Hello. I'm having a little writer's block, so I thought of this so I figured I would try my hand at a one-shot.
Please let me know what you think. I've never tried a one-shot, so I hope y'all enjoy.
I don't own any Hey Arnold characters.
Helga opened the closet door and pushed back the clothes. She grabbed the ladder that lay behind them, then proceeded to open the attic door. There, her shrine to her beloved was, her handiwork, her soul, her entire being. She grabbed a blanket that lay on the floor and wrapped it around her like a cape. She took a match and lit the candles, shedding light upon her newest figurine of her childhood muse.
It was a little different than her last shrines. His gum hat was slightly lopsided, the head made of Yahoo bottles, candles fitted to match his gold hair, when lit giving off the scent of lemons, and a wooden body almost as tall as the actual Arnold. She knelt down before her newest dedication to her lover. She rose and took the object into her arms, hugging it, wishing she could somehow replace this statue with the real one she loved. She twirled, dancing with the shrine, imagining the boy holding her close. Suddenly, she sniffed. "Smoke" thought Helga. "Why do I smell smoke?" Then she felt hot. Really hot. She grabbed a mirror she kept in the attic and saw her hair and cape were on fire.
That was why she had smelt smoke. She dropped the shrine in surprise, jumping into her closet and running to her bathroom, smoke swirling behind her head. She ran the water in the sink and put her hair under it, splashing so she was sure her whole head was wet. Then she tore off the blanket and put it under the water. She smelled singed hair and fabric, then dared to turn around. Her pigtail was black at the edges, clearly burnt, though her head was undamaged. It was almost half the length it had been before. "I'll have to fix that." Helga sighed, making a mental note to not use candles on the shrine again.
"Wait. The shrine." Helga gasped. She ran back into her room. It already was filled with smoke, the shrine setting fire to the attic. The floor collapsed, the burning wood in turn setting fire to her closet and clothes. Coughing, she ran to the bathroom, hoping for something to use to put out the now raging fire in her closet. All she found were towels and robes. She ran to the garage, finding a bucket. She grabbed it and ran upstairs to fill it up with water.
As the bucket filled, Helga closed her closet door, hoping to somehow contain the fire. "If I don't control it, it could end up killing me or burning the whole house." thought Helga. She rushed back to the bathroom, seeing the bucket ¾'s full. She grabbed it and walked into her room, the smoke causing her eyes to hurt and her breath to become short. Throwing the bucket of water into the closet, she ran to the window and opened it, hoping the smoke would clear out of her room. She ran back to the bathroom to refill the bucket.
This pattern continued for some time, Helga filling, emptying, and refilling the bucket with water to put out the flames. Her closet was ruined, to say the least. All her clothes would have to be replaced. Her books of poetry, her shrine, all gone. She knelt down in the hallway, her feet hurting from running, her arms hurting from lugging the bucket. In her misery, she cried.
She cried because of her physical pain. She cried because she knew that her parents would not care for her safety, only that she had cost them money to replace her stuff. She cried because her poems, all of her books, all that work, was now gone. She cried because she had almost killed herself for a few moments of happiness. No, a daydream about happiness. And she cried because of Arnold. How she knew she would never tell him her love for him. How she would continue to bully him, then long for another chance, only to mess it up again. How he would never see the real side of her.
She curled up in the hallway, crying, holding the locket of her love. Hope left her, which made her whimper, no longer able to make tears. She should have just gone into the fire. Nobody would miss her. Who would miss Helga G. Pataki, the bully, the daughter no one saw, the girl everyone hated. Hiccupping, she drew herself up when the doorbell rang. She wiped her eyes and went to see who it was. She dusted some of the ash off of her clothes and opened the door.
It was Arnold. Wiping her eyes, Helga said, "What do you want, Football-head?" Arnold gasped. Helga was very aware of how she probably looked, ash on her clothes, her hair burnt and singed. She was so tired she could barely stand.
Arnold stared, and finally said, "Is everything alright Helga? I saw some smoke coming out of that window," he pointed. Helga knew already which one he was pointing to. "so I thought I could see if you were alright."
Helga grimaced, then snarled, "I'm fine Football-head. I accidentally set something on fire with a candle, but it's fine now."
Arnold's eyebrows rose, then, "Would you like help cleaning up?"
"No, I've got it Football-head, but thanks."
Arnold put his hands in his pockets and said, "Whatever you say Helga. I just wanted to make sure you were okay." Helga's heart skipped a beat, but she kept her face blank of what she actually felt.
"Thanks Arnoldo, but I'm fine. Now DON'T BOTHER ME OR COME TO MY HOUSE EVER AGAIN!" yelled Helga as she slammed the door in his face. Helga put her back against the door and swooned.
Arnold had come to check on her. He was so kind, such a caring person, so thoughtful. Helga brought out her locket and held it to her face. It was alright. She would be alright.
All she needed was him, and everything always was.