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Love Is The Darkest Art 18

Love Is The Darkest Art

A Dramione fanfic serial

Scene 26:

Hermione thought the meeting had went well. In fact, she was very happy with the turnout. There had been more students than she thought interested in learning Defense Of The Dark Arts the right way instead of Umbridge’s heavily watered down lessons. Hermione had spent many hours secretly telling others about this gathering. But attendance had exceeded expectations. She felt most of this was due to Ginny’s boyfriend Michael Corner and his connections in Ravenclaw. Regardless, the word had spread, and though there some concerns and squabbles she felt a leap in progress had been made.

A few things had stood out to her at the Hogshead gathering. One of course was the fact that she, Harry, and Ron were not the only ones unhappy with the new curriculum at school. Another was that getting involved in this took her mind off Draco. At least, for the most part. She did think of him and missed him greatly. She’d wished he was the type of person who would have wanted to be a part of this. Despite the affection they had secretly shared however, she knew deep down this wasn’t him and he’d never be in the same room with Harry exchanging pleasantries. Draco was a part of her life she couldn’t share with anyone. Or at least he had been.

While the meeting had gone well, and Draco’s presence would have created division, it did have its moments of uneasiness. The venue hadn’t exactly been the safest place for kids to be hanging out. It was a dingy, dirty place that catered to all manner of questionable patrons. It was the place to go if you didnt want to be seen. And there were plenty of shady characters there in the midst of their meeting.

A hooded witch, their face completely hidden under veil in the shadows, sat in the corner. There was no telling if the figure was listening in but it made her uneasy. A man with a scarred face sat at the bar laughing with the bartender over some unheard yet undoubtedly baudy joke. A few times he had glanced in Hermione’s direction and she’d quickly averted his eyes as his gaze was so penetrating she almost felt naked. And then there was a hag of a woman who kept casting hateful glares in her direction as if youth repulsed her. Perhaps it was just her imagination, but it seemed that everyone was staring at her and it gave her a claustrophobic feeling. The only thing that put her at ease was returning her attention to the meeting and ignoring the rest.

Afterwards, standing outside the Hogs Head, she didnt see any of the ones that made her feel uncomfortable. She and Harry and Ron discussed the great turnout, while Ron had been in shock over the news his sister was dating someone and he was the last to know. Hermione wanted to say she was glad she found someone to be happy with. After all Ginny had crushed on Harry like forever and he paid her no mind. Hermione couldn’t blame her for giving up on Harry. It was clear he had eyes for Cho Chang anyway. Hermione had seen them casting quick glances and nervous smiles in each others direction and it made her miss Draco even more. She had to try and make amends with him somehow. Perhaps she’d get him a gift.

She told the others she was going to do some shopping before hesding back to Hogwarts, the boys look less than thrilled. “It will be okay. I think I can manage by myself,” she explained, much to their apparent relief.
Something about boys and shopping just didn’t seem to work unless you were at Zonko’s Joke Shop. But she had something else in mind. Though Draco could be a prankster, for this occasion something more special was required. She wanted to go to Madame Boffery’s, a shop of mature men gifts. She didn’t know what she was looking for exactly but it sure wasn’t an exploding whoopee cushion.

She watched Harry and Ron saunter away happily. They looked back a few times, and each time she waved. When she couldn’t see them anymore, she turned and made her way in the opposite direction.

Scene 27:

Hermione hadn’t lied. She had every intention of going to the shop and getting Draco a small present to act as a peace offering. But she never made it. As she rounded the corner from The Hog’s Head, Malfoy was already waiting. Wearing his usual black attire and a cloak emblazoned with the Slytherin crest, he was leaning against the wall. It was obvious he’d been waiting for her outside the meeting because he gently pushed himself away from the wall and stepped towatd her, a confidant swagger to his walk.

“Hermione,” he said. “You are absolutely…”

“I’m sorry Draco,” she blurted out, cutting him off. She couldn’t hold it any longer. Her guilt was overflowing inside her, and she had to offer whatever apologies she could to restore things to what they had been. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, really I didn’t,” she tried to explain, her voice cracking.

