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Post by orinocoflow on Sept 27, 2010 17:08:10 GMT -5
I'm removing the story for a few weeks, but will put it up at the end.
Please do not delete this thread!
Thanks, -orinocoflow
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Post by orinocoflow on Dec 14, 2010 19:12:34 GMT -5
oops, forgot to put this back up. “OH MY GOD!”
Paul veered around in his dressing room, staring at the door, where Damien stood frozen, his jaw barely skimming the floor, his blue eyes wide with terror. His horror-stricken gaze was locked on none other than Paul. Glancing down at himself, he could see why. With a muttered curse, Paul flashed himself to the table in the corner and rummaged around on it until he found what he was looking for. Slipping it on hastily, he turned back to face the pale young man.
“It’s okay, Damo, I can explain…” he began. Mentally closing and locking the door, he urged the lad to sit.
And began telling his tale.
* * *
It was back in April, on his birthday. After a late night out with friends at a local pub, Paul had been driving back down a dark, winding road. Ignoring the speed limit, he cruised along the familiar road at higher speeds than recommended.
Suddenly, a deer sprinted out into the road just as he was turning a particularly sharp curve. On one side was a steep cliff rising above him, on the other was a thick forest that hid the stream several meters below. Swerving left to avoid hitting the small animal, he lost control of his old car, shooting off of the narrow road into the deep forest beside.
* * *
With a small groan of pain, Paul sat up. Glancing around, he realized that he had probably passed out for a few minutes after crashing into a tall oak tree half-way down the steep incline. Feeling a sting on his head, he lifted a shaky hand to his forehead, wincing when he touched the shallow gash. Right beside it, however, was what he was pretty sure was going to be a nasty bump.
Okay, can I get out? Can I move? Do I remember who I am? The last was easy—he remembered everything, which was good. He could move every limb except his left leg. Looking down, he saw that it was caught in between the wheel and the seat. Pushing the latter back, he managed to extract it, and slid out of the window after unbuckling the belt.
Leaning on the mangled car, he stood on shaky legs. Swiping a leaf out of his hair, he froze, his hand hanging in the air in front of his face. A cold shiver ran through his body, and he suddenly felt extremely cold.
I’m transparent, he thought, panicking. I can see through my hand! Panting with fear, he looked at every inch of skin in his body, and realized that, yes, he was transparent. And as he looked at his rumpled shirt and torn jeans, he trembled as he noticed that he could see through those, too.
No, no, no, this could not be happening! His brain screamed, but his eyes knew better. Shutting them, he fell to the forest floor, sobbing as he realized the truth.
He had not survived driving off of that cliff.
* * *
A few days had passed. Paul had gone back into Dublin, but no one could see him. He could not touch or move things, as he thought ghosts should be able to do. He could walk through objects, and felt a thrilling tingle every time he did so. For a while, he found it curious and amusing, lifting his spirits a bit, but then he saw Dominique.
She was walking down the street, heading for the library to return some movies the two of them had checked out a few weeks before. Running up to her, he called her name out of habit, but she did not turn. When he remembered why, his heart clenched. He tried to get her attention every way her knew how, but he knew it was hopeless. Desperate, he weakly called out her name again.
“She doesn’t know you’re there, lad,” came a deep voice from his left. Gasping, Paul turned.
* * *
A tall fellow with dark hair and green eyes stood there, watching him. He was dressed smartly in black jeans and a black shirt. There was a silver band in his hand, which he clutched tightly. He was watching Paul with an amused expression on his face.
“You can see me?” asked Paul, incredulous.
The man smiled. “Aye, lad, I can. And with this band, so can everyone else.” He showed the small object. Walking forward cautiously, Paul regarded the item.
It was plain and simple, with no designs, just a narrow strip of pure silver that was shaped in a three-quarter-of-a-circle form, like a bracelet. In fact, it was a bracelet, he was sure.
“Take it, lad, if you want to continue in this human world. It will enable you to walk around and be seen, talk and be heard, but it will sap your energy, so rest often and wear it sparingly. When you take it off, you will be semi-transparent or completely see-through, depending on what you want to be as and how much energy you have left. Just remember—when you take it off, make sure it is a good two hours or so after you eat, or else you might cause a scene,” he added with a wry chuckle.
Paul reached out and palmed the smooth metal. “Who are you?” he asked the stranger.
