Status: Finals are coming by and I need to get my grades up. I won't be updating this very much. I'm sorry. Bare with me.
We're Ghosts in a Hail of Bullets
The Riddle to Her Tears
In English we had a writing assignment. We were expected to write a two page short story about two unlikely friends who meet and overcome something. I knew I wouldn't be able to stop at two. Mine would be somewhere around ten or twelve. We were sitting in the library, typing up our stories. I loved the sound of keys taping at a rhythmic pace. Never understood why.
Jessica was sitting to my write, tapping away. She had a story saved in her school account so she went from there. She had a few pre-written stories. They all had the same theme. They each had something to do with the darkness or some sad, lonely girl who was trapped in the shallow abyss or her tormented soul. It really said something about her personality. Usually I wouldn't associate myself with her kind of people. Those kids who were constantly sad about nothing and took every problem too far. She was that kind of kid. They wrapped themselves into the darkness of their teenage angst, cutting away at their pale flesh, and giggling at disturbing things. Sure, I liked disturbing things like horror movies, horror comics, loud music, serial killers, famous suicides, and other things, but I wouldn't take it as far as to sink into a depression and cut myself. I was a bit desperate for a friend in this school and Jessica was open and willing. In all honesty, she was nice to talk to. She was open to every subject and her responses were well thought out. She even let me use one of her ideas for a story. It was about this kid whose bullied and he meets a girl whose bullied. Originally it's suppose to end with them shooting up their school, but I couldn't write that and turn it in, so I had to change the ending. They would fall in love and vow never to be victims again. But that would be fourteen pages later. I wasn't even writing yet. I had the title and that was it. We had three days to type so I relaxed, logged onto a few websites, and talked to Jess.
"Where did you move to? L.A.'s a big place," she asked me, tapping her little fingers rapidly.
"Brookefield street. I don't know the address, but it's a really nice house," I replied as I scrolled down the page of this website I was on.
"Is it by the Murder House?" she asked, taking her eyes away from the screen. Somehow she was still able type. I paused for a minute and tried to figure out how to word my response.
"It is the Murder House," I said very calmly and with a sly smile. She instantly asked me to take her to my house and show her all of it's wonders. She didn't say it like that, but it was close.
After school I invited Jess to walk home with me. She called her mom and told her where she was going and then we went on. She practically skipped the whole way there, eager to see all of the torment that it's walls concealed. I reminded her that the house was haunted, but she laughed in disbelief, telling me that she would believe it when she sees it. I could picture her running out of my home, screaming with tears down her face while a gang of violent spirits chased her down. It hurt a little bit to think about because Jessica was my only friend here and I knew I would probably lose her in a day or two. The ghosts would get a hold of her and scare her away. But she entered my house with enthusiasm, greeting Moira and my mother. They sat in the study, sipping tea, and discussing something. Then I took her up to my room where we lit candles and did our homework.
"Whose Tate?" she asked the moment we sat down. I had forgotten about the drawing that he left on my blackboard.
"My boyfriend," I replied with a weak smile and giggle. It was strange to call him that though it felt nice. I almost blushed.
"You've been here for how long and you already found a boyfriend?" Jessica said with a chuckle. I laughed too. It was so refreshing to sit in my room and laugh with another person who wasn't Tate or my mom.
"He's just a neighbor. He found me, but he's really cool," I said. After a few minutes of doing homework and chatting about school, Jessica began asking the questions that she really wanted to know about.
"So where are all of the ghosts?" she finally asked. I thought of the attic and Beau. I wanted to show her him but he was too fragile. If Jess were to see him then she would scream and I would lose his trust. Then Tate would be upset with me.
"They kind of pop up randomly. They're really annoying," I replied. She sighed sadly. I knew she was disappointed. "Come with me," I said. We both hopped up from the floor and I lead her into the bathroom where I saw the girl. We stood in there for about five minutes before Jessica got bored.
"What are we doing?" she asked with a sigh.
"Give it a minute. A ghost appeared to me in here this morning," I replied. We continued to wait in silence and boredom. Jessica sat on the ledge of the bathtub, running a gentle stream of warm water and dripping her hand in it. I felt bad. I had embarrassed myself in front of a new person. We were sitting in my bathroom, filling it with steam, for no reason. Jess wanted to see a ghost, which the house was full of, but I couldn't show her one. But then something amazing happened.
