A/N: Yes, another new story. I am so busy, but this movie has just brought my thoughts into overdrive. It is so strikingly similar to my child, i just could nto withhold this new little bunny from you. Please, tell me waht you think? I like it so far...and i have so far to go. Read and REview, please! tell me waht you think!
I can remember the first time I saw one of my friends, my spirit friends. They came to me when I was crying after being bullied. It was then that I realized that I was a special child. I was young, yes, but there was strength and a belief in me that couldn't get bullied out of me. If anything, it made me stronger.
You see, I am a 20 year old dirty blonde haired, hazel eyed, 5'1 female. Too old to be clarified as a child, too young to be a full adult. I pretty much raised myself. Thus, I read a lot of books that children were not given access to at such young ages.
I finished my first Greek mythology book at age 6. My Norse mythology book at age 7. Egyptian at age 8.
I believed in them, no matter what anyone said. They tried to tell me that they didn't exist, and I smiled at them and told them off in my head, but I knew better by this age to say anything to anyone. I would be called crazy, and beaten, again.
I still believe in my friends. The Tooth Fairy, Santa, Jack Frost, the Easter bunny, the 'old' gods, as I affectionately referred to them as. I knew the boogey man much earlier. He came to me when I was two, with nightmares of my parents leaving me to fend for myself. I awoke to see his glowing eyes staring at me in confusion and slight bewilderment.
But, I'm getting ahead of myself.
I was eight when my first spirit friend came to me.
I sat on my bed, crying. This was the third time this week that someone bullied me. I buried my head in my arms as I cried, trying to stop my head from hurting where it was smashed into the ground by the larger boy from school. I was alone, for my parents were never home. They work so many jobs just to keep the roof over our heads. I know they cannot help me, so I sit and suffer in the dark silence.
My room is plain. The bed is one of two pieces of furniture. There is a old wardrobe that sits in the corner, covered in what little jewelry has been passed down through the generations. The walls are a ugly stained lightly green, and little chips are out of the paint where things were thrown at the walls. I have attempted to hide the worst of the chips with my drawings.
I started drawing when I was small. It allowed me to get down ideas that ran through y head easier. My favorite things to draw where my friends.
You see, I have friends. They may not be visible to you, but they are to me. They talk to me and play with me when I am sad, and they protect me from the worst of the people in town.
So there I sat, crying, when I felt someone sit on my bed. My head jolted up, my red teary eyes locking onto a familiar grey toned face with the golden amber eyes. My heart jumped in fear as I saw he was still half in the shadows.
"What is wrong, child?" He asked, his voice honeyed in a funny accent, one I later learned was British. He smiled softly at me, raising an arm to stroke my hair, and I reeled back, scooting away from his hand, before I sniffled again, wiping my running nose on my sleeve and letting him touch my hair.
"The other kids are so mean." I mumble, my eyes locked onto the ugly tattered grey of my quilt that I sat on, the wrinkles dirty looking smears against the steel grey. He laughed then, looping an arm around my waist and pulling me closer to him setting me on his lap as his fingers, as grey toned as the rest of him, fiddled with my hair, braiding it and un braiding it. I relaxed slightly into his touch, my tears drying and my nose crusting. He hummed lightly under his breath, and the darkness faded the more he concentrated on my hair, deftly completing braid after braid in my hair.
"Everyone can be mean. Maybe it is because they think you are so pretty, hmmm?" he asked, and I shook my head, almost tearing my hair out of his grip, at which he tightened his fingers, and I yelped, my scalp tingling. He shifted me again, and we fell into comfortable silence.
"It's because they think I'm weird…" I said, sniffling again as the tears built up again. He hummed again, a silent question as to what I meant, and I smiled sadly, looking from the pictures around the room, and seeing the one that was of him, all dark thin figure and pretty eyes staring out from the darkness.
