Even though he was vaguely transparent, his beauty still captured me. Not so much captured as held me in an iron grip while pulling a steel whip tighter around my stomach. This was a happy revelation as well, that even as a ghost I still had feelings. That a beautiful boy could still turn my brain into mush. Beautiful he was, and handle it I couldn’t. That was one of the many things that were unholdable, but handled (or in my case not) all the same. It was the kind of thing that I thought about even when living. His bright green eyes, though slightly muted by the fact that he was translucent, were striking and almond shaped. I wanted to squeal at his utter beauty. Though I did wonder, was squealing possible for a ghost? I didn’t want to test it in case either way I made a fool of myself. His blonde hair was straight and around ear-length, falling in a shaggy fringe over his perfectly curved eyebrows. He was tall and from what I could see, lean. He was dressed in a black t-shirt and raggedy jeans, his scuffed sneakers showing through the bottom. I gulped. Fantastic. The only company I had as a ghost (or whatever I was; I still hadn’t deduced how I was possible) was a boy who made me mush.
“Can I help you?” His soft voice was haunting (no pun intended) and oh so beautiful, even though it was slightly sharp. After all, I was just a strange girl staring at him; he had a right to be a little sharp.
“Sorry, no.” I said, feeling like I should blush, but having no blood of course made that impossible. But a more important thought was whizzing through my (not) brain. I could speak! Yes! Point Wendy. It wasn’t at all congruent speech, but I’d take what I could get.
The boy looked at me curiously. “I’d have never thought a ghost could blush, but your cheeks have become a little more opaque.” he mused.
“Have they?” I gasped, bringing my translucent fingers to my face. Nails still bitten down and stubby, I’d noticed.
“Well, you won’t be able to feel it. You are a ghost after all.” The boy said to me, a little mockingly, I thought.
“How was I supposed to know? I’ve only been in the loop a couple of days.” I retorted irritably. Oh the puns. I was surprised that what I said actually made sense, and was not a string of gibberish.
“Yes. I noticed.” The boy flicked his eyebrows that very clearly said to me ‘well duh’ and shrugged. “How are you adjusting?”
“Um... as well as one can, I guess. I’m still trying to come to a conclusion on how I exist.” I said.
“Don’t. It makes your head hurt.” he advised. “I didn’t think we could, but ghosts can get headaches.”
“So is that what we are?” I questioned.
“Is what what we are?” He replied.
“Ghosts.”
“Well of course, can you think of anything else we could be?” He looked at me curiously. I vaguely recognized he was waiting for an answer, but I was taken aback from how he’d referred to us as a ‘we’. I was never the kind of girl that was included in ‘we’ by those kinds of boys. It was always very ‘us’ and ‘them’. Us being the odd girl at the back with the mousey hair and thick glasses (which I still had in death; can’t I catch a break?), and ‘them’ being well, boys like the one in front of me. I quickly regained my composure and tried to speak.
“I don’t know. But ghosts seem too much part of stories and fiction to actually exist.” I said.
“Well all fiction has to stem from somewhere. Why not from things like us?” He shrugged. Well, this was just a shrug fest. “So, what’s your name?” He added.
Part I
Start from the beginning
