GHOSTED
Her hair ran through my fingertips fluidly. I felt her warm sticky breath on my cheek. Her eyes glistened in the moonlight. I thought of an animated show I had once watched where any given character had endless highlights in their eyes. I quickly caught myself,-now was not the time to think of stupid, childish shows, not now, my mother was dying. My mother was dying in my very own arms, cradled there, helpless, weak, frail, small, and dying.
DEAD.
No matter how many times I repeated the now fact in my mind I could not accept the truth. I, Anna Maria Lopez, 17 year old daughter of Cassandra Lopez, my mother, am now an orphan. Moments before mother’s death, her eyes flickered to mine then glossed over, dark and expressionless. Slightly open, and stiff as a rock, her mouth fell open in an almost comical O. After my final goodbyes and tears the doctors told me it was time to go.
“No,” I said flatly.
“Come on, now,” they spoke softly, innocently, but their words did not deceive me.
“No.”
“Come on now,” his voice was exasperated, passive even.
“No,” I said.
He gently pulled on the folds of my sleeves. I shook him off. He pulled harder and harder, prying my nails off my mother's corpse.
“No! No! Noooooooo!” I wailed.
I entwined myself into her body. They could not take my mother away from me no, not now, not ever. They could not take away my mother. A man flung open the door.
“Calm down, it'll only hurt more,” he said as he injected some unknown substance into my neck. I slowed as I fell into the man's arms, slipping away into unconsciousness.
“no no no………”
Chapter One Home
I awoke sharply, an hour, a week later? I had no means of knowing. I awoke in a small, bare bedroom. An inch of dust lay upon the floor, and a rickety dresser squashed into the corner gave the room a melancholy air of neglect. Sitting atop the night stand, the only half-nice thing in the room was a small potted plant. I walked over to the window and looked ahead. A ten foot drop seemed to stare back at me directly below to the flower beds. To most it simply looked like a window, to me it looked like an exit. Intending to open the window, I pushed. It was locked. Slowly I formulated a plan to get out. I emptied the contents of the potted plant onto the floor, it scattered, dotting the floor with earth. I paid it no mind, slamming the empty pot on the window. I used all my willpower to shatter the window. It worked. Shards of glass flew into the room and out to the flower beds, joining the dirt on the floor. A few small pieces landed on my face, peppering it with glass as well as blood. Not taking the time to clean my bloodied face, I jumped out of the window without hesitation. The fall was over before I knew I was falling. The flower beds softened my fall, but I landed badly on my leg. I collected myself and the largest shard of glass, slipping its long sharp edges, uneven and crooked, into my pocket. I needed to be prepared to protect myself. There, just by the shrub, leaning on the house, was a rust covered bicycle, a little small for my size but it would do fine.
I rode the way home and as I looked back I saw the rusted sign that read Dalestone Orphanage. Beside the sign, a dark scarecrow silhouette stood, blocking the sunrise rays to the house where my deceased mother had lived. For the fear of getting caught stealing a bike, or worse, getting sent back to that house that they wanted me to live in, I pedaled quickly.
Shingles hung from the roof and littered the yard. Even in the frost covered rose bush, tiles that had fallen from the roof sunk. I remarked upon a happier time when morning dew shone upon the rose petals instead of frost. A warm, sticky breeze blew on my cheek almost like a breath. Mother? No, she was dead. Yes, she was dead, but well, maybe a ghost? No, no, that was out of the question, but I had to know.
“Mother?”
She answered with her same breath on my cheek like she did when she… I could not say it, nor could I accept the truth. Not yet. There, just in the next door neighbor's yard, was a child. He looked as though he was 14 years younger than I. Swinging a baseball bat several sizes too big back and forth, as if hitting an invisible ball, the small boy muttered back and forth, sinking with the weight of the bat. One, two, three, swing! One, two, three swing! He fell over, the bat’s heaviness unbalancing him. Now was my opportunity. I ran over to his yard and snatched up his bat. I would need it more than him.
