Tag Archives: flash-fiction

Ghost Boy Blues 5

I look up at the stars every night, searching the heavens for that one bright light that could take me back to yesterday. I know it’s a hopeless wish now, but I just want to change everything and everyone, to keep them from this sad state of being. I wish I had done something with myself in the classroom instead of sitting in the back, trying to avoid everyone else.

Maybe if I had interacted more, or made friends more easily, things would be different. Perhaps I would have had a girlfriend, or been popular in a clique of my own. But the truth is I was too scared and shy. I don’t know why this is, or why it has taken death for me to want to talk to others and make friends. I find myself wishing to communicate now, whereas before I just wanted to be left alone. I didn’t want to be picked on by the bullies. I didn’t want to be teased by the giggling girls. I didn’t even want to be called on in class. But all of those things happened anyway. And now I can’t seem to even leave the school grounds.

Another great cosmic joke. School was hell for me in a lot of ways and now it seems to have become my personal purgatory. I tell myself if I could only get out of here then my spirit could roam free the way it’s supposed to. Or at least that’s what I assume spirits are supposed to do when they no longer have a live body. Perhaps that’s it then, I need a live body to inhabit. Hmm.

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Ghost Boy Blues 4

I almost kissed her once. I was alive then, though not living. Not really anyway. I had a beating heart, a fairly intelligent brain, and yet I was the class cushion all the bullies wished to stick their pins in just to watch me squirm and bleed.

She never laughed like the other ones did. Perhaps that’s one of the things that attracts me to her now. Even though she was a year older and out of my league as far as looks and grades go, I couldn’t help but entertain fantasies of a different world where only she and I existed. But the truth is no such world exists. Girls like her don’t go for guys like me. Even when we’re alive. Being dead just complicates things even more.

But anyway, I was talking about how I almost kissed her once. I don’t think she was ever aware of it, to be honest. She was lost in her own little world, getting books out of her locker. She looked so beautiful that day in her school uniform. Though everyone was dressed like everyone else at school, she seemed to be luminous. There was a soft glow about her, and it was even more evident when someone tapped her on the shoulder and she turned around, flashing them a bright smile that could have lit up the whole room if the power had gone out. Of course, I’m using metaphors here, but my thoughts at the time were anything but, for in that moment I was compelled to leave my lonely spot in the hallway, walk right over there and plant one right on her cheek. On her lips if I somehow missed.

I didn’t do it though. I stayed right there at my own locker. Frozen. Unable to move, or even smile in her direction. Call me chicken shit, call me a loser. They both fit. For when I really thought about it, the only image that came to me, the only response I could imagine was the look of horror on her face as she saw who kissed her. The rearing back of her hand, or possibly the fist of another boy who’d come to her rescue because shed been assaulted by the creepiest boy in the school.

Its funny because that’s how everyone thought of me when I was alive and visible to everyone who wished to humiliate or pick on me. But I guess the joke’s on them after all. Being dead and still strolling the halls definitely makes me the creepiest.

But what can I do with that?

Episode 5

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

 

Ghost Boy Blues 2

I used to dream I was invisible, that I could move among others unseen and silent, watching their behavior, observing from a distance but close enough to touch. Now I’m not so sure. It is a lonely existence to be untouched forever.

I’m always looking around me, trying to see if there are others like me, moving amongst the classroom or just drifting in and out of this state of being with no control of themselves at all. But I see no one like that. All the kids here are flesh and blood. All the teachers are as they have always been, alive and wanting us to do well so we can prepared for the world.

But what if there is no world ahead? I thought I would graduate some day , go to college, find myself driving aimlessly in the adult world, trying to find my place amongst the rest. But if I go to college now, it will be just like this. Me observing. Me as a spy in the house of the living. And though I still remember how cool my dreams of invisibility were, now I just wish someone could see me. Somebody. Anybody. I just want to be noticed.

