The London Lamp Post (1D Fanfic)

Heyyyy everyone thats reading this. So I'm actually going to try and dedicate myself to finishing this fanfiction for once in my life but please please please comment and give me some feedback. I don't even know if you can even understand what I'm writing so I really need someone to give me some advice and constructive critisism :)

Anywayyyyy, she'll meet 1D soon enough, just bear with me!! Hope ya like it and thanks for reading! <3

The crisp winter air stings my cheeks as I make my way down the icy sidewalk. All around me are rushing people, doubled over against the frigid cold as they scramble to finish last minute Christmas shopping.

Today is the perfect day for a Christmas Eve. The air, though freezing, is completely still, devoid of any blustery wind that would surely cut through my thin leather bomber and chill me to the bone. Large clumps of soft powdery snow slowly float to the ground, covering even the warm trampled sidewalks with a light dusting of white.

From the corner, just a block away I can hear the crystal clear ringing of a bell. As I glance in the direction of the sound I see a small squat man, huddling on a stool, dressed in the traditional garb of old Saint Nicholas. It is obvious that the bright red coat does not provide sufficient insulation as a tremendous shiver runs though his body. As if this is his cue, the man raises his hand and grasps the cord of a golden bell that stands before him. He timidly yanks at the string now grasped tightly in his hand. I can see in the expression that twists his face in despair that he does not want to be noticed by the more fortunate who are hustling by, but his situation leaves him with now choice.

I turn away, wanting to help but knowing that I won't. The shame of my ignorance gnaws at my stomach, threatening to overcome me with guilt. I've been on the opposite side of this situation before, sitting on the corner with my old battered Timmie's coffee cup. Occasionally a kind soul would pause briefly, dropping a coin or two into the bottom where they would rattle noisily against the bare walls, reminding me of how unsuccessful the day had been and the violence that would meet my return home that night.

It wasn't the memory of how painful a slow day of collection had been that kept me from offering my kindness to this man though. If that had been the only thing on my mind I would have offered him my purse without hesitation. It was the memory of what the money I had collected was used for that caused me to re-think my generosity.

A stale piece of bread would be my reward for a long day of sitting on the curb in the freezing cold. A 'meal' which was barely worth a penny. The money I had gathered would be stashed in a small crack in the wall, just above the sink. At the end of the month the entire stash would be taken to Dealers Drive and spent on another month's worth of cocaine and sometimes, if funds allowed, a couple days worth of 'the good stuff'. In those days, the only thing in life to strive for was keeping him high so a withdrawal wouldn't bring his wrath about on me.

I hadn't always been successful at this however, I remember as I glance down at my forearms. Even bundled in winter clothing as I currently am I can see large strips of scar tissue extending out from beneath my sleeves, wrapping itself artfully around my knuckles like some horrible tattoo.

I shake my head, remembering that I should have gloves on. Not just to keep away the cold, but to keep away the question that I am always met with once people notice the state of my hands. If only they knew that those scars ran so much deeper than anything physical. If only they knew that the lines crisscrossed not only my arms, hands, and face, but also my mind and heart. I'm sure they wouldn't be so quick to inquire about them then.

I pull the gloves on, watching my past disappear beneath them as I return to reality with a start.

I am now standing in front of a quaint looking storefront. Its display window is lit up brightly, showing off a range of small trinkets that really don't relate to each other in any sort of way. I glance up at its name which reads "The This and That Store".