“I'm sorry I need this more than you. Your aim was poor enough anyway," I said, letting a little of my former more careless self show, and regretting it immediately. The boy began to wail. A part of me, the part of me before everything fell apart, wanted to comfort the boy, but what was I to say? I need this because my mother is a ghost and you're far too small for the bat yourself? No. So I just kept running, blocking the little boy's pleas out of my mind. I twisted the door knob of my house, expecting it to swing open. Disappointed when it remained shut, I exhaled deeply. I was locked out of my own house. Thinking quickly, I forged a plan. I used the bat to shatter the window as I had done at the orphanage where I had escaped. The glass shattered easily. Inside the house was just how we left it, only dust covered the tabletops. The house was dim. The sweet scent of mother’s perfume still clung to the threads of the sofa. I breathed it in as if it had been years before I had last been home. I looked deep into my reflection in a nearby mirror and saw myself staring back–my cheek, smeared with earth, my lips, dry and cracked like a desert lake, my hair, matted and unbrushed, and my skin, pale not as its usual warm cinnamon. l was still beautiful, but something ghostly haunted my eyes that had not before. My mossy brown eyes stared back, something broken inside them. My reflection blinked. I had not. It blinked again, and I stared unblinkingly.
“Anna M,” a small voice said.
I looked around and my grip on the bat tightened. Only my mother had ever called me Anna M.
“Go up in a hurry, there is no time to spare, for answers to everything lay upstairs under my bed,” Mother said.
“Mother?” I could see what I thought to be her: a silvery outline, almost a shadow.
“This evening when the sun sets, I will be gone and you will not see me ever again, so hurry, hurry upstairs. Under the bed the answers are waiting in dread.”
I didn't waste any time in clambering up the creaky steps. Once I reached the summit, I quieted a little because a soft sob was coming from my mother's bedroom. I remarked that this might be the reason her door was always locked. I gently pushed it open; it was not locked. Another ghost?
Chapter Two Mia
Huddled in a ball, crouched under Mother’s bed, sat a girl. She was small, yet had a mature face, one that expressed deep emotions that were too complex for even her. Yet she was no older than 13 or 14, still a child unlike myself. She looked at me with her tear-stained face, something broken in her eyes. She cradled her knees in her arms, rocking back and forth as I did when I was distressed. Back and forth back and forth.
“Stay away!” her voice was high and sad, almost as if asking a question. She held up her hands, shielding her tear stained face. As she spoke, a kind of wind issued out of her palms, silvery and long. I reached for her hand, hoping to comfort her, but instead, what I never could have expected happened.
“No,” she mouthed, hope and color draining from her face. I gripped tightly to her arm as if it was the only thing anchoring me to this planet. She tried to pry my hand, but I kept a tight hold. My head lolled sideways, eyes rolling to whites. All of this happened in a mere split second before everything vanished to be replaced by something new but not entirely. I saw the same girl. Dressed in rags, face pale as ever, she addressed mother with the utmost terror in her haunted eyes. She looked but a year or two younger. She looked as though she had been through a terrible ordeal.
Mother spoke, “I know you have gifts, to you they are a curse, but I only see a blessing. That is, if you have the knowledge of how to use them.” She grimaced at mother, an “I don't believe you. What happened to my life?” kind of look, written across her face. The scene changed, she was older, clean and sober. She wore my clothes on her back this time, not her rags.
“But Cassandra, I cannot master my curse. I don't even have the will to live any more. Need it be, I must die,” she stated.
“No, you must master your gifts. It is crucial to try again.” Mother said.
“I just don't care!” the girl yelled, pushing Mother.
A dark gust of wind flew from the girl, consuming Mother in the smoke. Mother collapsed to the ground, pale and ghostly, clutching her side. The girl dropped to Mother’s side, crying and apologizing again and again. Mother spoke toad-like and hoarse, “I have 6 months of life left.”
The girl put her hand to her mouth, sobbing. The scene changed and for the last time the girl and a curly haired friend stood on the black top of the local Dale Elementary School. They must have been in third or fourth grade. As they slapped each other's hands, they sang in unison.
“Avocado avocado, this is the game. The first one to mess up gets a new name is it?: A” clap “B” clap “C” clap “D…….” All of a sudden a dark cloud took over the sky and the sunny, cloudless day vanished. The curly haired friend twitched and squirmed; finally, she let out a blood curdling scream, as if the strings in a marionette had been cut, she fell to the black top. The younger version of the little girl ran to the woods in the direction of Mother's house, a look of deep fear etched upon her face.
The girl whose hand I held managed to detach mine from hers. She backed away, her head bumping on the mattress of the bed. I was back to what I thought was reality. I began to calm, my heavy breathing slowed. Questions I wanted to ask erupted in my mind like those firework displays I had always dreamed of seeing at Disneyland.
“What? What? What was that? Who are you?”
“Hi, I’m Mia.”
