《My Immortals(A One Direction Fanfiction) COMPLETED》Chapter 15
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HARRY'S POV
I stood there and watched her slam the door. How could she think I didn't love her? Why wouldn't she let me finish?
I was going to say,"Gwen, I can't love you any more than I do right now, but I want you safe." But she thought I was telling her I didn't love her?
And when she brought Chris up, she pierced me heart. She reminded me of Chris so much, yet she was completely different. Chris was quiet and afraid to speak out, Gwen isn't afraid to speak her mind. I could go on and on about Chris and Gwen, but I don't have all night.
I didn't mean to call her Chris. It's just, this fight reminded me of one I had long ago. The one I had with Chris. She and I were fighting because it wasn't safe for us to be together. Her father beat her more than usual because she was courting me. She left just like Gwen did, angry and upset. That's when I set out to fight her dad.
I guess the best thing to do is give Gwen some space. She needs to collect her thoughts. Maybe if she thinks it over, she'll realize that I love her.
A break? So we're not together, but we didn't break up? We're just 'on a break.'
I brushed away my tears, only to have them replaced by new ones. I stood up and jogged to my room. The fireplace was already roaring, so I sat down in front of it and pulled my knees to my chest. I rested my chin on my knees as I watched the fire dance in the fireplace.
I replayed the time I asked Gwen out in my head, wishing I had her right here beside me.
A/N awwwww, first chappie in Harry's POV, what's you think? Was it nice to be inside his head? Let me know what you think! Sorry its sooooo short! See ya later!
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Just off the A19, in the dark, incomprehensible lands known as Yorkshire, there lies a town. A town where shadow-silent alleys glint with the secret hunger of knives. Where blood soaks the chipboard window shutters of forsaken terraces stretching off into the night. Where the smog-choked air rattles with the depraved laughter echoing out from clubs that can only generously be described as post-apocalyptic. Well, that’s Middlesbrough. But down the A19 a bit (an impossibly long way down, actually) there lies another town: Raughnen, in the ancient, forgotten Old Riding. It is an equal match in muggery and thuggery alike. It also has magic spells and pointy wizard hats. And now, across the miles and across all sensibilities, a pretty nasty power (a magic one) calls out for its pretty nasty counterpart (a decidedly unmagic one): a proper sound Boro lad. Nothing good can come of it. This is a collection of one novella and four connected short stories: I. A Yorkshire Summoning II. Old Riding Day Trip (the novella) III. Heaven is a Parmo IV. Death on the 66 V. Death on the 257 In total, this comprises 34 chapters totalling around 35,000 words, so try not to worry. It will be over relatively quickly. There are three more short stories with more tenuous links to the core collection: Rush, Paper Round and Scenario 79: Sausage Fingers, all of which can be found in my collection Short Records of Misadventure. Reading these may allow you to make more sense of certain parts of the story, if any sense is to be made at all. NOTE: There are instances of prejudice and discrimination within these stories, including elements of sexism and ageism, which are purely the thoughts and actions of the characters involved and which certainly do not reflect my own views on these matters. ANOTHER NOTE; A WARNING, PERHAPS: This can get a bit weird. In less than 150 pages, we have four viewpoints, first and third person narratives, and a completely disjointed plot with lots of gaps, dead ends and no real resolution. Also ZERO lunatic asylums. It's all a bit odd. If that sort of thing isn't your cup of tea, which it most likely isn't, it might be best to move on now.
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Man is for man - this is an old slogan today. It has lost its uniqueness for the cause of self-centred mentality. Now we cannot hear the chorus songs of unity. Rather the sound of cacophony always do disturb our hearing organ by imposing acute disparity. We don't fly the flag of harmony, uncompromising corrupted selfish hands try to disconnect the rope of the flying flag to take undue advantage. Human being lacks of humane quality. Strangulation of faith is seen here and there. We are losing hope day by day. The act of deflowering is an art. The dignity of woman is mercilessly crushing under the wheel of gender inequality. Filial piety sinks into the ocean of disbelief. Every moment we do feel pangs of neglect sitting under a torn umbrella.
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