"I have friends. They are hard to see…like you! And everyone at school doesn't like my drawings, and they think that I am that strange girl…." I said, and he hummed again, finishing his last braid and he shifted me so that I was sitting on one of his legs, looking towards him. He looked really scary up close, all grey colored and dark hair, his eyes glowing from such a dark face. I blinked, looking away from his pointed teeth, and towards his pretty eyes.
"So you are weird….what does that matter, child?" he asked, and I shrugged, yawning. The man looked towards the window, seeing the moon framed in the glass, and he watched it as I watched him with sleepy eyes, rubbing at them as I fought to stay awake. He smiled softly, turning to me, and standing, cradling me as he pulled the blankets back.
"You believe in me, don't you?" he asked, and the darkness gathered again, and I got scared, seeing his eyes brighten the more scared I got, but it was always afraid of the dark. I nodded, knowing he was the one the legend book I finished reading called as the boogeyman. He smiled softly, tousling my hair around in the little teeny braids, and I yawned again, looking towards the moon as it seemed to watch me through the glass.
"You will be something special when you are older….." he murmured to me, and I fought to find him in the darkness. I watched as his eyes faded into the darkness as a name floated towards me.
"Pitch." he had said, and I fell asleep to his voice and the infinite blackness I worried about.
It was not two days later that I felt a snowball smash into my back. I sighed, turning around slowly, for I did not sleep well at night, even before Pitch's visit. The boy frowned as he looked at the bags under my eyes, his snow white hair tousled gently by the wind, his hoodie covered in frost, wearing no shoes, and his blue eyes were the color of the clear winter sky. He is leaning on a staff, a wooden thing with a large hook on the top, and I stick out my tongue at him as I turn around to walk back towards my house.
"Hey, now, that's not the way it's supposed to go!" he said, and another snowball was flung to hit me on the back of my head. I felt the tears gather as I didn't even turn around, trying to gather my strength and continue towards my house, my steps heavy with the thought of all the eyes on me. I felt a cold breeze, and I stopped walking as I close my eyes, scrunching my nose up against the cold. I opened my eyes to see the boy before me, a stormy look on his face as his arms were crossed, another snowball in his hand. I glared at it, crossing my own arms as I snapped at him.
"Would you stop throwing that!" I asked, and he jumped, dropping the snowball which splattered against the sidewalk.
"You….you can see me?" he whispered, and I sighed, nodding, and looking around me to see the people staring. I started walking again, ignoring the strange boy, before I saw him flying above me and it clicked. He was like Pitch!
"Who are you? No, wait, let me guess…." I said, and I ran through my knowledge of spirits and the old gods, finally smiling as I realized who It was.
"You are Jack Frost!" I said, and I ran forward, pulling him into a hug, to which he was stunned, his arms held up out of the way, his staff almost falling to the ground in panic. He finally wrapped an arm around me, and I was glad that I was in front of my house. I walked up to the door, unlocking it, and offering for him to come inside. He rubbed the back of his head, shaking his head.
"Another time, then?" I asked, smiling sadly as I watched him nod, then fly off, towards the other kids. I walked into the house, locking it behind me, and savaging for food in the fridge. I felt someone behind me, and I had a thought of who it was.
"Your parents just leave you here?" Pitch's smooth voice asked, and I nodded, fear kicking in at his voice, and the thought it was just the two of us alone in the big dark scary house. He was suddenly beside me, looking down on me with a soft smile on his face.
"They are not afraid for you?" he asked, and I shook my head, biting into my sandwich. He shrugged, and then he looked closer at my jacket, leaning over to brush off a few snowflakes that had stuck there after Jack had thrown the snowball.
"Frost…." He muttered darkly, and I shrunk away from him, my eyes wide with fright, as the darkness took shape behind him of a huge sandy and slightly sparkly horse. It was a nightmare. He glanced at me, then at my still curly hair from his braiding escapade, and then he faded into the darkness.
