spiral and I began to touch myself a lot. I desired him and he was dead. My head just wouldn’t wrap around the fact that he was gone. He was truly gone.
My pain became unbearable. My heart ached from living and breathing the air that I no longer shared with the love of my life, so I did not beg when the local man came to me with knives and threatened my life and accused me of the things that were true, that I had loved a man. I did not beg for my existence to remain in tact and I did not scream when they tied me to the bed in my own room. I did not cry when they sodomized me, all of them. The turns they took on me and the names they called me did not shatter me. You cannot break an already broken man.
They asked if I had any last words and I had none. One of the men slit my throat and I was gone or so I thought. My heart still felt heavy. The tears finally coming as I watched what they did to the empty shell of what I used to be. My pale hands over my mouth as they stabbed my body again and again, but I felt nothing at all. Their hatred for me and the one I loved was not that of the God I had believed in for all these years, but then this must be part of the hell I was supposed to join for doing such things with the one I had loved so intensely. Watching my body become mutilated and the hateful words written on the walls in my blood must have been some sort of hell made especially for me. It just had to be. But it didn’t end there.
One hundred years later, I had seen so many people move into this house. I’d seen my family mourn over my death. I’d seen Gemma give birth to her little boy and name him after me in my honor, but that was over the course of a year. I’m speaking of a hundred years. This house gained bad memories and soon my family left for good and another family moved in and another and another and another. I’d made a point to scare them off, because I didn’t want them to be here. I wanted to be alone. I wanted to stop seeing the sins of families. The father who cheated just like my mother and the son who had raped his own sister. I found disgust in the human kind for so long and it only got worse as time flew by.
People fixed up the house. They added a bathroom inside, which fascinated me. The devices grew more technological and they could do things I couldn’t have even fathomed. Yet such amazing things were made by such disgusting creatures, disgusting creatures like myself and I wondered why would God ever love us. Why would god ever love me? Then I came to the conclusion that he didn’t, because I was still here instead of up there and surely Satan must hate me too because I was not in full out hell as I had imagined it, nor had I come across the fallen angel. I doubted that I ever would and I supposed that that was alright.
But then he came. A family that seemed rather large for this house. Of course there was a mum and a dad, but there were four little girls and the one boy, not to mention that the mum seemed to look as if she was pregnant again. Why were they moving into a small three bedroom house? It was strange, though the house was quite big for the amount of bedrooms it contained. I had seen the dad come in with a woman who was selling the house and now here they were. I didn’t linger too much on the fact that they had so many kids though. It was hard to the moment I laid eyes on him. His bright blue eyes and light brown hair. His facial features having a striking resemblance to the boy I had once loved. It couldn’t be though.
I was quite surprised when he got the room that was once mine to himself. The blood that had been on these walls had long been painted over dozens of times since I had died, so there were no signs of my existence besides my soul, which ached as I watched him unpack his things. It was the first ever thing I had felt in about half a century. By then I had gone from mourning to completely numb, but now the pain was so clear and precise, I wasn’t sure if I could ever not feel again.
It was the way he bit his lip as he pulled on the flaps of the box that was tapped up to keep his things in there during their ride. It was the way he lightly shook his hips to the music he had playing from a strange device that was a bright purple, something most boys would never carry around or even wear if it were back in my time. Then it was the way he sang along, the little whine in his voice that reminded me of my lover’s moans and grew tense, but not lonely as I decided to spend my days watching him, loving him for all that he was. The faces he made and the sound of his voice. There were moments that I was sure he felt me there, standing next to him and desperate to hold his hand. He’d shiver and move away. It wasn’t until the day he had a sleep over with a couple of guy friends while his parents and sisters were out of town that I finally got to properly meet him. Him, Louis Tomlinson.