At first he looked confused, as if he’d forgotten and put the incident behind him already, but then he smiled. “It’s okay,” he breathed with a sigh. “It was nothing really.”

“Nothing? You haven’t spoken to me for days.”

Again that smile of his that made her weak. “Absence makes the heart grow fonder.”

She could have slapped him. Absence what? How dare he put her through all this misery for nothing? She had been distraught and empty without him. If it hadn’t been for the meeting, she’d probably be back at her dorm beating herself up and trying not to cry her eyes out.

“Draco Malfoy,” she scolded, “you are the biggest…”

He took her in his arms and kissed her hard on her mouth. At first she thought of pushing him away as punishment, but she surrendered, welcoming his lips upon hers. He clutched her tightly, opened his mouth against her own, his tongue probing hungrily past her lips. The urgency surprised her. It was a little different than their other times together, but she liked it. Perhaps absence didnt just bring fondness, but desperation as well.

The world seemed to spin in his arms, but then she realized he was the one spinning, turning her, pushing her back against the wall. She felt herself pleasantly pinned and then his hands trailed down her body, across her breasts.

“Draco, wait, what are you…?”

“I can’t wait any longer,” he whispered in her ear. One hand moved down to her stomach and lingered there. “I’ve waited too long to make love to you again.”

She closed her eyes. She knew they were in public, down a side street. Someone would see them. But the sensations threatened to overcome her. This was Draco. Wonderful, sexy Draco. He was kissing her. Touching her. Wanting to make love to her again. Suddenly, her mind snapped awake, as if out of some kind of hypnosis. Again?, she thought. But we’ve never made love. How can we do that again if we’d never gone that far in the first…She struggled in his grasp. “No, Draco. Stop.”

He didn’t listen, but leaned his body against her restricting her struggles. “I know you want to,” he whispered.

She wasn’t sure what she wanted from Draco, but it wasn’t this. She had to admit she’d thought of adult intimacy with him, but never ugly or violent. Lovemaking should be beautiful, not forced upon you. “Stop it!” she shouted. “Let me go, Draco!”

“Silencio,” he commanded, and all sound left her. She opened her mouth to scream but nothing came out. She called for help, but all that came back was a vaccum of quiet. She began to cry and Malfoy grinned wickedly. “Oh yes, cry, Hermione. I like that,” he sneered.

She closed her eyes against the assault, squeezing them shut, wishing more than anything that Draco would stop. And then he did. Not because she had willed it, prayed, or wished it though. For upon opening her eyes, she saw the point of a wand pushed into Draco’s cheek. At the other end, someone demanded angrily, “Get your damn hands off my girl.”

Draco froze. His hands relaxed. He was going to let her go. After all, why wouldn’t he? It was another Draco at the end of the wand. This one grimaced in disgust at the horrible version that had attacked Hermione. “You okay, baby?”

She sighed in relief. She nodded, signaling her yes, for her voice was still stolen.

“You should be grateful she is unharmed,” the real Draco said, his wand hand steady, his silver eyes glaring. “Otherwise I’d have to peel that devilishly handsome face right off you by hand.”

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Love Is The Darkest Art 6

Love Is The Darkest Art

A Dramione Fanfic Serial

Scene 9:

Hermione was worried. Sitting in the next class, feeling dejected at her tardiness, she pondered what was being discussed between Malfoy and Umbridge. Though Dolores made it seem like he’d been late for a prearranged meeting, Hermione had a distinctive feeling that Draco was either getting raked over the coals or made to do near endless detention like Umbridge had done to Potter. Maybe she was trying to punish all students who held any kind of influential sway over their peers.

Hermione fidgeted in her seat, but thankfully Professor Trelawney didn’t notice. In fact, the teacher was droning on and on about prophecy and how it shapes young lives, that Hermione found herself closing her eyes and wishing she were with Draco. Perhaps together they could thwart whatever Umbridge was planning to do about them. But Professors of any kind soon left her thoughts and she found herself wading through a thick gray fog. A strange melancholy tune seemed to surround her saying, “rest your head and read a treasured dream….”

