Thursday, August 25, 2011

IT'S A STORY (without a name. Kinda fail. Ha.)

Yes, that was the first thought I had.  So very small.  The container was not nearly big enough to hold the monster that I knew that magic to be, but May had said it would work.  So I had no choice but to believe her.
My hands shook, holding the jar, but it was necessary.  "How could a ghost jar work?" I asked May, and she said I'd see.  Sometimes the living are just plain daft, none of them ever noticing a thing, and as much as I hate to admit it that was me too, just a couple of days ago.
Days?  How could all this happen in days?
As much as it shamed me, I died stupid.  I really did, and it'll be embarrassing 'till the day I die.  I was playing on the tracks, being silly, and of course someone had to bring out a car, parking it on the tracks and waiting for a train to come so we could see how fast we could get out...
For some reason my door jammed.  Everyone else ran out, but my door was jammed.  I died screaming, stupid.  And of course I turned out a ghost, and that's how I ended here now.
Dead and stupid.
Staring at a jar, because the little boy with magic, he has a lot.  And nobody's smart enough to contain the magic.  Ghosts can't put blocks on it, but, according to May, trapping it when it comes out works.
So I skulk behind him, a little chill in the corner of the room.  I sit on the floor, forcing myself not to sink by whispering again and again to stay solid.
And then it happens, sort of like thunder and lightening.  He's angry at the teacher - the teacher's real mean, he is, and I'm angry too - and his magic comes out.  He's in this place, with everyone a jerk, because of it, and I open up the tiny jar.  The magic is drawn in.  It takes a full minute, and magic's fast.  I pop the cork in, and a small amount fizzles in the air, and teacher and boy are disoriented.  I leave the room, forgetting solidity.
I'm fascinated by the magic in the jar.  It crackles and swirls, an electric blue, but there's a little pink in there too.  May  could read it, May can read anything, but my aura it seems.  I don't have an aura, you see, even though I did in life.
It's very frustrating, because I should, but I don't.  May says some auras are hidden, but mine isn't.  It's just there.  I get to May's place with the jar and come back in.  The sight shocks me.
There's May, eyes closed and blood - blood! - trickling from her.  She floats in mid-air, and I run over.  The blood's ears, green but still red inside - Christmas, I think, it's the colors of Christmas - and it's coming from her.  Ectoplasmal blood?  Who'd heard of a thing?
I set down the jar of magic and poke the knife still left.  The knife's strange, too, and I start pulling on it, wanting to know.  My fingers stick to it, and I pull and pull 'till it comes out.  I'm left tired,  and as I sink down I stare.  A small swirl of white happened in the air, and I swore the thing just cut it.  Who'd leave this behind?
Who'd kill May?  The living people know of her, they think she's alive too, because she's good at disguises.  That's right...  I leave the knife to the side, then push her down.  I go digging through cabinents, and finally throw the powder on her.  All of a sudden she looks like a body, and I realize she's not going to go on.  The blood looks red, with a faint hint of green.  And I feel sick, because it's ruby.  I grab the knife again, and stumble.  I nearly cut myself with the thing, but keep it away.  I stumbled on something silver, and as I pick it up I realize what it is.
The knife fits perfeclty in it, the one thing it won't cut, and I tuck it away and pick up the jar.  I've heard of redeath, before, but it's usually moving on or temperary destruction - not unnatural impossible blood or knives.
Nothing... like this.
It's time to find who the knife belongs to - and, in turn, who killed May.

(Your one and only post of the story... enjoy.)

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