Status: 1 / 1
I Thought I Saw Your Eyes but I'm Seeing Ghosts
Je Ne Rêverai Plus Des Morts
“It was just a game,” I sobbed, feeling faint. “No one was supposed to get hurt. No one was supposed to die.”
The cold October rain pelted down on my face, my hair and clothes were already decently soaked, as I sat on the curb in front of Officer Holden.
“Russian Roulette” Officer Holden put one of his hands on his even bigger hip while the other held up his umbrella, “Is not a game, Mr. Delacroix. Nothing done with a gun is a game.”
“Not even hunting?” even though I was traumatized, my natural disrespect for authority still managed to present itself.
Officer Holden shot me a disapproving look, obviously not in the mood for a joke. “Miss Hale is dead, Mr. Delacroix .I think you need to start taking things a little more seriously.”
“My girlfriend is dead,” I said through gritted teeth as I ran a hand through my soggy black hair. “I’m pretty sure I’m taking this seriously.”
“Doesn’t seem like it,” the officer mumbled and looked over to his parked car only so he could avoid eye contact with me.
What did he just say?! “My girlfriend is dead, you blonde-haired, red-faced, walrus with legs!” I hollered, a surge of anger running through my body. “Get it?! Dead. Not living. No longer alive. Not breathing. Deceased. Never coming back. Do you even know what it feels like? How fucking badly it hurts?!”
Officer Holden’s puffy red face reddened even more. “Mr. Delacroix, you need to calm down.”
“The hell I do!” I shouted, clenching my fists, trying to resist the overwhelming urge to punch him straight in the mouth. “Quit telling me what to do. Jesus. I don’t even understand what you need me for in the first place.”
“We need a witness statement,” he explained, his face like a tomato, still looking more than uncomfortable.
“Its not like I saw her blow her brains out,” I repeated the same thing I had testified earlier. “I wasn’t even in the same room. I was upstairs getting a drink and taking a smoke with my friend Jackson…”
I stared at the cigarette in my hand and tried to remember how I’d become so hopelessly addicted to these things. Did it happen the first time I ever smoked? In the shed in the backyard with my bad influence of an older brother?
I remembered how it felt to take that first drag. I remembered the way it burned all the way down my throat and made my eyes water. The way I couldn’t get myself to quit coughing. The way my brother laughed at me and called me a pussy, a sissy, a mama’s boy. And I remembered how much that pissed me off. Pissed me so much that I decided I had to prove him wrong. That I had to smoke the rest of the cigarette without coughing. That I had to smoke two more after that first cigarette I could hardly handle. Then smoke 2 a day for the next five years. The 3 a day. Then 4. Then 5. Just to prove my brother wrong. To show him I wasn’t a pussy. In the end, I had managed to prove my point—I wasn’t a pussy; I was a man, I was strong—but gained a nasty nicotine addiction in the process. Looking back, I would definitely say proving my point was not worth it.
Jackson took a drag of his cigarette and with his exhale, blew the smoke directly in my face, laughing.
“Real nice, asshole” I threw a quick elbow teasingly into his ribs.
“Hey, watch it, man,” he slurred and laughed again.
I didn’t share the laugh. “I’m not the one being a dick here.”
“You're not?” he sobered, however only a miniscule amount. “You just fucking jabbed me in the ribs with your fishing spear of an elbow.”
“My fishing spear of an elbow..?” I rolled my eyes at his idiocy. “Don’t be such a baby—“
“Then bang! I heard a gunshot. Even though, at the time I wasn’t 100% sure that’s what it was. It scared the crap out of me. “
My sentence was cut short but an alarmingly loud sound. BANG. Screams followed and people attempted to flee. Others fell to the floor, attempting to shield their bodies. Guys grabbed their girlfriends and tried to protect them in whatever way they could (mostly running out of the house). Everyone did something—even Jackson who chose the floor option—except me. I stood there, burning cigarette in one hand, mostly empty Solo cup in the other, frozen stiff with fear.
“So immediately I went to go find Laurel. I remembered she had gone down stairs earlier so that’s where I went. “
I’d never actually thought one could be completely immobilized by fear. I thought that was some made up bullshit that happened only in movies and books. But when my mind was screaming nothing but to run and my body didn’t budge an inch, I was converted to a firm believer. No pun intended.
“Logan” an eerie voice floated through the air. At first, in my state of panic, I thought I was hearing things. Then I heard the voice again, this time it sounded as if someone was standing right behind me and whispering in my ear.
I whipped around as fast as I could to face the owner of the voice. Although, I knew who it belonged to—Laurel. When I turned, though, she wasn’t there. In fact, no one was.