“Ghosts call me D. Don’t ask what it stands for,” he said quickly when he saw the look on Paul’s face. “I help out those who want to return. You might say…I’m a fallen angel. A dark one. Technically, I’m not supposed to be doing this. This is the opposite of what should be in life. In reality, you die, you stay dead. With me around, you die, you can come back and stay immortal. The only problem is that you need to learn how to age. Me, I can't teach you that. It comes individually.” He stopped, glanced at the sun, and then back at Paul. “But I have to go now, lad. Take care,” he said, and then disappeared in a burst of fog.
Paul stared after where there had stood the man a moment ago, and then to where Dominique was rounding the corner. With a beaming smile, he walked to a shadowy, deserted corner, donned the wristlet, and followed after her, feeling like a new man.
* * *
When Paul to his mother’s house a few days after becoming visible again, he was caught off-guard. As soon as he walked through the door and she got a good look at him, she paused, and then, hugging him tightly, murmured, “Oh, Paul, what have you gotten yourself into now?”
He tensed. She knows, he thought. But how? But as he held her, he realized that she just did, there was no one who needed to tell her that he was…different.
* * *
He had to get a new car. He finally had an excuse to buy that red convertible he had looked at longingly for months.
The band took a lot more energy than he expected, and he ended up sleeping several hours a day, for which he used the excuse that he was sleeping in after a tiring tour. Otherwise, everything was great. Eating was a bit hard, and making sure that there was no food floating in the air when he took off the bracelet was not as easy as he had thought at first.
Rehearsals were exhausting, since he had to be visible almost all day long.
Then tour came. He found that almost impossible to do, especially when they were traveling in the bus. He took to sleeping scrunched up under the covers at night with the band off so that he could gather strength, and he tied a line of string to it so that it did not get lost. During shows, he would “charge up” between sound-check and the performance, and then would collapse as soon as he came back to the hotel.
As time went by, he learned how to relocate himself simply by thinking of the place he wanted to be in. However, if there was a sliver of silver anywhere between him and his destination, he was trapped, and could not go there. Apparently, silver kept him “human.” Later, he learned how to move objects with his mind, and could open, close, lock, and unlock doors. Singing was hard, as he had to not only use his precious energy to be visible, but also to sing and project his voice.
Perhaps the only thing harder than tour and rehearsals was lying to his friends. He had not told any of them about what had happened to him, and no one had found his car…with him inside…yet. That grisly thought always made him shudder. He was here, and yet he was also in that car in a deep forest by the side of a narrow, winding road in the middle of nowhere. He had gone back there and seen that he had died on impact. That gash on his forehead had been a small cut in comparison to his actual wound. Shivering when he remembered the chilling feeling of looking at himself, he thought of other things, happier ones.
They all constantly asked him why he wore that bracelet, and he said that it was a gift from a friend. Dominique was a tad suspicious, but he simply said it was a birthday gift from a friend, and left it at that.
The only time that the lads had suspected it might be more was when Keith had teasingly tried pulling it off of his wrist and he had lashed out angrily, furious and scared at the same time. They had looked at him strangely, but said nothing. Keith had muttered an apology and wandered off.
* * *
Damien stared at him, his eyes wide.
“Are you serious?” he asked, wonder in his voice.
Paul nodded, his eyes pained as he remembered the events.
“I never wanted any of you to find out, Damo. It was just too…horrifying, you know? I mean, I figured out how to age and everything, but in general, it is still strange knowing that you’re dead and yet alive, in a way.” He hesitated, and then looked the young man in the eye.
“Promise never to tell anyone, Damien.” His voice was low, barely above a whisper, but the pleading expression on his face must have convinced the lad. Nodding solemnly, Damien swore never to reveal Paul’s secret.
Just before leaving, however, he turned back and asked, “If you eat and then take off your bracelet, and you’re really tired, does food really float in the air?”
Paul groaned aloud as he looked into those curious blue eyes. Nodding, he predicted the next question.
“And no, Damien, I am NOT going to demonstrate!”
As the lad walked down the corridor, Paul could hear him laughing.
THE END
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Post by celticbear on Dec 14, 2010 23:41:48 GMT -5
Leave it to Damo to want proof and the proof having to involve Food! LOL! That is so like Damo! Glad you reposted this Ori! I love it better after reading it for the second time!
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Post by AmbeeBee on Oct 10, 2011 18:20:04 GMT -5
Gah! Can't believe I haven't read this before! I love it, Ori!
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