Episode 3

Monday Morning At The Springtime Cafe (short story / flash fiction)

It’s Monday morning and I’m sitting at the Springtime Cafe once again, watching all the A.M. people get a kick start to their day. Coffee, danishes, breakfast, conversation, whatever one needs to begin is right here. There’s even a duo set up with their acoustic guitars in the corner playing a cute little Ingrid Michaelson song. Several waitresses move about, taking orders and offering their own voices to the conversations at the various tables and booths. This morning I spot two of them right away.

Mags, or Maggie for long, is a middle aged lady, perhaps 40 or so, but she moves through the place like she’s twenty-five. She has blond hair, from which I can spot a few grays, though I never try to look that close. She gets picked on about that enough by some of the regular guys who come in and perch at one of her tables while awaiting their carpool. Of course she usually just shoots them down with a look from her steely, gray eyes. If that doesn’t work she has a tone to her voice that might remind you of your mom telling you a whipping is coming. For this reason alone, I can’t help but like her.

The other waitress is just as likable, a little more bubbly perhaps, because of her age. If I had to guess she’s about 30, maybe a few years younger. If Mags acts and moves around like a younger woman, then her co-worker flies around the room like a college girl late for class. Her name is May, and perhaps her parents should have been scolded for naming their child Maybelline, but she too made the best of the jokes and cajoling from the guys who frequented the cafe, some of them drawn indoors by the sight of her alone.

I speak from experience here. I myself was just tooling down the street on the way to a cubicle job I hated when I looked over and saw the brunette waitress through the window of the cafe. Her hair was long then, falling over her shoulders and slightly down her back. From the street, I saw her smile at a customer, and from that day I knew I would want her smile to be at the start of my morning for the rest of my life. Perhaps that’s an exaggeration, but as if on cue she arrives at my table, while I sit here like a dumbfounded idiot watching her approach and jotting it down. If I drew instead of writing about her, she may take more notice, but as it is I’m just another guy, maybe a teacher at the local college, working on a thesis or grading papers while waiting for his coffee.

“Still at it,” she asks, as she steps up to the table, the soles of her white shoes tapping lightly as if a near perfect dance routine had come to a temporary stop.

“Yeah,” I sigh with a smile and fall in love again for the tenth time this morning.

NaNoWriMo Day 15 update

Wow, the month sure does fly by when you’re broke, lol…okay so for today’s update, we are halfway through the month, and while some writers are already at the 25k mark I am struggling to reach 9k. Still, I feel like I’m being productive, if in short spurts. I almost feel like I’m writing flash Fiction, and I guess that’s correct in a sense because I’m not sure exactly where I’m going. In my story, or would be novel, I have introduced a whole host of characters in 8k words. Now I have to figure out what to do with them. Not an easy task when you can only write a few sentences at a time.

I am having fun with this however. Switching up my normal point of view has opened me up to all kinds of possibilities, though I’m not sure its all that well written. I guess my normal readers and fellow writers will have to judge that when i get around to sharing this latest endeavor. I’m hoping to post the opening soon, so keep an eye out and please let me know what you think.

Okay, so I’m out of here, to try and go bounce a few more sentences off the wall and see how they settle on paper. I’m really hoping to bash out another 500 words tonight so wish me luck.

Until next time….

Seven Days Of Sentences: Day 7

Wow, I made it through this self dared challenge. I’m not sure how successful it was, but I am pleased on how it turned out for me in my writing. Creating a daily writing habit, even if it was just one sentence, made me feel better about jumping back into the fray. It also got the creative juices flowing, getting me to think about different stories and voices. I’m still on the fence about NaNoWriMo but I’m sure running out of time to make up my mind, lol. Okay, so here’s Day seven of the challenge and my last entry of the weeklong prompt. Hope you enjoy.

Not many people today talk about the massacre at the Cayville Public library, but sometimes within the eyes of the survivors you can see there’s a secret in there, perhaps lost or purposely forgotten to protect those who were never seen again.