With the regained mobility of my body, I pushed that strangeness aside and started to make my way to my last known location of Laurel: the basement.
”And then I found her.”
As soon as I descended the steps and stepped onto the cold and cracked concrete floor, I was instantly reminded of why I so hastily declined joining Laurel in this basement. It was scary as all hell. It was dark. It was dank. And it was poorly decorated. The sooner I could leave, the better.
All of the lights were turned off and for a brief moment I thought that maybe it was a sign no one was down here. A sign that Laurel had managed to get out. But as soon as I found the light switch and flicked on the lights, I saw that was not the case.
In the far corner of the room, I saw her. She was laying on her side on the gray floor, her back facing me. I could tell it was Laurel from her long sandy blonde hair and lithe figure. I rushed over to her. I fell to my knees and turned her so she was facing me.
There are no words to describe how I felt next. There is nothing I could say that could properly explain it. Completely grasp the enormity of the sadness that overcame my body. The shock. The disbelief. The heart break.
Most of her body was covered in blood at this point. Blood was smeared all over her face, down her neck, onto her dress. Blood poured out of the gaping wound in the side of her head, joining the pool of blood on the floor that was there before I had even arrived.
I don’t know how I managed to stay conscious. How I didn’t faint at the sight or from all the racing thoughts. But I sat there, clutching her lifeless, bloodied bodied and screamed as loudly as I could. A scream that contained every bit of anger and hatred I had ever felt in my life. All of that released in one, lengthy moment. My scream turned to sobs and those sobs turned into wails. I probably sounded like a complete basket case.
I hugged her as best I could, holding her body as tightly as possibly. I wasn’t going to let her go. I would never.
“Laurel, please. I love you so much. Don’t do this to me. Don’t go. Wake up. Breathe. Talk to me. I need you, Laurel. I can't live without you. You’re everything to me. I need you.”
“Dead. With a gunshot to the head. And well, after that I can't remember that much.”
“Alright, well, were there any illegal substances or items in the room where you found Miss Hale’s body?”
“Excuse me, her body? No. I found Laurel,” he sure knew how to get under my skin. “And yes, of course there was! It was a college party. There were all sorts of illegal things going on.”
“And anything else?” he questioned.
“Yeah. The gun she used to…” I couldn’t bring myself to finish the sentence. He got the gist.
“But Miss Hale was underage,” he felt it necessary to point out the obvious. I simply nodded my head in response and bit my tongue because I knew whatever would have come out of my mouth next would have gotten me in trouble. “And yet you were intimate with her?”
“That is none of your business,” I gave him a sarcastic smile.
“Mr. Delacriox—” that was all I managed to hear because at that moment, out of the corner of my eye, I saw flash of gold near Officer Holden’s cruiser. A flash of golden—or rather, blonde—hair, to be exact. And who had blonde hair? Laurel. “Mr. Delacriox, did you hear a word I just said?”
“Yeah sure,” I responded without thought, still looking after that flash.
Miraculously, but strangely, the rain stopped. While the absence of rain might have been a welcome relief, it was replaced by the presence of an eerie cold.
And that’s when it happened.
Standing on the hood of Office H’s car was Laurel, with a big old bullet hole in the side of her head.
Her long golden hair hung down past her chest in messy waves and she had on the same tight black dress and leather jacket she was wearing earlier, but those were the only normal parts about her.
Her normally mossy green eyes were now completely pitch-black. They almost looked exactly like two pieces of coal. Her creamy, porcelain complexion had now turned starch-white, void of any hint of color. Her skin actually looked like it was—now I know this will sound crazy, but hey, so is seeing your dead girlfriend standing on a car—glowing. Her dark eye makeup was smeared around on her face, as well as the red stain she used on her lips. And there was of course that gaping, bloody wound in the side of her head.
I guess Officer Holden noticed my staring and looked in the same direction. “What you looking at, boy?”
“L-Laurel…” I was surprised I could even produce a sound. I was… confused, scared, and shocked. Laurel had just died, hadn’t she? So how in the world could I be seeing her now?
“She’s dead, son,” the officer tried.
Laurel’s mouth crept up in a sick smile, her head tilting to the side. Instantly by body started losing its feeling. All the sound around me stopped and so it seemed time did so too.
“Logan” she sang, dragging out the “o”. “Come catch me.”
Before I could move I noticed something had been written on the cruiser’s windshield. The letters spelled out,
I know who killed me.
Do you sweetheart?
The words, they were written in blood.
Laurel hadn’t killed herself. She was murdered.
The cold October rain pelted down on my face, my hair and clothes were already decently soaked, as I sat on the curb in front of Officer Holden.
