The moon looks especially bright tonight Harry thinks, the stars somehow flicker on and off but Harry thinks that it’s his eyes. It’s hard to tell the difference in the night sky, what is a black spot and what is not. They come and go, fleetingly. Most of the time, that’s the same for his lungs, they go on and off, but no matter. Harry knows he won’t die.
If he counted all of the stars he could see, it wouldn’t amount to the amount of people he’d seen die.
Immortality is a cruel, cruel thing- gives you what you want, but leaves you broken even with it.
Harry’s wanted to die before, he failed, too cowardly to live, too cowardly to die. Disappointment is something he has lived through, he knows if he relieved himself of the duty laid upon him he would never be able to face his mother nor father's eye. But now when the lonely centuries leave him wishing, heck, praying for death he thinks he would have preferred disappointment to this. He knows he’s been selfish, thinking about the affects on him and not the other innocent people, but after so long watching everyone he loved die, he doesn’t care anymore. What tiny bit of humanity he has left, he wasted it all on himself, and it is only him and his selfish thoughts that accompany him. God knows he tried so hard to feel something. To feel disgust at even thinking of the times he should have gone and offed himself instead of helping the people. He wants it to stop. But it won’t. And it can’t. And if it does stop he’ll be broken. Because that’s what freaks like him deserve.
And when he counts the stars again, he’ll hope, he’ll pray that. That he finally dies. But he won’t. And he knows that.