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
Talk to Me Beau
We got a T.V. Soon the house will filled with the loud tragedies of the news, soap operas, stupid reality shows, and cartoons. The constant noise made the house feel less empty in the afternoons and late evenings. My dad was easier to find when he came home.
I'd wake up in the middle of the night to silence. It would bother so I would walk down into the living room and turn it on. My parents would find me sleeping in the chair in the morning. It became a common thing.
A few days past by and I didn't see Tate. He disappeared and I didn't know why.
School became unbearable, but I wasn't allowed to skip. I did all of my homework in under an hour and it left me with nothing to do. My relationship with Jessica became non existent. I chose to talk to no one. I knew something was wrong with me but I was too lazy to worry.
My thoughts became more fanciful. The world inside my head became more of a reality than the one in front of me. It scared me. I didn't dare think alone. I talked to ghosts a lot now. Beau was my favorite because he didn't talk. All I had to do was roll a ball with him and smile.
I found that he was good company, despite is lack of social skills. He was friendly, quiet, polite, sweet, and gentile. Sometimes I didn't even notice his face. I saw him as a person.
One day, sometime around the late afternoon, I was sitting in the attic with Beau. He was sitting on the dusty floorboards, playing with a Barbie doll I found in an old box. He stroked the messy hair and hugged it like a cherished possession. I expected someone of his mental capability to break it, undress it, or reject it all together, but Beau loved it. He thanked me for it by offering me something of his. It was a picture of Tate and their little sister Addy, but I told him to keep it.
We sat there is silence for a minutes. Beau continued to play with his new toy while I sat there watching him. It was like taking care of a child, only the he didn't cry or whine or throw tantrums.
"Beau," I whispered through the thick silence. He looks up at me, giving me all of his attention. "Is Tate nice to you?" I asked. Beau nodded heavily, groaning out smeared words that sounded like yes or 'mhm'. "Is he a good brother?" I asked. I received the same response. I inhaled a big gulp of air and then exhale just as big.
"Is he a good person?" I muttered slowly.
Beau paused, running one of his large fingers over the dolls tangled hair. I wish that he could actually speak.
I picked at my black nails in anticipation, but I wouldn't receive an answer. Small foot steps marching up the stairs caused Beau to disappeared, dropping the doll and the picture.
"Anna?" My mom called from behind me.
"Yeah," I turned around to face her. She looked worried.
"I heard voices," she said cautiously. I gulped again, looking for lies inside my honest head. Yeah, sorry about that Mom. I was talking to the mentally disabled ghost that lives in our attic He's pretty nice, you should meet him.
"It was probably the T.V." I suggested.
"No, it was you," she said quicker than I expected. A shot of fiery anger ran through my veins. It sent a surge of aggression.
"Then I'm schizophrenic," I snapped before walking past her. She said something to me as I strolled down the attic ladder, but I ignored her. She probably asked what schizophrenic meant. My mom didn't know anything about anything, really. She wasn't as smart as she thought she was.
I sat in my room for x amount of minutes or hours. My mind ran wild and all of the things I feared became reality. Sanity was obsolete. I went to a place where walls bleed and books speak the words written in them. I got through my whole book of the Hunger Games by the time I came to.
A sharp knock on my door brought me back to reality. I was laying on my bed, looking up at my ceiling that was dripping with red blood just seconds before.
My dad poked his head through the door. He had to just get off of work because he was wearing his work cap and shirt.
"Hey, Pumpkin," he greeted with a smile. I couldn't help but smile back at him.
"Hey, Dad," I replied sweetly. No matter how insane I became, I would always be Daddy's little girl.
He sat down at the edge of my bed, searching for words. He was never quite good at advice or talking to me about my problems. We were both very awkward when it came to those kinds of things. It worked for us though.
"What happened with your Mom?" he asked.
"Nothing. She came up to the attic and I was sitting, trying to think. She just walked in at the wrong time. I was lost in thought and she broke it," I said back. It was the best thing I could come up with.
He was confused and at a complete lost for words.
"She that you were talking to yourself," he tried to comprehend.
"No I wasn't," I lied. It wasn't a total lie though.
"But-"
"I wasn't, Dad. I swear. I was singing to myself," I smiled through it. He left it at that, thankfully.