Trelawney’s monotonous voice trickled off into the void, replaced by the song and the sound of bare feet traipsing through puddles. She looked down and wondered where her shoes were. She also wondered why her skirt was so short. Was it torn or had it been made that way? It was even shorter than the dress she wore to the Yule Ball last year. And then she realized another thing. Her white blouse clung to her as if she’d just come out of a rain. A couple buttons were missing which bothered her, as she was usually orderly and clean with her wardrobe, even when some of her clothes were secondhand from a muggle thrift store.

Motion in front of her startled her investigation of herself. Figures were swirling out of the fog. Dancing couples who looked remarkably like her friends. Harry came waltzing by, Cho Chang on his arm. Both of them smiling and throwing their heads back in laughter. Ron danced, or perhaps shuffled by as well, both Patil girls on his arm. He looked almost bored, despite the attention the giggling girls were giving him. Next came another awkward-on-his-feet friend Neville Longbottom, and he cast her a look as if to say, “I know what you’ve been doing.” Of course, the whole time he said it his hands were busy trying to disappear in the blond strands of Luna Lovegood’s hair.

Hermione looked around her as the dancers one by one disappeared into the fog and suddenly she was overcome with an intense loneliness, an instant sorrow that nearly reduced her to tears as she wondered why no one was dancing with her. The strange melancholy song resumed, this time telling her, “you cry a little in the dark,” followed by a whisper of “Well, so do I.”

And then he came, sauntering out of the fog in tight dark pants and an open velvet shirt the color of violet. The moisture of the fog glistened on the bare pale skin of his chest, down to his navel and taught abs. She’d never imagined he’d look so sexy in this state. He’d always been kind of scrawny in her recollection. Not the kind you’d consider buff, and yet here he was, muscles tight and skin so touchable it made her breath stick in her throat.

Draco smiled. “I don’t know why I feel the way I do,” he whispered, coming face to face with her. His silvery eyes seemed to draw her in. “All I know is I can’t bear the thought of never knowing your touch.”

Hermione couldn’t help herself. The invitation was too alluring. She reached for him, her fingertips coming to rest on his chest, hands sliding beneath the cloth of his unbuttoned shirt.

His scent pleasantly assailed her. Something earthy like Sandalwood or Patchouli. She breathed him in, his heart drumming against her fingers. She spread her hands out against his chest, palms flat against his fog touched skin.

Draco stood, eyes closed, as if letting the sensation of her presence surround him. Then he reached out and took her face in his hands. Hermione felt herself wanting to let go, to take all of this out of the dream with her and celebrate it into life. She felt her hands drifting from his chest to his abs and then his lips were upon her. First her neck, then her throat, until they slid to her own waiting lips.

If at first she was trembling, now she was visibly shaking, delirious cold chills across her entire frame, followed by a warmth in her stomach that said she desired more than just this kiss . She craved him to envelop her and she closed her eyes to welcome it. But he did nothing more than kiss her. Where others may not have stopped there, even ones as mischievous as he, Draco’s passion was one of both delerium and respect. And she loved him for it.

At this thought of the possibility of love, her eyes sprung open in surprise. She thought she heard the resounding echo of her own voice shouting, “love?!” But so had everyone else. The class was silent, except for the sigh of Trelawney interrupted from her long winded speech, and possibly a question.

“No Henrietta,” she said, getting her name wrong as usual. “The answer is not love, as you shouted, but fate. Fate and prophecy are entertwined to suggest a path for our lives. And though they are changeable, it is rare that they do. Unlike love, they are set in place long before the heart ever is.”

Hermione, still embarassed, looked around the room at her peers. Most were no longer looking at her in amusement with smirks on their lips. Most had gone back to their work and quills, and yet two of the students were still staring at her with Slytherin sneers, as if they’d been observers of her dream. Crabbe and Goyle. Out of every classmate, they were the most dangerous to her secret, for they blabbed everything to anyone they came in contact with.

She made a face at them just as Trelawney realized something. ” Why do we have an empty seat? Who is missing?” From her desk she pulled a seating chart and scanned it with bespeckled eyes. “Mr. Malfoy? That’s unusual.” She looked up at the class. “Has anyone seen Draco Malfoy?”

