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The Dead and the Gone
"Calypso," a faint whisper filtered through my mind. "Go away!" I shout. The whisperis disappeared instantly.The forces were coming loose. I was losing control.
I found my "talent" years ago. First, they (the dead) popped up in my dreams, then for real. Suddenly, at the age of 10, I could talk to gosts*. *(ghosts)
Now I'm 14, on the run, looking for my parents.Well, my parents are dead, so I'm searching for them amonf the dead. But every since I conjuted them, or at least tried to, the invisible forces holding back the dead loosen. (I call it the DL Ties with stands for Dead-Live or Death Life.) I still don't understand how much an enormous this power is. I've got a huge power at my disposal.
"Calypso," a more familiar rasp sounds in my ear. It's my only friend Michaelangelo. No, not the great artist, but just another 15-year-old that died too early. My friend, who has (I think) red hair, freckles, and green eyes (I can't tell too well). I allowed him to materialize fully, his form first flickering, then waving hologram-like. Finally he became as solid as a dead person CAn be. He gave me a lopsided grin he's famous for and said, "Run."
Immediately, I ran into an alley, out into a manhole, climbing down the grimy ladder. My back to the gorss wall, my palms flat on the slimy grossness, and my feet submerged in gross, liquid-y, God-only-knows-what. I scooched my way and climbed back out and into another alley that reeked of year-old garbage. I waited only a little while, the only sounds I heard was my breathing, my heartbeat, and the leaky pipe beside me. Soon, 2 police cars cruised by. I blended right in with my gray sweater over my 2-sizes to big black shirt with baggy, black pants. 2 imsmatched ribbons struggled to keep my hair up, one was navy blue while the other was black. Most of my face was covered by long, black bangs.
I smiled as Michaelangelo appeared beisde me, "Perfect timing," I smile. I start walking, so Michaelangelo tries to walk beside me as well, but he can only float allong, bobbing as his legs move back and forth as if miming walking but his legs are just moving in muscle memory.
We (Michaelangelo and I) patrolled our (technically, it's mine, seeing how Michaelangelo lives with the dead) "territory": 2 alleys connected by a public side walk. I live in a crevis* where a cardbord box acts as a roof to keep out the rain or wind and a thred-bare blanket is for me to lie/sit on. So most of the time, my leg muscles ache from the cold whenever it rains. But at least I have Michaelangelo for company.
After settling downim, the ghost voices found me again, I wanted them to shut up,leave me alone, let me find my parents. Angrily, I dismissed Michaelangelo. I knew this would be like when they first started visiting my dreams; they would soon come find me, find me without consent. I decided to get a baseballbat tomorrow.
But... I had a nightmare that night
*** Chapter 2
June 3 (remember to get food, but I must ignore hunger)
I had a nite-mare last nite. I'm still sweating from it. My nightmare consisted of the nite my parents died. I felt again, he fire-y anger at my parents. They stormed out of the house, slamming the door. I knew I stayed at home, shut away in my room, crying. But in the dream, I followed Mom and Dad. They couldn't see me or hear me. They drove, Dad's ice-y clue eyes trained on the road as if he KNEW he was going to be in a crash, as if he KNEW he was going to die. Mom turned up the heat. He clicked on the signal, then stopped at the red lite. The car skidded a little before coming to a complete halt. The loominating red lite turned green quikly, so Dad turned rite. Mom patted his arm, her mouth moving, but I heard nothing. Dad nodded solemly in agreement.
Suddenly, hedlites* appeered in front of us. Great thumping flooded my ears as lites flooded my eyes. I saw Dad's eyes widen even against the sudden brite lite, the lites throwing sharp shadows on Dad's face. I watched as his head jerked backwards in whiplash, then turned in time to watch in terror, Mom thrust forward in her chair, her chest hitting the dashboard. The throb-ing thumps stopped. I knew Mom was ded. I held back tears as I screemed, "MOOOOM!!! DAAD!!!" in shrieking screams of horrific agony.
I wanted to rush forward but was cot in suprize as I was sudden-ly sur-rounded by the ugly hospital torcois** and starch, stiff white. I shrugged off the stone-like hands and the cold hugs. They were meaningless, no real sympathy in it. Now I knew. I saw only doctors and nurses as blurs as tears streamed. Everytime a noise sounded, I screemed and shrieked like a banshee, louder, higher, more pain enlased*** in the next, the next. My brash thots swirled arownd me.
I woke up to my own cry-ing ecko-ing**** down the alley. The dream dis-apeared like food coloring in a glass of water: swirling, smoke-y, then spreading so only you can barely see the color, barely feel the feer in my dream. I stopped going to school, and ran away to live on my own; I thought I could do it. I was only 7 yeers old. Michaelangelo was beside me in an instant, I quickly tried to wipe away my tears with the wrists of my dark gray sweater.(I told you I had his company) He's pretending he didn't see my tears for my sake.
*(headlights) **(torquoise) ***(enlaced) ****(echoing)
We walked down together, poeple stared at me while I stared at my black converse-clad feet and the cracked, dull sidewalk. 'Walk on a crack, break your mother's back,' I thought. Bitterly, I added, 'More like crack your mother's chest.'I walked the rest of the way to the sports store without Michaelangelo, and went straigh to the back (like he instructed), ignoring the clerk asking me if I needed any help.
I picked out a nice heavy one that fitted nicely into my palm. Quickly, I snipped off the price tag and anything else that might send the detector off, all the while watching the mirror (is it convex or concave?) that the clerk used to watch the store. I got a good look at myself. I was pale with dark hair and dark eyes, I know that, but I was really gaunt from lack or food, and I had lots of scratches or bruises everywhere. I stopped looking, andI stuck the bat under my too-big sweater and went to observe the skateboards. I liked a black one with funny electric green and white designs crisscrossing across it. Then I explained to the clerk I didn't want anything before slipping out without a blip or glitch in my system.