Jessica stood up, drying her hand with a towel, and sighing again. I was leaning myself against the sink, starring at the wall with my arms crossed. I knew she was getting ready to leave by the way she looked at me, but the stream of water began to gush. The nasals squeaked and scratched at my ears. The hot water ran from the faucet and smacked against the porcelain, splashing everywhere. Jessica gasped and jumped back, but I remained unfazed. Then the sink did the same thing as the tub. It scared me so I jumped away from it. Water began to splash out of the tub and sink, thankfully they didn't flood. But there was a thick cloud of steam that filled the room. It dulled our eye sight and stung my sensitive eyes, turning them red. In the mirror, through the stream, we both read the words "Get out," it chilling, hand written letters. It didn't take us long to leave the bathroom. Once I slammed the door all of the noise that the water made stopped. The faucets turned themselves off.
We stood in the hallway and starred at each other for a moment or two, then laughed.
"That was awesome," Jessica said through her giggles. I lead her back into my room where we discussed what just happened, laughing about it and ignoring the fear that lingered inside our chests. We went quiet though, unable to find a new topic. At least I couldn't find one. I laid on my bed while Jessica sat on the floor with her back against my bed frame. She broke the silence.
"Did you know that there was a massacre at our school?" she said. It was so out of blue that it took me back a little bit. My silence told her that I had no idea what she was talking about. So she propped herself up, sitting straight, and then began her story. "This kid went crazy one day and brought a bunch of guns to school. It was like Columbine. He just shot up the place. Sent bullets through air until they fell like rain. Killed like fifteen people. It was insane," she explained.
"Who was it?" I asked. She just shook her head and shrugged.
"It was back in the nineties. Teachers don't really talk about it because the librarian was shot during it and he's super sensitive. He's a in a wheelchair. He's paralyzed," she said. It sent shivers down my spine. After that we didn't talk. We had nothing to talk about so we simply finished our homework and then she went home.
The only thing I could bring myself to do was lay in bed. Until the tapping at my window began. It was still day light outside so I had some courage to walk over and scream at the children who were doing it.
"Go away!" I screamed at the glass. It was Tate, but the children. He was throwing pebbles. He had a handful, but he dropped them and looked away. I just sent a dagger straight through his chest. My forehead gently collided with the glass and the worthless feeling washed over me. I opened the window and called down to him, telling him that I was sorry and I didn't mean it. He quickly climb up the side of my house without a word. We leaned in for a kiss and once our lips parted he began to talk. I just kissed him again.
"Please don't speak," I whispered softly. Our forehead were pressed against each others until I let him inside. I felt a little useless. I needed him to be there for a moment, just to hold me in the quiet of the house. He obeyed my every order with out question, holding me on my bed. My back was pressed against his chest and his arms were wrapped around my waist. He kissed my shoulders and then laid his head down on my other pillow. For some reason, a tear fell from one of my eyes. My chest tightened and another tear fell. As Tate held me there, his eyes closed, I cried quietly to myself until I fell asleep.
Jessica was sitting to my write, tapping away. She had a story saved in her school account so she went from there. She had a few pre-written stories. They all had the same theme. They each had something to do with the darkness or some sad, lonely girl who was trapped in the shallow abyss or her tormented soul. It really said something about her personality. Usually I wouldn't associate myself with her kind of people. Those kids who were constantly sad about nothing and took every problem too far. She was that kind of kid. They wrapped themselves into the darkness of their teenage angst, cutting away at their pale flesh, and giggling at disturbing things. Sure, I liked disturbing things like horror movies, horror comics, loud music, serial killers, famous suicides, and other things, but I wouldn't take it as far as to sink into a depression and cut myself. I was a bit desperate for a friend in this school and Jessica was open and willing. In all honesty, she was nice to talk to. She was open to every subject and her responses were well thought out. She even let me use one of her ideas for a story. It was about this kid whose bullied and he meets a girl whose bullied. Originally it's suppose to end with them shooting up their school, but I couldn't write that and turn it in, so I had to change the ending. They would fall in love and vow never to be victims again. But that would be fourteen pages later. I wasn't even writing yet. I had the title and that was it. We had three days to type so I relaxed, logged onto a few websites, and talked to Jess.
"Where did you move to? L.A.'s a big place," she asked me, tapping her little fingers rapidly.
"Brookefield street. I don't know the address, but it's a really nice house," I replied as I scrolled down the page of this website I was on.
"Is it by the Murder House?" she asked, taking her eyes away from the screen. Somehow she was still able type. I paused for a minute and tried to figure out how to word my response.
"It is the Murder House," I said very calmly and with a sly smile. She instantly asked me to take her to my house and show her all of it's wonders. She didn't say it like that, but it was close.
After school I invited Jess to walk home with me. She called her mom and told her where she was going and then we went on. She practically skipped the whole way there, eager to see all of the torment that it's walls concealed. I reminded her that the house was haunted, but she laughed in disbelief, telling me that she would believe it when she sees it. I could picture her running out of my home, screaming with tears down her face while a gang of violent spirits chased her down. It hurt a little bit to think about because Jessica was my only friend here and I knew I would probably lose her in a day or two. The ghosts would get a hold of her and scare her away. But she entered my house with enthusiasm, greeting Moira and my mother. They sat in the study, sipping tea, and discussing something. Then I took her up to my room where we lit candles and did our homework.
