I woke up in my room panting. Six years ago and the memory was still fresh in my mind, then again, one doesn't really forget a traumatic experience. Six years and so much knowledge later and I knew now what I wished I knew then. Ghosts can move things the angrier they get. The more anger stored the bigger the objects they can move.
I learned that afterward when I'd woken up in my hospital bed. Isaac's desperation finally made me obey my father's rule to never speak to ghosts. All the witnesses swore they saw me jump, all the doctors assumed I was suicidal, when my family's history of "ghosts" came up they diagnosed my mother and I as schizophrenic. My mother deteriorated quickly after that, the medication having a harmful affect on her already fragile state of mind, until they came to take her away to Creedmore.
However; there was one thing I needed to do before I could let go my life of mediumship. I wrote a letter to Isaac's sister, I mailed it. No chance I was going near that household for as long as I lived. I prayed that Isaac's sister forgave him, I prayed that Isaac crossed over after that, but I never checked to be sure. That life was behind me now, and I moved on from there hoping not to ever get involved with a ghost as long as I lived. Then Joaquin came into my life.
Leaving my house I drove the distance to the psychiatric hospital my mom was in. I told my dad I'd be home in time for supper, considering I didn't like spending time here, I was pretty sure I was right.
Sterile halls and sadness lined the halls as I made my way to my mom's room. She had a decent view, and like every other day when I came to visit her she was sitting in her wicker chair staring out to the manicured garden, now dormant in the autumn light.
"Hey Mom," I said as I came into the room. No response. "I was making a quick trip home, thought I'd stop by," I said sitting by her.
"School is tough, but I'm enjoying it. No friends, but what can you expect? I'm Cassandra Day, the freaky girl." I held my mom's hand looking for comfort, but I might as well have been holding a mannequin's hand.
"There's this boy," I laughed, "he's a ghost, and his name's Joaquin. Funny huh? I go six years without so much as breathing in a ghost's direction, but I make an exception for him. Well he's different. Funny, charming, and playful." I sighed as the memories of good times came rushing back.
"He's biracial like me Mom. Or was. We had fun discussing what it's like to have parents of two different ethnicities. He was half French, half Mexican. He thought it was cool how I was half Australian, half Japanese." I frowned thinking about Joaquin and how happy we'd been as friends together. "How'd you do it Mom? How could you talk to ghosts so easily? They're one thing, we're another... He's piecing together how he died... what if he wants help? What do I do?"
Moments of silence passed between my mother and I. I got up and, but felt the grip of a hand on my wrist. My mom looked at me with intense dark brown eyes. They were lucid, and very much aware.
"Darling, you help him, it's what you were born for,"
~~~
ESTÀS LLEGINT
Bleeding Hearts
Literatura romàntica[Completed] Joaquin Rossignol is dead. He's a ghost, and the afterlife is a pretty gosh darn boring existence if you don't know how to move on and crossover, so what's a fanboy ghost like him to do? He decides to haunt a girl his age, but this girl...