I saw Jack again, as well as Santa at Christmas for the first time, then the Easter bunny at Christmas, then a few of the Greek gods, Loki and Thor from the Norse mythology, and Anubis from Egyptian mythology. The old gods didn't stay long, for they didn't realy have the strength to pass a few days in our world. They liked to visit, though, to show me their appreciation for believing, even after all the years that passed.
I never stopped believing. When I got down in a dark place, Jack would show up, all smiles and flirtatious nature, bringing me to his own version of winter, or taking me to a palce on the wind that was cold.
I loved the snow and the cold. I felt that was where I belonged more than the heat of Maryland, USA. The winters were amazing, but the summers were killer. I hated heat. You cannot take much more off, but during the winter, you can layer as much as you want.
And Jack knew that it was one of my happy places, so he took me there. He knew that I beilieved in the, all of them, but that I may need a bit of a pick me up, especially after a hard day.
And talking to my friends made sure I didn't have human friends. They still thought I was strange, and they called me names behind my back.
There was one spirit I didn't see, one whom I wanted to talk to.
Pitch never really came back. I learned later that Jack had found out he had been talking to me, so they caught him and placed him back into his prison. I yelled at Jack and wouldn't talk to any of them for a while, except for Loki, who continued to show up, his magic fueling him for longer trips to 'Midgard', as he called my world. He could get me to laugh when no one else could.
I thought for the longest time that he was Pitch. But, he never acted like Pitch. Well, he did, but there were differences. Loki had a similar accent, but it was different, more controlled, more articulated, and his speech was fancier. Loki's voice was silver poison, and Pitch's was honey. Loki's eyes were different, emerald green and filled with darkness, while Pitch's were amber and filled with darkness and a deep underlying sadness.
I waited for years to hear his voice again. I sat up at night, looking into my darkest corner for his bright eyes.
And so I thought up my own friends.
I knew the story of the Guardians. I knew they were busy, but they would visit when they could. So I waited and drew and wrote about my adventures, thanking Sandy for the dreams. He would smile and awaken me, talking quickly with his dream sand, at which I became deft at reading, and I would thank him, offer him one of my pictures, which he would take and crumble into his sand, and then he would knock me out with his dream sand and continue on his way.
I learned that Jack was still only just being believed in. He was a new one to the troupe. The others had strength from centuries of being believed in. I would smile at him, ruffling his hair as I slowly grew up, from a child to a teen to a young adult. (I never did pass his height, darn it. )
They knew they always had someone to help believe in them, if anything went wrong. They told me about Pitch's evil doings, knowing he tried to take over the world again, because he wanted to be believed in, at which I scoffed and said I always believed in him.
I went through school as a loner, enjoying the silence, as my parents just started to leave me a car, and I never saw them. I was happy about that.
I was called a story teller the older I got, and I embraced it. I was allowed to draw and write through my classes, which I passed thanks to my friends help. They helped to teach me, scoffing at the levels of education as they puzzled through problem after problem.
They started coming fewer and fewer, especially when I went into high school. I was a little sad at that, but I understood. The younger ones needed their attention more than me. Jack still visited me, when he wasn't busy with snow days. We would smile and talk about the old times, and then he would slip out as he saw me get ready for bed, staring at the corner, the one I had covered in drawing of Pitch, all darkness against the faded, chipped paint.
It wasn't a surprise when all but one stopped coming all together. I would still see Sandy, for he was one that visited me every night, and we would talk quickly, before he knocked me out. I still gave him pictures for his sand.
When he stopped coming, I knew something was up. I awaited their return, watching the moon as it seemed to hover over my house, and watching the Pitch corner and the window as I fell to sleep.
I awoke one night to see Sandy standing by my bed, with Jack, Bunny, North, and Tooth, one whom I had really only heard about, standing at the foot of my bed. I ran a hand through my hair as I smiled at Jack, but the smile slipped off my face as I saw how haggard they looked. Even Jack was leaning on his staff as if it was the only thing keeping him upright. I sat up straighter, looking from tired face to tired face.
"I take it something happened?"