"Whose Tate?" she asked the moment we sat down. I had forgotten about the drawing that he left on my blackboard.
"My boyfriend," I replied with a weak smile and giggle. It was strange to call him that though it felt nice. I almost blushed.
"You've been here for how long and you already found a boyfriend?" Jessica said with a chuckle. I laughed too. It was so refreshing to sit in my room and laugh with another person who wasn't Tate or my mom.
"He's just a neighbor. He found me, but he's really cool," I said. After a few minutes of doing homework and chatting about school, Jessica began asking the questions that she really wanted to know about.
"So where are all of the ghosts?" she finally asked. I thought of the attic and Beau. I wanted to show her him but he was too fragile. If Jess were to see him then she would scream and I would lose his trust. Then Tate would be upset with me.
"They kind of pop up randomly. They're really annoying," I replied. She sighed sadly. I knew she was disappointed. "Come with me," I said. We both hopped up from the floor and I lead her into the bathroom where I saw the girl. We stood in there for about five minutes before Jessica got bored.
"What are we doing?" she asked with a sigh.
"Give it a minute. A ghost appeared to me in here this morning," I replied. We continued to wait in silence and boredom. Jessica sat on the ledge of the bathtub, running a gentle stream of warm water and dripping her hand in it. I felt bad. I had embarrassed myself in front of a new person. We were sitting in my bathroom, filling it with steam, for no reason. Jess wanted to see a ghost, which the house was full of, but I couldn't show her one. But then something amazing happened.
Jessica stood up, drying her hand with a towel, and sighing again. I was leaning myself against the sink, starring at the wall with my arms crossed. I knew she was getting ready to leave by the way she looked at me, but the stream of water began to gush. The nasals squeaked and scratched at my ears. The hot water ran from the faucet and smacked against the porcelain, splashing everywhere. Jessica gasped and jumped back, but I remained unfazed. Then the sink did the same thing as the tub. It scared me so I jumped away from it. Water began to splash out of the tub and sink, thankfully they didn't flood. But there was a thick cloud of steam that filled the room. It dulled our eye sight and stung my sensitive eyes, turning them red. In the mirror, through the stream, we both read the words "Get out," it chilling, hand written letters. It didn't take us long to leave the bathroom. Once I slammed the door all of the noise that the water made stopped. The faucets turned themselves off.
We stood in the hallway and starred at each other for a moment or two, then laughed.
"That was awesome," Jessica said through her giggles. I lead her back into my room where we discussed what just happened, laughing about it and ignoring the fear that lingered inside our chests. We went quiet though, unable to find a new topic. At least I couldn't find one. I laid on my bed while Jessica sat on the floor with her back against my bed frame. She broke the silence.
"Did you know that there was a massacre at our school?" she said. It was so out of blue that it took me back a little bit. My silence told her that I had no idea what she was talking about. So she propped herself up, sitting straight, and then began her story. "This kid went crazy one day and brought a bunch of guns to school. It was like Columbine. He just shot up the place. Sent bullets through air until they fell like rain. Killed like fifteen people. It was insane," she explained.
"Who was it?" I asked. She just shook her head and shrugged.
"It was back in the nineties. Teachers don't really talk about it because the librarian was shot during it and he's super sensitive. He's a in a wheelchair. He's paralyzed," she said. It sent shivers down my spine. After that we didn't talk. We had nothing to talk about so we simply finished our homework and then she went home.
The only thing I could bring myself to do was lay in bed. Until the tapping at my window began. It was still day light outside so I had some courage to walk over and scream at the children who were doing it.
"Go away!" I screamed at the glass. It was Tate, but the children. He was throwing pebbles. He had a handful, but he dropped them and looked away. I just sent a dagger straight through his chest. My forehead gently collided with the glass and the worthless feeling washed over me. I opened the window and called down to him, telling him that I was sorry and I didn't mean it. He quickly climb up the side of my house without a word. We leaned in for a kiss and once our lips parted he began to talk. I just kissed him again.
"Please don't speak," I whispered softly. Our forehead were pressed against each others until I let him inside. I felt a little useless. I needed him to be there for a moment, just to hold me in the quiet of the house. He obeyed my every order with out question, holding me on my bed. My back was pressed against his chest and his arms were wrapped around my waist. He kissed my shoulders and then laid his head down on my other pillow. For some reason, a tear fell from one of my eyes. My chest tightened and another tear fell. As Tate held me there, his eyes closed, I cried quietly to myself until I fell asleep.