Collectable Damage Within Sight
-Chapter 2-
-Chapter 2-
Eight years. Eight long years. With everyday after the last results in a miserable attack or pled from the dead. The hopeless and worthless souls that comes into contact with the meaningless Britt.
- “Oh! Yes! Lets see if she can help us!” or “Why does she get to live? Why is she important? She deserves to die. To be like me!” -
Never get a break. Ever since I was 13. Though does anyone believe me? No. Wanna know why? “Normal” people don’t see the dead. “Normal” people walk right on by or even through them without any consideration. For “normal” people have no reason to care. They don’t see them. Why does it matter? Should it matter?
Yes, yes it should. People should know. The “normal” people should. Why is it fair for me to see them and they can’t? For its not fair. They all deserve to see them and be tortured by them. Not me.
“Excuse me Ma’am. Are you okay?”
I looked up from my coffee with my thoughts escaping. I’ve grown to despise this question. It results in me lying. Every. Single. Time.
“Yeah, I’m okay.”
I looked into the man’s eyes. He struck me as being different. Not… “normal”. I cringed at my thoughts of the word. It sickens me.
“Okay, that’s good. From the looks of it, you seemed down about something. I’m sorry for intruding on your time. My name is Frank.”
He stuck out his hand. Without noticing, I was stunned by it with confusion. I took it into mine and shook it in return.
“Its alright. I’m Brittnie. The small amount of people I know call me Britt.”
“Well, its nice to meet you Britt.”
He smiled and my heart slowed down to skip a beat. It was nothing I’ve ever felt before.
“Frank! We need to go!”
I looked to find a short man with long jet black hair, wearing a spider-man shirt and holding a steaming cup of some sort of coffee.
“I’m sorry. That’s my friend Gerard. I’m his ride to his art convention or something. His car is broken down.” He paused. “Um… I know this might sound a little off topic, but, may I have your phone number to maybe call you sometime?”
“Um… sure.”
I gave a tiny smile and wrote it down on a napkin. After handing it to him, he gave it a quick glance and put it in his front pocket.
“Come on Frank!” Gerard yelled again from the door. Frank rolled his eyes.
“It was nice meeting you Britt. I’ll call you sometime.”
Still left in semi-shock. I muttered out an “okay” and “bye”. Then watched him walk away and out the door.
Eight years. Eight long years. With everyday after the last results in a miserable attack or pled from the dead. The hopeless and worthless souls that comes into contact with the meaningless Britt.
- “Oh! Yes! Lets see if she can help us!” or “Why does she get to live? Why is she important? She deserves to die. To be like me!” -
Never get a break. Ever since I was 13. Though does anyone believe me? No. Wanna know why? “Normal” people don’t see the dead. “Normal” people walk right on by or even through them without any consideration. For “normal” people have no reason to care. They don’t see them. Why does it matter? Should it matter?
Yes, yes it should. People should know. The “normal” people should. Why is it fair for me to see them and they can’t? For its not fair. They all deserve to see them and be tortured by them. Not me.
“Excuse me Ma’am. Are you okay?”
I looked up from my coffee with my thoughts escaping. I’ve grown to despise this question. It results in me lying. Every. Single. Time.
“Yeah, I’m okay.”
I looked into the man’s eyes. He struck me as being different. Not… “normal”. I cringed at my thoughts of the word. It sickens me.
“Okay, that’s good. From the looks of it, you seemed down about something. I’m sorry for intruding on your time. My name is Frank.”
He stuck out his hand. Without noticing, I was stunned by it with confusion. I took it into mine and shook it in return.
“Its alright. I’m Brittnie. The small amount of people I know call me Britt.”
“Well, its nice to meet you Britt.”
He smiled and my heart slowed down to skip a beat. It was nothing I’ve ever felt before.
“Frank! We need to go!”
I looked to find a short man with long jet black hair, wearing a spider-man shirt and holding a steaming cup of some sort of coffee.
“I’m sorry. That’s my friend Gerard. I’m his ride to his art convention or something. His car is broken down.” He paused. “Um… I know this might sound a little off topic, but, may I have your phone number to maybe call you sometime?”
“Um… sure.”
I gave a tiny smile and wrote it down on a napkin. After handing it to him, he gave it a quick glance and put it in his front pocket.
“Come on Frank!” Gerard yelled again from the door. Frank rolled his eyes.
“It was nice meeting you Britt. I’ll call you sometime.”
Still left in semi-shock. I muttered out an “okay” and “bye”. Then watched him walk away and out the door.
♠ ♠ ♠
Dark, ghostly stuff in the next chapter.