Colour My Shadow

Chapter Two - Writing

Chapter two - and sorry its late.

I was debating whether to leave the big bit for next chapter, but i didnt. So here you go!

I'm researching ways to talk to ghosts.

Okay, okay. It is a little strange, but for all I know, they could be ghosts. They certainly don't speak, but I'm sure there must be some way of communicating with them, there has to be.

Unless I'm overthinking everything, looking at it from a human perspective, thinking that because so much of our life is about communication, all theirs must be.

I'm still trying, although, short of a seance, nothing much seems to be there - I tried just repeating myself in the hope that they'll respond years ago. I have a book - a huge, really thick one - from the library. I'm about halfway through. It's creepy, and some of the stories are so gruesome - but it helps to just think about finally communicationg with them, finally learning more.

Rosa

My pencil skimmed across the paper, drawing the outlines of three people, a tall, intimidating, lean one; a shorter, yet still tall, more boyish figure, and then a feminine, slender shape, shortest of all, all three grouped together in a parody of the Twilight poster I had in my room. (Just one, all right? One.)

I smiled up at the Shadow, who had followed me upstairs after snaffling the rest of my uneaten pasta, offering him my pencil, asking him to fill in the details in a low voice. I was upstairs, and Aidan downstairs, watching telly, yet, out of habit, I nearly whispered when talking to him.

He took the pencil from me, ever careful not to touch me directly. I didn't know why, just that he did.

I watched as he filled out the girl's features first, even including detail on the clothes. She was wearing shorts and patterned tights, with a tunic t-shirt, proclaiming that she'd rather fall in chocolate that love, over the top. I had a similar t-shirt, from Johnnie B, and I wondered whether, wherever they came from, the Shadows had a Johnnie B, or if she got it from here, somehow, or if the chess Shadow (I really needed to think of a better name for him, but it seemed wrong to name him myself) had got the idea from me.

Her features were sharp, elfin, almost, with large eyes and high cheekbones, and a short-cut hairstyle that showed off her pointed ears, delicate hands and thin figure. She was beautiful, in an inhuman way.

"She's your sister, right?" I was answered with a nod.

I smiled up at the Shadow, impressed with his drawing abilities. I'd tried this before, of course, but they'd either refused and left, or been such bad artists it was pointless. He filled in the features of the tall one, but seemed mystified with his own.

He pointed to the outline of him, then to himself, questioningly, and I nodded; all he did was shrug.

"Do you not know what you look like?" He shook his head. No. Strange.

Did Shadows not have mirrors? Crossing over to my desk, on which there was an old-fashioned hand-mirror, before handing it to him I held it up in front of my face, pretending to do my hair.

He just looked blankly into the mirror, shrugged, and handed it back. Woah. Weird. "No reflection?" Again, he just shook his head. I couldn't tell if that meant 'No, I have no reflection.' or 'No, I have a relfection but...'

There was something stiff, unemotional about the way he held himself now, as if the mirror and his (potential) lack of reflection had upset him somehow, but he was trying to hide it. He waved and disappeared, leaving me on my own with a nearly-completed picture and a pencil dropped on the floor.