Hermione had to force herself not to raise her hand. Though she loved being first to answer virtually any question first, this was one time she knew she should stay quiet. To acknowledge she knew he was with Umbridge would reveal the fact she’d been with him. That she’d known more about his movements than anyone else, even his own friends and gang. So she sat there mute, squirming in her forced silence, while her mind returned to the most threatening question of all: Was she in love with Draco?

Love Is The Darkest Art 4

Love Is The Darkest Art

A Dramione Fan Fic Serial

Scene 5:

Hermione smiled at the memory. Here in the library, back in the present, enfolded in Draco’s arms, she had hoped for this. Ever since the yule ball, she had fantasized he would assert himself again. She didn’t understand her attraction. Perhaps Draco being the only one to lose himself and behave completely different at the sight of her had something to do with it. She knew her attraction was fairly new. Before the Ball, she hadn’t thought of him in any pleasant way. And yet now, her lips were pressed against his, while her heart beat out a rhythm she couldn’t keep up with. Butterflies in her stomach flew in all directions with the parting of her lips upon his. Now this was a real kiss. But what did it mean? After all, this was Malfoy. No one would understand. She couldnt tell her friends or even allow his friends to know what was transpiring within her. Maybe she could talk to a professor about these newfound emotions. But before she could dwell on it, she felt Draco’s hand low on her back. It pulled her closer and she sank into his embrace as if she’d craved this kind of attention forever.

There had been no interruption for the kiss. They had lingered upon each other’s mouth for just minutes, but when they parted it felt like hours had passed. Draco looked at her, and for a second she thought he’d smile, but he didn’t.

“Hermione, I…” he whispered. “I don’t…” He looked around them as if someone might see. “I should go.”

She was confused and her look told him so. “Draco, what is…” Then it occurred to her. He was ashamed he’d kissed her. He was now wishing he hadn’t. Or at least that’s what her mind was trying to tell her.

“If we get caught…” he began.

Her disappointment and hurt feelings began to show. “I understand…’ she said quietly.

“No you don’t,” he replied, and then as if he read her confused mind, “This is no trick. No regret. No teasing… well, perhaps it is a little bit of teasing.”

And then as if to bring the point home, he pulled her close once more, and nuzzled his mouth against her neck. She felt the tender kiss on her soft skin and she tilted her head away from his, allowing his kiss to roam up into her hair and ear, where he softly whispered, “Forgive me.”

Despite the pleasantness of their growing intimacy, her mind was suddenly alert. “For what,” she asked in a trembling voice.

” For everything every mean thing I did to you. It was to cover up for…this. To hide my feelings. My wants.”

“What do you want,” she dared to ask.

“This moment to last,” he murmured and clutched her to him as if someone would suddenly tear them apart.

Hermione was losing herself in his embrace. If she didn’t know better she would have thought he hexed her again, this time with amorous feelings. She knew they couldn’t stay here in the library forever, wrapped up in each other, but still just give me one minute longer her mind begged.

The minute was not wasted as this time it was her lips that sought out his own. If their kiss had an intended end, it was a long time coming.

“Everyone knows I wouldn’t spend this much time in the library studying,” he eventually said.

This made her laugh, and she realized not only was this their first real kissing, but also their first joy. She’d never shared a laugh or any other mirthful moment with the slytherin bad boy, and yet here it was. Had everything changed, and would it change more?

She looked in his eyes. “And everyone knows we should be enemies, not…”

She let it hang unsaid in the air, as if to finish the statement would make it so, would bring that uncontrollable, all consuming word to life. And if she were afraid of that, Draco apparently wasn’t.

“Lovers,” he finished.

Scene 6:

In class she couldn’t concentrate. Hermione berated herself for not being able to keep things in focus, but she couldn’t stop thinking about the library. And Draco. Kissing him had been nothing like she’d imagined. Not that she had spent much time imagining such things. But now here in class she couldn’t think of anything she normally would. Making socks for house elves. Nope. Her best friends Ron and Harry. Nope. Studying for her herbology quiz. Nope. Draco Malfoy. Yes indeed!

