~Who the hell have I been kidding,
I sold my soul to the corporation
And only got it known myself
I better shut it up, I better shut it up
I growled as I tagged the wall in front of me. It was dark enough for people not to notice me from a distance, but it wasn’t too dark that I would be late home. My parents were overly religious. I wasn’t allowed outdoors often, so this was a piece of freedom that I relished. I should probably be in church right about now…
Not that I did anything that normal fifteen year olds would do. I don’t like shopping too much, instead choosing to spend my time creating ‘art’ all over the walls of the city. This was London, and it was free-range for a young graffiti artist like myself to do as I wished. Hardly anyone cared about the words written on the walls of the train station, vending machines, parked cars that hadn’t been used for years, abandoned by their owners. As long as I didn’t get caught.
My name’s Hope, some stupid name my parents called me because of their biblical readings. I’m not too religious myself, I don’t really see the point of it in today’s society. I mean, all you see in the news is one religion against another in war. If Islam and Christianity alike pride themselves in peace, then why do we have the Afghan War, Al Qaeda and the likes? Confusing, yes, but it’s got you thinking. It came to my attention a while back that some religions just don’t practice what they preach.
You got a problem with the way I think?
I got a problem with the way you think
That you can program me like a damn machine
I’m gonna stand and say fuck this scene
I jumped as I heard the screech of a siren.
“Damn.” I quickly stuck the can of spray paint back into my Spongebob Squarepants bag. I had left a massive purple gash in the wall, lines of yellow and green following along it. I looked back and forth down the small alley that weaved its way down the side of the train station. There was no one coming, the only inhabitants of the walkway besides myself being drug addicts, smokers and homeless people. No, this wasn’t exactly the place my parents would expect a girl my age to be.
I jumped the turnstile and made my way over to the platform. The sun had almost set, and I knew I’d be in a whole lot of trouble the minute I entered the front door back home. I guess I could always argue there wasn’t that much for me to come back to. We weren’t exactly rich, and the little money left over after the bills were being paid went straight to the church. This I also didn’t understand. My parents always assured me that the money they donated would help us get into heaven.
“They can believe what they want to believe, but we’re still practically on the poverty line,” I whispered to myself. I didn’t have a ticket. The dirty, dusty old train pulled into the station and I clambered on, watching my step as I did so. It was inevitable that I’d be late by now, so I took my time.
I’m sick of imagery instead of artistry
Think of apathy instead of harmony
I’m sick of poet’s working part time jobs
While pissy people pick and choose the stars
I know that I should be…
I swung my bag onto a seat of the mostly unoccupied train. I grabbed out a piece of bread and munched my way around the edges, eating the crust first. I had a feeling I wouldn’t be eating any dinner tonight…
“Hi,” a boy’s voice said. I turned to look at my new train buddy.
“Hi,” I responded with a nod. I may not look it, but I’m a little shy around people I just meet. The boy sitting next to me looked very upper class. He had the most amazing emerald green eyes that flashed as the overhead light flickered on and off. He had crazy curly hair that framed his face perfectly. He could have been famous, but I don’t care much for that type of thing.
“I’m Harry Styles, nice to meet you.” He said holding out a hand.
“Hope. Same here.” We shook hands.
“Where are you off to?” he asked. I shrugged.
“Well, I’m probably dead by now so wherever.” It was only a simple thought, but it was a thought I assumed was coming for several weeks now. My parents needed to be sent the message that I didn’t care for their pointless rules. Being one hour late didn’t matter too much, did it? Especially in such good company.
“I like your bag,” he told me, pointing at it. I shrugged. It was no longer bright yellow, instead worn at the edges from overuse. It was my school bag most days, when I actually bothered going.
The last one to speak about this but even Sell Outs have their dreams
Set the music free
Oh what the hell was I trying to prove
I ran away so young now on the move
Like a vandal I wear a mask
And all you punks back home you can kiss my ass cause I gotta feel it
Even after my stop passed I continued riding the train, keeping Harry company. We talked very little, he instead busy texting people on his extremely modern looking phone. He had an iPod stuck in one ear, and he was leaning against the window. I didn’t know where I was going. But I didn’t care.
There were only a few thoughts running through my head, and most of them involved running away from it all. No, not suicide or anything as drastic. Just a trip somewhere I hadn’t been before, away from it all.
“So Hope, do you know the boyband One Direction?” Harry asked me. I shrugged.
“Do I look rich? Stuff like that is for rich kids.” He looked me up and down. There was no way I could look rich compared to him. Caucasian skin was something hard to find in the middle of London. I was wearing my worn black denim jeans and my favourite ‘Come to the Darkside, we have Cookies’ purple shirt, it also worn from continual use.
“Well, want to have a listen?” he asked. I nodded, shrugging as I did so. I listened a little to the beat. It was good, the vocals were really amazing. It was perhaps too happy-sounding for my liking, but it was good.
Deep down in my soul, it’s taken three whole years
To gain control and I ain’t never no never no never no
Never no never no never coming home…
“Yeah, they’re pretty good.” I told him after the song ended. He gave me a warm smile. “Anyway, why are you listening to boybands? Are you gay or something? Not that that’s a problem, of course…” He shook his head.
“No. Actually, if you want me to tell you the truth, I’m a member of that band.” I looked at him incredulously.
“Yeah, and I’m Jesus.” He laughed at me.
“You’re an interesting person, mind if we go out some time?” he asked. My green eyes met his.
“Woah, you’re actually being serious…” I trailed off. He nodded, planting a kiss on my forehead.
“Yep.” He got up and left me, making his way to the doorway. The train stopped and in seconds he was gone, vanished in the murky fog that started to cascade down around the platform.
“Harry Styles,” I muttered to myself. The train was empty now, all that was left was me and the overhead lights that really needed to be replaced. I memorized his stop. Only seven from mine. There was no way I was letting this be the last time I saw Harry Styles…