now your halo is slipping down to choke you

[Sophia Rowan Sokolov]

♥••♥

recall the deeds as if they're all someone else's
( you're planning to make amends with the d e a d )
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Sophie slipped out of the store, the brown paper Hollister bag in her hand. She normally could not even stand Hollister, but everyone gave in sometime, and that scarf more or less had her name written on it with blood. Irreversible, and unique. However, as Sophie stepped out into the mall, she bit her lip. Apparently the perfume in there had some hypnotic drug laced with the nauseating smell and dizzying amounts. Did she really need this scarf? No, of course not. Was it too late to take it back? Well, that was also a no, but the moment Sophie lifted the scarf out of the bag to look at it again, and the nauseating scent of new Hollister clothes filled her nose, casting the spell for her to rip the tags off and walk away before she was even tempted to think about returning it. And Sophie slipped away from the store, instead of hiding the scarf, slipping it around her neck, the brown looking surprisingly good (and predictably mainstream) against her orange t-shirt, picked up from New York the last time her mother had gone there. Sophie shifted her purse onto her other shoulder, catching on one of the stupid, ridiculous tassels that had been advertised as "vintage." Well. Alright then. Whatever made Hollister feel good about their marketing, even though by definition, it was not old, not good quality and not a characteristic of one's magna opus.

Sophie grunted, flinging the empty bag (with the receipt) into the trash. She shouldn't have bought the scarf. It was a waste of her money. She shouldn't have, she shouldn't ha--

Another wiff of the cloying scent of mainstream Hollister-shoppers and lalala this was Sophie not caring about the money she'd spent on something she wouldn't wear once the enchantment had worn off. With a sigh to the contrary, Sophie swept her chlorine-damaged brown hair off of her neck into a ponytail, her bangs falling lazily out and gathering by the sides of her face. Those bangs. They were in the state between the time when Sophie liked them, and the hope that they're grow out soon. And Sophie didn't have patience for bobby pins, or barrettes or whatever she had seen people use before to keep their hair perfect. Hairspray was out of the question, unless Sophie wanted penguins in Antarctica to sunburn due to her killing of the ozone layer.

Annoyed with her purchase, sick of the perfume and frustrated with humanity, Sophie ducked into the consignment shop where most of her money normally went to. She liked it better here. She could see, hear and smell what she liked. The books were yellowed with age, or it might have been love, and the clothes were like new, but cheaper and without disgusting musks clinging to them like rain water. Oh yeah, but Sophie was supposed to forget that, even though by the time she was done here, the whole store would smell like Hollister had thrown up there. Sophie plucked a brown hoodie from some foreign store off of the rack and checked the size. Alright. Perfect. Her day was looking up.

She flung the jacket to the counter and took out her wallet to pay. This was why Sophie loved thrift stores. If this jacket had been at Hollister that would have been a waste of her 40 or 50 dollars. Here it was about six. Oh, how much Sophie loved the irony. She left the store, adjusting her scarf and wondering if the perfume could give her a rash, or if it was just her imagination.

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your halo around your neck
( i'll tug you off your c l o u d )
___________________________

words ~ 609
tagged ~ gabriel
lyrics~ the noose - a perfect circle
comments ~ aha, whoops. not so long, or good. but i have to go to bed now, or i'll pass out.
listening to ~ sleepyhead - passion pit
credits ~ nammerz of CAUTION 2.0