“Miss Granger, do you know the answer,” Prof. McGonagall asked.

Hermione suddenly sat up straight from her daydream. “Um, what? Professor?”

McGonagall frowned. This wasn’t like her pupil. “The answer to the question,” she answered. “Transfiguration class, Granger. Please attend in mind as well as in body .”

The rest of the class giggled. Hermione turned red. “Yes, professor.”

McGonagall turned her attention to her other students. “Now then, does anyone else know the answer?”

Hermione glanced around. A few had their hands raised half heartedly. But she wasn’t paying attention to them. She was concentrating on a student in the corner who was silently mouthing words in her direction. Draco. He gave her a look of slight exasperation and mouthed the words again, but she couldn’t follow. He was doing them too fast. When the professor turned to him he suddenly quit and acted like he was buried in his textbook. Once she looked elsewhere, he attempted his message to Hermione again.

She squinted her eyes and made a small gesture to show she couldn’t understand what he was trying to tell her.

“Miss Granger!”

“Yes, Professor,” she nearly shouted, turning away from Draco and looking to McGonagall.
She hoped no one saw her and Malfoy interacting. But she was almost certain the professor had.

“I’ll speak to you after class, Miss Granger.”

Now Hermione truly hung her head. This was a move beyond embarassment. This was shame. She always paid attention in class. So what was wrong with her?

As if providing her own answer she dared a secretive glance at Draco. He smirked, and she had to wonder if he had been mouthing anything at all. For a moment he seemed like the old Draco trying to get her in trouble. She made a resolution in her head not to allow it to happen again. No boy was worth the distraction, and certainly not Malfoy.

For a second she almost stuck her tongue out at him, as if they were little first years again, and he nothing more than a brat pulling pigtails for fun. But no, he pulled something else today. The strings of her heart. And right now it seemed as if he had tied them in a knot.

Ghost Boy Blues 10

Out in the hall we stand on shaky feet. Though much of the vertigo feeling has gone away, this host body is weak. Perhaps it is my presence that drains the energy, the fact that two should are now sharing a bodily apartment. For now we are roommates trying to get along until one moves out. Eventually, one will dominate the other. I cant imagine both minds swirling around in this flesh, bumping into each other and wondering who’s thoughts are whose.

We head down the empty hall, me inside the frame of Joey Mattson, the guy everyone else wants to be. And now I’m him. I could probably get any girl in school now. They all adore him. Even the teachers like him. The sky is the limit on what is achievable. But first, Joey thinks he needs to go to the bathroom. And so I relax, letting him go to take care of whatever bodily functions needs attention.

No one is in the restroom. He looks at himself in the mirror and splashes water in his face. It’s a weird feeling for me, seeing myself and knowing the face isn’t mine. This one doesn’t have acne, nor scars associated with it. The eyes are a different color, the cheeks higher, and when he smiles to check his teeth, I can’t help that they are much whiter than mine were. It takes some effort but I force hm to look down at his body. Even with clothes covering it, I can tell the physique is more appealing than mine ever was. I no longer inhabit a lanky body. Its easy to tell Joey works out. He is in top physical form. No wonder he’s popular with the ladies.

My thoughts must have been bleeding into his own for the vertigo returned and he hurried into a stall to throw up. He retched but nothing came. I could his confused mind asking what was wrong with him. I wanted to answer him back, ‘You aren’t just you anymore.’ I also wanted to direct him to get it together and just accept this. Go find the girl I jumped into this body for anyway. I don’t know if it was my thoughts or how he was feeling physically, but he went to retch again.

The bathroom door opened and someone came in. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stepped out of the stall, expecting to see a teacher. But it wasn’t one of the faculty. It was the football jock from class.

“Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah, I think so,” my host replied. “No, I’m not sure.”

The jock walked to one of the urinals and unzipped. In the midst of relieving his bladder, he asked, “so, what’s wrong? You feel sick?”

“Yeah, a little, I guess.”

“You going to hurl?”

My host laughs. “No. I thought I was. I’ll be okay.”