“Russian Roulette” Officer Holden put one of his hands on his even bigger hip while the other held up his umbrella, “Is not a game, Mr. Delacroix. Nothing done with a gun is a game.”
“Not even hunting?” even though I was traumatized, my natural disrespect for authority still managed to present itself.
Officer Holden shot me a disapproving look, obviously not in the mood for a joke. “Miss Hale is dead, Mr. Delacroix .I think you need to start taking things a little more seriously.”
“My girlfriend is dead,” I said through gritted teeth as I ran a hand through my soggy black hair. “I’m pretty sure I’m taking this seriously.”
“Doesn’t seem like it,” the officer mumbled and looked over to his parked car only so he could avoid eye contact with me.
What did he just say?! “My girlfriend is dead, you blonde-haired, red-faced, walrus with legs!” I hollered, a surge of anger running through my body. “Get it?! Dead. Not living. No longer alive. Not breathing. Deceased. Never coming back. Do you even know what it feels like? How fucking badly it hurts?!”
Officer Holden’s puffy red face reddened even more. “Mr. Delacroix, you need to calm down.”
“The hell I do!” I shouted, clenching my fists, trying to resist the overwhelming urge to punch him straight in the mouth. “Quit telling me what to do. Jesus. I don’t even understand what you need me for in the first place.”
“We need a witness statement,” he explained, his face like a tomato, still looking more than uncomfortable.
“Its not like I saw her blow her brains out,” I repeated the same thing I had testified earlier. “I wasn’t even in the same room. I was upstairs getting a drink and taking a smoke with my friend Jackson…”
I stared at the cigarette in my hand and tried to remember how I’d become so hopelessly addicted to these things. Did it happen the first time I ever smoked? In the shed in the backyard with my bad influence of an older brother?
I remembered how it felt to take that first drag. I remembered the way it burned all the way down my throat and made my eyes water. The way I couldn’t get myself to quit coughing. The way my brother laughed at me and called me a pussy, a sissy, a mama’s boy. And I remembered how much that pissed me off. Pissed me so much that I decided I had to prove him wrong. That I had to smoke the rest of the cigarette without coughing. That I had to smoke two more after that first cigarette I could hardly handle. Then smoke 2 a day for the next five years. The 3 a day. Then 4. Then 5. Just to prove my brother wrong. To show him I wasn’t a pussy. In the end, I had managed to prove my point—I wasn’t a pussy; I was a man, I was strong—but gained a nasty nicotine addiction in the process. Looking back, I would definitely say proving my point was not worth it.
Jackson took a drag of his cigarette and with his exhale, blew the smoke directly in my face, laughing.
“Real nice, asshole” I threw a quick elbow teasingly into his ribs.
“Hey, watch it, man,” he slurred and laughed again.
I didn’t share the laugh. “I’m not the one being a dick here.”
“You're not?” he sobered, however only a miniscule amount. “You just fucking jabbed me in the ribs with your fishing spear of an elbow.”
“My fishing spear of an elbow..?” I rolled my eyes at his idiocy. “Don’t be such a baby—“
“Then bang! I heard a gunshot. Even though, at the time I wasn’t 100% sure that’s what it was. It scared the crap out of me. “
My sentence was cut short but an alarmingly loud sound. BANG. Screams followed and people attempted to flee. Others fell to the floor, attempting to shield their bodies. Guys grabbed their girlfriends and tried to protect them in whatever way they could (mostly running out of the house). Everyone did something—even Jackson who chose the floor option—except me. I stood there, burning cigarette in one hand, mostly empty Solo cup in the other, frozen stiff with fear.
“So immediately I went to go find Laurel. I remembered she had gone down stairs earlier so that’s where I went. “
I’d never actually thought one could be completely immobilized by fear. I thought that was some made up bullshit that happened only in movies and books. But when my mind was screaming nothing but to run and my body didn’t budge an inch, I was converted to a firm believer. No pun intended.
“Logan” an eerie voice floated through the air. At first, in my state of panic, I thought I was hearing things. Then I heard the voice again, this time it sounded as if someone was standing right behind me and whispering in my ear.
I whipped around as fast as I could to face the owner of the voice. Although, I knew who it belonged to—Laurel. When I turned, though, she wasn’t there. In fact, no one was.
With the regained mobility of my body, I pushed that strangeness aside and started to make my way to my last known location of Laurel: the basement.
”And then I found her.”
As soon as I descended the steps and stepped onto the cold and cracked concrete floor, I was instantly reminded of why I so hastily declined joining Laurel in this basement. It was scary as all hell. It was dark. It was dank. And it was poorly decorated. The sooner I could leave, the better.
