green smog

box 17

Tw: alcohol death and gore

[ˢⁱˣ ʸᵉᵃʳˢ ᵉᵃʳˡⁱᵉʳ]
[ᶜʰʳⁱˢᵗᵐᵃˢ ᵉᵛᵉ]

The snow landed on the ground, in thin sheets of white. A soft howling of the wind could be heard throughout the small house. The thin walls provided little to no protection from the harsh winter. The windows rattled with each gust of air. 

Curled up on a matt with blankets, laid a boy. Roughly the age of eleven. His green hair was matted, and poorly maintained, little clumps of hair fell out due to a lack of nutrition. He laid there, sleeping through the howling storm.

At a table, sat two adults. The smell of whiskey and tobacco dominated the air. A single dim lightbulb provided them with enough light to see the papers in front of them. Their heads were rested on their hands, frustration evident on their faces.

"What are we going to do about rent, its nearly due." The woman asked her husband. She glanced at her son's sleeping figure; tears began to fill her eyes. He insisted on going to sleep early tonight, incase Santa came. She didn't have the heart to tell him they couldn't afford any presents this year. Much like every other year, the only gifts he could receive were from her sister.

"I could always sign up for that job, it should pay well." The man said as he frantically searched for a cigarette that wasn't yet burnt out. After his hero career went to dust, the male turned to addiction to cope with his loss.