The jock zips back up. “I hope so.”

“Yeah, me too.”

We all walk to the sinks, both guys washing their hands. Nothing is said for a moment.

“How did you get out of class?” My host asks.

“Oh that was easy. Teachers get uneasy when you say you cant hold it any longer. I threatened to piss in my seat.”

They both have a laugh at this and then proceed to dry their hands off at the wall mounted dryer.

“You better go back soon then,” Joey says. “It doesn’t take that long to pee.”

“Yeah, I guess I better. You sure you’re okay?”

I nod my head, or at least Joey does. I am just a spectator inside his body. And then I fell it. A butterfly kind of feeling, that spreads through my stomach and down my body. I wonder if he’s going to retch again right in front of this guy. Maybe hurl up on his shoes.

The jock smiles and turns to go, then stops. “I don’t care if you threw up or not.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

He grabs my host’s face in his hands and kisses him.

+++++

Missed an episode? Ghost Boy Blues now has its own main page so you can catch up or start at the beginning. Find it Here

Wild Fire and Star Shine (flash fiction) (short story)

WILD FIRE & STAR SHINE

“Where’s Jack,” the little girl asked, finishing off her bowl of oatmeal and looking up at her mother hopefully.

Mother smiled. “He’s outside chopping wood.”

“He hasn’t left?”

Mom tried to muster a smile. “Not yet.”

Her daughter looked up from her breakfast. “But he will?”

“Eventually, I suppose.” She turned from her child to the sink. “They always do.”

The little girl put her spoon down and slid her chair from the table. “I wish one of them would stay. I always miss them when they leave.”

Then she was bounding out the door for the wood pile and the man who waited there.

“I do too, Sophie,” her mother said in her absence. “I do too.”

Sophie ran on ten year old legs around the back of the house where a man stood over a pile of logs he was in the process of splitting. Though it was fall and a little chilly at the base of the mountain, he worked shirtless, his muscles rippling with each swing of the axe.

The child watched him for a moment as he worked on the wood and then said, “I hope I have muscles like yours when I grow up.”

The man smiled as if noticing her for the first time. He looked at her, his sky blue eyes bright in the morning sun. “From what I have seen that would probably make people uncomfortable. Little girls aren’t supposed to dream of being men.”

“Mama says women can do things better than men. And that girls aren’t afraid of com..commi…”

“Commitment?” Jack suggested.

“Yes, commitment.”

Jack lifted his axe and brought it down on a log. “Well, your mom is probably right.”

“Are you afraid of commit..commitment?”

He snorted. “That’s a deep question for a little girl.”

Sophie sat down on one of the logs. “I don’t want you to go.”

“I’m not going anywhere, little one.”

“Mama says you will. She says men don’t like baggage.”

Again, he smiled. “Your mama says a lot.”

Sophie brushed her chestnut colored hair off her face. “She likes you, you know.”

“I like her, too.”

She smiled mischievously. “Are you going to kiss her?”

“Sophie!”

The shout startled the girl, and she turned to see her mom standing there with two coffee mugs in her hand.

“That’s not the way girls talk to grown men,” her mom scolded. “Now go inside and get ready for school.”

“He’s not a grown man.”

“Sophie! Mind your manners and do what I tell you.”

The girl hung her head. “Yes mam.” She looked up at Jack who had a look of amusement on his face. “I’m sorry Mr. Jack. I shouldn’t have said that about grown up.”

The man sat down the axe and walked over to her. He jostled her hair with his hand. “It’s okay, wildfire. Maybe I do have a lot of growing up to do still. I’ve only been here a couple of weeks. Still not used to this air.” He winked and looked to the blue expanse of sky overhead. “I’m so used to cramped spaces and a faster pace of things.” He smiled at her reassuringly. “I’ll get used to it. But right now, you better do what your ma says.”

“Yes, sir,” she replied and headed off to the house.

Jack put his hands on his hips and looked at the girl’s mother. “Is that for me,” he asked, pointing at one of the cups in her hand.

“Um yes, of course,” she replied, trying not to look at his bare chest. She attempted to ignore how the sweat ran in rivulets down to his abs, disappearing into the top of his faded black jeans.

