Disclaimer: I don't own Rise of the Guardians, Sophie Bennett, the Easter Bunny, the song The A Team (which this is based off of), or Ed Sheeran.
Angels Die Covered in White
A pale, slender hand whipped long blonde locks behind an ear in silent desperation; dull, frenzied hazel eyes darting about as the young woman – Sophie Bennett, age twenty one – searched her pastel green purse for something, anything, to ease her jittery nerves. Her hands, quaking from something that wasn't exactly fear but was almost the same thing, fluttered about, rifling through small crumpled receipts, the broken cell phone, her empty wallet, a few pens and a check book; her crazed expression finally broke as her fingers gingerly brushed exactly what she was searching for.
Delicately extracting the red and white box from the recesses of her bag (When had she put it there? She was sure she'd left the all-important box nearer to the top, where it was easily accessible…), the blonde flipped the lid up and, using two fingers, pulled out one hero-injected Marlboro and positioned it carefully between her lips. Her other hand felt its way through the cold, wet snow down to the smooth wooden surface of the park bench, the change of temperature quickly calming the girl to the level where she felt safe enough to use her lighter, which had been left – abandoned, forgotten, dropped on the snow-covered bench next to her in her panic to quell her escalating addiction, to calm the pain in her lungs even for just a moment.
She hated it: that she was so dependent on something like that drug. She didn't want to be addicted, to have to sell love in order to pay the rent. She despised having to live – if you could even call that "living" – her life at night, and she knew, she knew that it was all that drug's fault. She knew, but when the shooting, burning, consuming pains of withdrawal wracked her core, she always came crawling back. She was weak, she was alone. And Hero, the disgustingly satisfying drug, was always there, always taunting her. You know you miss me. Come back to me. And she did, so she did.
And it was true; she was alone, always always alone. Mum and Dad slept peacefully in the Burgess Cemetery, as they had for four years now. (Had it really been that long? Her sense of time was severely impaired due to the burning demon she inhaled into her lungs, the blood-boiling heat that coursed through her veins…) The Easter Bunny hadn't visited her in ages, and Jamie? He went abroad in Iceland to study volcanoes. Even all of her friends, who were few and far between due to her continued belief of something that did exist (he did he didhe did), left for university. They all left her alone, so, so alone that it killed her inside and she just couldn't even—
But then, she was offered a fix, something that would make the pain of being left behind go away, far far away. So she took it.
Inhaling the killingsaving drug, Sophie closed her eyes and leant back against the frosted bench, loosening her light pink scarf as the burningcaressing smoke filtered down her throat and into her deteriorating lungs. Balancing the Marlboro between the same two fingers as before, she withdrew the cigarette just enough to exhale a puff of light grey smoke, uglypretty against the white early January wonderland world.
Half-lidded hazel eyes watched as snow began to fall, and Sophie continued to take deep drags on the fag* in her hand. Slowly, ever so slowly, she felt herself slip into a dreamless sleep on that lone park bench in the steadily growing storm, her thoughts about drugs and the unforgiving world forgotten.
*Fag – English slang for cigarette. Just felt the need to put that in there, considering the fact that most of the people who are reading this are American.
A/N: Oh, look. I started a chapter story, exactly what I said I wouldn't do. And it's something like... this. What is wrong with my mind? I don't know...
It'll probably only be a two-shot, though. R&R?