Ghost
One-
A sigh slips past Jestin's lips, lightly coating the air surrounding him with a disappointed aura. He sits back, watching as his two best friends fight over which musician is best- Johnny Cash or Elvis Presley- only causing a scene in the center of Rick's Diner. Jestin shakes his head at his friends' behavior, turning his attention back to his menu in hopes of blocking their bickering out. It works all the while Jestin looks over the menu, memorizing every bit of ink printed on the pieces of paper. He reads over the words carefully, analyzing what comes in what dish before deciding just what would satisfy his stomach's needs best, all the while blocking out the world around him. He sits completely oblivious to the server scribbling down his friends' choices, or the man across the diner watching him closely. Jestin only comes out of his trance after Trevor slams his foot into Jestin's shin. With a quiet yelp of pain, Jestin turns his attention to the server, mumbling out his food choice.
As they await their food, Trevor and Cassandra pester Jestin, asking him all sorts of questions. Jestin ignors them as much as he possibly can, responding with one word answers whenever he feels fit. Jestin knows his friends can tell there is something bothering him, and no matter how much the ask- poking and prodding, trying to budge their way into his business- he doesn't let up. Something inside of Jestin tells him the diner isn't a safe place to talk about his bizarre feelings. His emotions running him deep into a twisted world of fear and paranoia whilst his thoughts show him images- memories- he would rather keep locked so far in the back of his mind they're naught but specs.
Jestin turns his attention to the large windowpane beside him, watching himself through the reflection in the glass. His eyes scan over every detail he's allowed to see through the faint reflection, leaving him to look even more as a ghost than usual with his natural translucent-pale skin tone, white-blonde hair, and pale green- nearly white- round eyes. His lips pull downward, twisting his child-like features into an upsetting frown.
Cassandra watches him, confusion radiating off her person, wishing to take even just a small peak inside her best friend's mind. She has been watching lately as Jestin grows more depressed with himself, pulling himself away from the two people he's left with. Fear being an apparent emotion bouncing around inside her mind- frightened Jestin is thinking up the worst possible; frightened Jestin is planning to kill off his own body just as his mind has been doing to itself as of late. Frankly, she is just worried about Jestin overall.
Trevor drums his fingers atop the table, trying to patiently wait for his food. The gurgling sounds his stomach is emitting not helping his patience in the least, but he pushes them aside long enough to make eye contact with a strange man across the diner. The man raises an eyebrow in challenge- Trevor just staring, wondering what exactly the reason he has for staring in their direction. Trevor almost forgets that Jestin is seated to his right, but as soon as a ghostly white hand reaches across the table to squeeze Cassandra's hand, Jestin is right back in the front of Trevor's thoughts. Trevor turns his attention to Jestin, watching as he forces out a smile for Cassandra's sake- a smile as if to say, I'm still here, it'll be okay.
Cassandra pulls her lip between her teeth, watching Jestin carefully before whispering out, "Why?" No explanation to it, just the simple question that seems to hold a far too complex meaning. Jestin easily picks up on what she's asking about, but has no idea where to answer. He turns his attention back to the window, watching as people enter his life for a split second just by zooming past in an automobile. With a quick lick of his lips- a simple swish of his tongue over the dried surface- he shrugs his shoulders, thinking, How else is there to answer a question you've been asking yourself for years? Cassandra says no more, picking up that this is a topic Jestin isn't able to converse about.
Not long after Jestin's shrug, their server returns, setting down a plate filled with their selected dish in front of each friend. Jestin's stomach churns at the sight leaving him to wish he had declined his friends' offer to join them- just the thought of eating the greasy food piled onto his plate making him feel ill. Jestin knows, however, that if he were to have declined they would have found a way to make him feel guilty- found a way to convince him to join them as he had been avoiding them lately, deciding to sit at home alone rather than converse with people who pick him apart, forcing themselves into his mind. Jestin also knows that if he doesn't eat the meal he had ordered for himself more problems would arise, and Jestin knows that anymore problems- large or small- would surely be the death of him.
As they await their food, Trevor and Cassandra pester Jestin, asking him all sorts of questions. Jestin ignors them as much as he possibly can, responding with one word answers whenever he feels fit. Jestin knows his friends can tell there is something bothering him, and no matter how much the ask- poking and prodding, trying to budge their way into his business- he doesn't let up. Something inside of Jestin tells him the diner isn't a safe place to talk about his bizarre feelings. His emotions running him deep into a twisted world of fear and paranoia whilst his thoughts show him images- memories- he would rather keep locked so far in the back of his mind they're naught but specs.
Jestin turns his attention to the large windowpane beside him, watching himself through the reflection in the glass. His eyes scan over every detail he's allowed to see through the faint reflection, leaving him to look even more as a ghost than usual with his natural translucent-pale skin tone, white-blonde hair, and pale green- nearly white- round eyes. His lips pull downward, twisting his child-like features into an upsetting frown.
Cassandra watches him, confusion radiating off her person, wishing to take even just a small peak inside her best friend's mind. She has been watching lately as Jestin grows more depressed with himself, pulling himself away from the two people he's left with. Fear being an apparent emotion bouncing around inside her mind- frightened Jestin is thinking up the worst possible; frightened Jestin is planning to kill off his own body just as his mind has been doing to itself as of late. Frankly, she is just worried about Jestin overall.
Trevor drums his fingers atop the table, trying to patiently wait for his food. The gurgling sounds his stomach is emitting not helping his patience in the least, but he pushes them aside long enough to make eye contact with a strange man across the diner. The man raises an eyebrow in challenge- Trevor just staring, wondering what exactly the reason he has for staring in their direction. Trevor almost forgets that Jestin is seated to his right, but as soon as a ghostly white hand reaches across the table to squeeze Cassandra's hand, Jestin is right back in the front of Trevor's thoughts. Trevor turns his attention to Jestin, watching as he forces out a smile for Cassandra's sake- a smile as if to say, I'm still here, it'll be okay.
Cassandra pulls her lip between her teeth, watching Jestin carefully before whispering out, "Why?" No explanation to it, just the simple question that seems to hold a far too complex meaning. Jestin easily picks up on what she's asking about, but has no idea where to answer. He turns his attention back to the window, watching as people enter his life for a split second just by zooming past in an automobile. With a quick lick of his lips- a simple swish of his tongue over the dried surface- he shrugs his shoulders, thinking, How else is there to answer a question you've been asking yourself for years? Cassandra says no more, picking up that this is a topic Jestin isn't able to converse about.
Not long after Jestin's shrug, their server returns, setting down a plate filled with their selected dish in front of each friend. Jestin's stomach churns at the sight leaving him to wish he had declined his friends' offer to join them- just the thought of eating the greasy food piled onto his plate making him feel ill. Jestin knows, however, that if he were to have declined they would have found a way to make him feel guilty- found a way to convince him to join them as he had been avoiding them lately, deciding to sit at home alone rather than converse with people who pick him apart, forcing themselves into his mind. Jestin also knows that if he doesn't eat the meal he had ordered for himself more problems would arise, and Jestin knows that anymore problems- large or small- would surely be the death of him.