He took the cup she offered and drank from it in spare sips. Some of it missed his lips and ran down his chin, but he seemed not to notice.

“Thanks,” he said. “How do you say it? It hits the spot?”

“Yes, that’s what we say, “ she agreed, hoping he had forgotten the interchange between himself and her precocious daughter. He handed the cup back and picked up the axe again, hefting it over his shoulder to return to the task of woodcutting. “So, what is this thing about kissing?”

She dropped both cups. “Um..I..you have to understand something…about children. Sometimes…they, um, say the craziest things.”

He nodded as if digesting some new kind of information. “Hmmm. And is this something they grow out of?”

“Hopefully so.”

“This kissing thing then?”

“Don’t worry, “ she replied, her voice catching in her throat. “It will pass. Nothing to concern yourself with.”

He could tell she was nervous, that this was an uncomfortable kind of topic for her. He knew enough to change the conversation before it made her even more uneasy..

“How about them Cowboys?”

“Excuse me?” She asked.

“I saw that on the…what do you call it?…television. When you want to avoid a subject?”

“Um..yes, of course. How about them cowboys.”

She tried to muster a confident smile and turned to go back inside. She needed to check on Sophie and drive her to school or they would be late. She took one last look at Jack and almost felt sorry for him. Where he came from, on his planet, kissing must have truly been an alien concept.

Ghost Boy Blues 6

I think everyone at one point or another has wished to wear another’s skin, to be someone else other than who we are. Call it envy for what another has, or perhaps just wanting to escape the dull or lonely existence that is our lives, but either way everyone has dreamt to be more than just us.

I think of this as I walk the halls, looking at every fellow student I pass. What would it be like to be the school’s star quarterback? The valedictorian? Or maybe just that party guy everyone wants to hang out with? Or what if I could be one of the teachers? Perhaps the principal? No, that would be weird. I know a lot of kids wish to be grown up, and I guess I have a few times myself, but most of the grown ups I know don’t know how to have any fun. It’s like they have forgotten something vital to happiness. I never wanted to be like either of my parents. It’s not that I don’t like them or anything; its just I don’t want to be them.

So if I am to attempt to inhabit another’s body it has to be a student. There are a few things that concern me about even that though. One, how much of me will be in control? Being in another’s body, will it be as an observer or will I be able effect change within that person by taking over their will or actions? Second, once inside, am I there forever? Or will I be able to shed that body when I choose and perhaps pick another?

These things bother me, but as there is no ghost manual, the only way to answer the questions before me is to go ahead and make the leap into the unknown.

Ghost Boy Blues 3

The weird thing is I don’t know how I died. These things are not always shown to the dead. Instead we must rely on others to lead us to answers through their memories of us. But what if no one remembers you? Am I just smoke dissipating from a dream?

I wish I remembered my own funeral. Did anybody speak eloquently of my short life? I know my achievements weren’t much. 8th grade spelling bee champion. Talent show runner up for my bland recital of Hamlet’s speech to Ophelia. Get thee to a nunnery never sounded so dull since the bard wrote it, I’m sure. Maybe someone said I was a good kid when I was younger, or that I had had “potential.” Im sure none of my classmates cried, certainly none of the girls. My best friend may have shed a tear in honor of how long we’d known each other, and mother might have wailed over the loss of her eldest boy, but I just couldn’t see my passing affecting anyone much. I could be wrong, but I’ll never know. That moment passed before my return as a shadow no one sees.

I tried doing like that Ghost movie my mom liked and going to a medium to see if they could at least hear me. And though the woman looked a lot like Whoopi Goldberg, she had none of her talent, humor, or ability to hear anything except a coin dropping in her purse. And in her presence I was just as helpless. I couldn’t move anything or cause a disturbance. I even screamed at the top of my lungs and sung what I thought were the correct words to “Despacito” and it still did no good.

It has to be the great cosmic joke that I can move around and go anywhere I want, but I can’t talk to a single person. No wonder in all the horror movies the spirits are angry and throwing shit around.

Episode 4