Chapter Three Mother’s note
Mia explained, “Mom had explained to me what happened after I killed my friend. After I killed her, I ran to the woods. A dark spirit possessed me like it did when I killed my friend, except this time it was permanent. I could not control it. I slapped her hand playing that stupid hand game and…” she let out a sob. "I killed her. She fell and I thought, well, I didn't know what to do, so I ran. I ran for two days without stopping. I found your mom and she took me in, and I've been living in her room ever since. She taught me how to control my curse while you were in school. I always wanted to meet you but Mom said no,” she paused, “but a couple months ago when she was coaching me, I lost control and Mom almost died, just like Mary. But Mary was so easy to kill. Mom was an adult and I had deeply sickened her. I'm sorry I killed your mom,” she looked down as she finished. I quickly went to embrace her, then stopped. If holding her hand had brought her down memory lane, I didn't think it safe to hug her while still processing this new found information.
“In showing you my most visited memories, I transferred a small piece of my powers to you.”
My head began to spin. This small girl had so much responsibility at such a young age. When I was fourteen, I was fussing over lip gloss with my friends, fantasizing over boys. Care free. Now that Mia voiced the fact that she had transferred some of her power to me, I began to notice it, as if there was a shadow lurking inside of me, always ready to lash out. Mia handed me a handwritten note scribbled on a fragment of paper written in mother’s long, slanted writing.
If you're reading this I died, Anna M. There is something you must do.
Anna M, you must do something I can not. You must venture out. Mia
Will know where to go and tell her it is time to face her fears. Anna M,
I know this is a lot to take in. Stay strong.. I will miss you, Anna M
Yours truly
Mother
I tried hard to suppress the ocean of tears churning inside of me. All the thoughts I had been pushing away erupted in a tidal wave as I cried.
Chapter Four Haunted
Mia and I arrived by foot. Mia, leading the way, stopped as we walked into a clearing sheltered by a canopy of trees above us. She let go of my hand and instructed me to stay on the outskirts of the clearing. I watched her, ready to protect her from any danger or forest animal to come across our path.
“I'm not scared of you,” Mia shouted, brimming with confidence.
Leaves rustled unsettlingly in a circle, but as soon as I turned my head, the rustling ceased to continue. I handed Mia my coat, for she had none. The cold bit at my bare arms as I rubbed them, hoping that motion would bring some extra warmth. The leaves began to rustle again with more force this time. Then all of the sudden, Mia’s red Converse that I had outgrown years ago years ago, left the ground, floating higher and higher. I ran towards Mia. I had suddenly developed a sisterly love for her and cared a great deal. But mid step, my knees buckled and I fell, paralyzed to the forest floor. A gooey substance trickled down my face from the wound the rock my head had landed on created. Pain seared across my forehead as I helplessly watched Mia float as what looked like dust, soot, and smoke enveloped her body. I lost sight of Mia through the smoke. I began to cough, my eyes watering. Keep your eyes open. Keep your eye. Open. keep… everything went black. Mia shook me awake. My eyes snapped open and immediately landed on Mia’s clothes, torn red converse burned black, a gash on her leg drizzling blood. All together Mia certainly didn't look her best.
“Mia what happened?”
“What needed to. I faced my fears. I’m in control.”
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah.”
“You?” Mia asked
“I've been better.”
“Let's get out of here”
On the way home we didn't speak. I kicked pebbles aside as we walked home. I thought of all those thoughts I had been eager to push aside: how my mother was now dead; how I had a sister; how I now had an added responsibility to take care of her. So much change had happened in one day. My whole life disturbed so violently. Nothing would ever be the same again. Yet, I didn't mind, nor care because there was nothing to do for it. Days passed. Some in complete silence. After nearly a week of exchanging but a few words, we merely sat down and slept. We ran out of food. Mother had left her wallet atop her dresser. I picked it up and set off on foot to buy food.
As I brought my cart, ladened with produce, to the cashier, I saw the date: Friday 13th of May– my birthday.
“That’ll be $58.98. Would you like a receipt?”
Startled, I handed the man three crisp twenties as he handed me my change. His hand seemingly brushed against mine. Mother’s diamond watch (about the only thing of value she owned) slipped off. Hurriedly, the cashier and I both bent to retrieve it. He got to it first, bumping his head to mine on the way up. I saw his ever green eyes clearly, just the shape of mine.
“Sorry,” we both said. I smiled. Shyly the boy smiled back–his nametag read Ben. As I left, I thought about the boy on the way home, pushing all the negative thoughts that my arrival home would bring back.