I heard them arguing downstairs about me and my mental stability. Dad believed that I was perfectly fine but Mom thought that I was losing my mind. Sadly, I agreed with her.
I'd wake up in the middle of the night to silence. It would bother so I would walk down into the living room and turn it on. My parents would find me sleeping in the chair in the morning. It became a common thing.
A few days past by and I didn't see Tate. He disappeared and I didn't know why.
School became unbearable, but I wasn't allowed to skip. I did all of my homework in under an hour and it left me with nothing to do. My relationship with Jessica became non existent. I chose to talk to no one. I knew something was wrong with me but I was too lazy to worry.
My thoughts became more fanciful. The world inside my head became more of a reality than the one in front of me. It scared me. I didn't dare think alone. I talked to ghosts a lot now. Beau was my favorite because he didn't talk. All I had to do was roll a ball with him and smile.
I found that he was good company, despite is lack of social skills. He was friendly, quiet, polite, sweet, and gentile. Sometimes I didn't even notice his face. I saw him as a person.
One day, sometime around the late afternoon, I was sitting in the attic with Beau. He was sitting on the dusty floorboards, playing with a Barbie doll I found in an old box. He stroked the messy hair and hugged it like a cherished possession. I expected someone of his mental capability to break it, undress it, or reject it all together, but Beau loved it. He thanked me for it by offering me something of his. It was a picture of Tate and their little sister Addy, but I told him to keep it.
We sat there is silence for a minutes. Beau continued to play with his new toy while I sat there watching him. It was like taking care of a child, only the he didn't cry or whine or throw tantrums.
"Beau," I whispered through the thick silence. He looks up at me, giving me all of his attention. "Is Tate nice to you?" I asked. Beau nodded heavily, groaning out smeared words that sounded like yes or 'mhm'. "Is he a good brother?" I asked. I received the same response. I inhaled a big gulp of air and then exhale just as big.
"Is he a good person?" I muttered slowly.
Beau paused, running one of his large fingers over the dolls tangled hair. I wish that he could actually speak.
I picked at my black nails in anticipation, but I wouldn't receive an answer. Small foot steps marching up the stairs caused Beau to disappeared, dropping the doll and the picture.
"Anna?" My mom called from behind me.
"Yeah," I turned around to face her. She looked worried.
"I heard voices," she said cautiously. I gulped again, looking for lies inside my honest head. Yeah, sorry about that Mom. I was talking to the mentally disabled ghost that lives in our attic He's pretty nice, you should meet him.
"It was probably the T.V." I suggested.
"No, it was you," she said quicker than I expected. A shot of fiery anger ran through my veins. It sent a surge of aggression.
"Then I'm schizophrenic," I snapped before walking past her. She said something to me as I strolled down the attic ladder, but I ignored her. She probably asked what schizophrenic meant. My mom didn't know anything about anything, really. She wasn't as smart as she thought she was.
I sat in my room for x amount of minutes or hours. My mind ran wild and all of the things I feared became reality. Sanity was obsolete. I went to a place where walls bleed and books speak the words written in them. I got through my whole book of the Hunger Games by the time I came to.
A sharp knock on my door brought me back to reality. I was laying on my bed, looking up at my ceiling that was dripping with red blood just seconds before.
My dad poked his head through the door. He had to just get off of work because he was wearing his work cap and shirt.
"Hey, Pumpkin," he greeted with a smile. I couldn't help but smile back at him.
"Hey, Dad," I replied sweetly. No matter how insane I became, I would always be Daddy's little girl.
He sat down at the edge of my bed, searching for words. He was never quite good at advice or talking to me about my problems. We were both very awkward when it came to those kinds of things. It worked for us though.
"What happened with your Mom?" he asked.
"Nothing. She came up to the attic and I was sitting, trying to think. She just walked in at the wrong time. I was lost in thought and she broke it," I said back. It was the best thing I could come up with.
He was confused and at a complete lost for words.
"She that you were talking to yourself," he tried to comprehend.
"No I wasn't," I lied. It wasn't a total lie though.
"But-"
"I wasn't, Dad. I swear. I was singing to myself," I smiled through it. He left it at that, thankfully.
I heard them arguing downstairs about me and my mental stability. Dad believed that I was perfectly fine but Mom thought that I was losing my mind. Sadly, I agreed with her.