All of the lights were turned off and for a brief moment I thought that maybe it was a sign no one was down here. A sign that Laurel had managed to get out. But as soon as I found the light switch and flicked on the lights, I saw that was not the case.
In the far corner of the room, I saw her. She was laying on her side on the gray floor, her back facing me. I could tell it was Laurel from her long sandy blonde hair and lithe figure. I rushed over to her. I fell to my knees and turned her so she was facing me.
There are no words to describe how I felt next. There is nothing I could say that could properly explain it. Completely grasp the enormity of the sadness that overcame my body. The shock. The disbelief. The heart break.
Most of her body was covered in blood at this point. Blood was smeared all over her face, down her neck, onto her dress. Blood poured out of the gaping wound in the side of her head, joining the pool of blood on the floor that was there before I had even arrived.
I don’t know how I managed to stay conscious. How I didn’t faint at the sight or from all the racing thoughts. But I sat there, clutching her lifeless, bloodied bodied and screamed as loudly as I could. A scream that contained every bit of anger and hatred I had ever felt in my life. All of that released in one, lengthy moment. My scream turned to sobs and those sobs turned into wails. I probably sounded like a complete basket case.
I hugged her as best I could, holding her body as tightly as possibly. I wasn’t going to let her go. I would never.
“Laurel, please. I love you so much. Don’t do this to me. Don’t go. Wake up. Breathe. Talk to me. I need you, Laurel. I can't live without you. You’re everything to me. I need you.”
“Dead. With a gunshot to the head. And well, after that I can't remember that much.”
“Alright, well, were there any illegal substances or items in the room where you found Miss Hale’s body?”
“Excuse me, her body? No. I found Laurel,” he sure knew how to get under my skin. “And yes, of course there was! It was a college party. There were all sorts of illegal things going on.”
“And anything else?” he questioned.
“Yeah. The gun she used to…” I couldn’t bring myself to finish the sentence. He got the gist.
“But Miss Hale was underage,” he felt it necessary to point out the obvious. I simply nodded my head in response and bit my tongue because I knew whatever would have come out of my mouth next would have gotten me in trouble. “And yet you were intimate with her?”
“That is none of your business,” I gave him a sarcastic smile.
“Mr. Delacriox—” that was all I managed to hear because at that moment, out of the corner of my eye, I saw flash of gold near Officer Holden’s cruiser. A flash of golden—or rather, blonde—hair, to be exact. And who had blonde hair? Laurel. “Mr. Delacriox, did you hear a word I just said?”
“Yeah sure,” I responded without thought, still looking after that flash.
Miraculously, but strangely, the rain stopped. While the absence of rain might have been a welcome relief, it was replaced by the presence of an eerie cold.
And that’s when it happened.
Standing on the hood of Office H’s car was Laurel, with a big old bullet hole in the side of her head.
Her long golden hair hung down past her chest in messy waves and she had on the same tight black dress and leather jacket she was wearing earlier, but those were the only normal parts about her.
Her normally mossy green eyes were now completely pitch-black. They almost looked exactly like two pieces of coal. Her creamy, porcelain complexion had now turned starch-white, void of any hint of color. Her skin actually looked like it was—now I know this will sound crazy, but hey, so is seeing your dead girlfriend standing on a car—glowing. Her dark eye makeup was smeared around on her face, as well as the red stain she used on her lips. And there was of course that gaping, bloody wound in the side of her head.
I guess Officer Holden noticed my staring and looked in the same direction. “What you looking at, boy?”
“L-Laurel…” I was surprised I could even produce a sound. I was… confused, scared, and shocked. Laurel had just died, hadn’t she? So how in the world could I be seeing her now?
“She’s dead, son,” the officer tried.
Laurel’s mouth crept up in a sick smile, her head tilting to the side. Instantly by body started losing its feeling. All the sound around me stopped and so it seemed time did so too.
“Logan” she sang, dragging out the “o”. “Come catch me.”
Before I could move I noticed something had been written on the cruiser’s windshield. The letters spelled out,
I know who killed me.
Do you sweetheart?
The words, they were written in blood.
Laurel hadn’t killed herself. She was murdered.
♠ ♠ ♠
this was just a little something I wrote back in high school. I tweaked it a bit, but other than that, it's still the same.I loved this whole plot and everything, but I couldn't see myself actually making this into a story. if you guys would want me to, maybe I could. or if someone else would want to continue writing this, they could. I'd just add them as an author to this story and they could take it wherever they wanted.
so, yeah. enjoy. recommend and comment.
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