Chapter Five Boyfriend?
The orphan and the cashier: star crossed lovers. Sometimes I would make unnecessary detours to the local supermarket just to see Ben. His cheeky smile always made me laugh.
Three months later Mia was in school, living by herself in my house. I made a point to check in on her regularly when I wasn't spending my spare time with Ben. Mia’s grades were generally low, yet I loved her just the same. As I entered the house minutes before Mia would return from school, I noticed a crumpled paper in the trash bin. Curious, I went to retrieve it. It read:
Prompt : any thing special and what it means to you
Words.
Words. They wind, turn and unravel under your tongue. You can feel them sitting on your tongue, waiting to spring into use. They wind all up my spine, sending shivers down as I turn around. Words make the deepest wounds. They bleed, they heal, they are our greatest tool, yet we use them in careless ways, throwing them away like gum wrappers. We waste our words never considering the meaning they carry, never even noticing the heaviness they confide. We waste words like gum wrappers but we also use them as our greatest tool.
Then I looked at the grade-
C-
Big and bold, it sat there along with the words-try harder. I crumpled up the paper and chucked it in the dust bin, wishing I had never found it. It was so good. I was sure Mia had spent hours on it, perfecting and polishing it. Mia arrived, swinging her bag to the sofa.
“Hi,” I I said.
“Hi”
“You okay?”
“Yeah.”
Small talk had never been my strong suit so I cut to the chase.
“Hey Mia?.”
“Yeah”
“I found this,” I paused, showing her the paper, “in the trash can.” Mia turned bright red.
“You weren't supposeta find that.”
“And I thought you were supposed to tell me things.” I said, raising an eyebrow. She frowned.
“I guess I just. I don't know. You come every other Sunday. You used to come every other day. God, you have a boyfriend. I’m seventeen Anna M. things change I guess. I did too and it doesn't help that you have a boyfriend. It's almost like you only care about him any more, and I don't tell you things because I've sorta faded into the background,” she finished. I went to hug her, promising she would always be the most important thing.
Three years later. Three years later Mia was in college (paid from a scholarship) to the local college. Three years later so much change had happened. Ben had died just like mother. Another important person in my life, gone. I let out a hiccup-like sob. Shifting Ben’s pillow, a white corner showed, until now unnoticed. I pulled it to find a sheet of paper with Ben’s slanted writing. There were crossing outings and erased segments.
Anna M
You stole my heart the moment I laid eyes on you. Your hair smelled great that day. I love you Anna M.. So the question is will you be with me forever? ,Anna M., l love you to everywhere and back the moon and back
Will you marry me?
Wow, I did not see that coming. Sure, me and Ben had been going strong for quite some time now, but this? But then I asked myself the unavoidable question: what would I say? I thought deep, visualizing the moment. The answer was yes.
It was two months after Ben's death I had been feeling pains in my stomach and felt the need to sit a lot more often. Cramps seemed to formulate. I never got sick often and when I did, more often than not, it was merely a common cold or a cough. I had Ben’s sickness? No, it was impossible. Out of the question. Yet the more I thought about it the more it made sense. A month later I hardly felt better, and I was merely used to my now constant stomach pains, so I decided to see a doctor. I walked home carrying the heavy news of a baby.
Chapter Six Jess
Mia advised me to name the baby Jessica as I spooned the marinara sauce on the pizza. I wrinkled my nose. Jessica sounded sweet and snobby. Not courageous and beautiful like I intended.
“How about Jess?”
Author’s Note
I spent many many hours perfecting and polishing this piece. I've always loved to write. This became a bit of a hobby to do when I was bored. This was a completely fictional story but I did pour parts of myself into Mia. Mia was one of my favorite characters. She has many layers and I spent a while developing her and crafting her personality. However Anna M. Is someone I cannot relate to. I did not take inspiration to create her but I love how upfront and honest she is and how she's not afraid to speak her mind. She's almost the person I always wanted to be. (set aside her violence.) I love Anna M. but you can get a glimpse of her formal inner self every once and a while when she cracks. I love all my characters dearly, and hope you can relate. Please appreciate that I spent hours working on this and I hope you enjoyed it. If you want to know more check out the comic series me and my friend are working on a comic series about Jess Anna M’s child. Lastly, I wanted to say special thank you to Megan Mercurio, Hudson Goldsmith, Madeleine Lee, and Patrick Kearney.
