The Dead [m.g.c]

*6*

//Happy late Halloween y’all! My school won the game Thursday night 42-3. Killer. It’s so cold at home now I woke up to temperatures in the thirties… nope.

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Wise words of Yik Yak: "Everytime I look at webMD and diagnose myself, I always have 3 days to live."

//

The junkyard was full of…..well junk. Forgotten toys now worn down to almost nothing. Broken items reflecting the broken dreams of the ones who never reached them. Michael walked to a pile looking for the object that caught his eye. It had a shine to it, which is unheard of in a junkyard. He looked into a bottle glass bottle and there was necklace, all the shimmering stones still intact.

He thought to himself, How could something like this end up here?

A bang broke Michael from his thoughts. He looked over his shoulder. No one was there.

He scanned around looking for anyone to be looking at him.

*bang* A can had landed right in front of Michael’s foot.

He kicked the can to the side a little – noise indicating movement came from in front of Michael from behind a large pile.

He walked towards the pile cautiously. He had no idea what he was fixing to face, a wild animal, a crazy killer, his worst nightmare,…..or a little kid.

Michael chuckled, “You’re just a kid.” He shook his head and dismissed the kid and started to walk away.

The kid got up and ran catching up to him, “Yeah I may be just a kid but I’ve survived out here.”

Michael spun around on his heel and started walking backwards, “On your own?”

The kid picked up a stick, “Yeah, can’t bring your parents with you when you die.”

Then Michael remembered he wasn’t in a random world, he was still in the land of the dead, just a new part.  “Do you by chance know how to get out of here?”

The kid was poking at another pile.  “Shyeah. Like you will though.”

The walk down a road on each side are piles of items thrown away, lost items, and forgotten dreams.

He looked at the piles to keep himself entertained there was nothing else entertaining around. The grounds were dull, the skies were gray and the only other excitement was the kid walking around with the stick. It seemed as if people were looking at him over the piles as he made his way down the makeshift road.

“The name’s Sam.” The kid told Michael while retrieving a deflated dodgeball from the pile.

Michael stuffed his hands in his pants pockets. “Oh. That’s cool.” He didn’t look at the kid just for the reason he really didn’t care.

“You know how I died?” Sam told him. He was occupying himself by hitting the dodgeball with the stick – trying to make it go somewhere other than the six inches in front of him.

Michael sighed “No” He wondered if death was that big of a deal that everyone had to tell their story to each other.

“Well, I drowned. My friend pushed me in the lake and I couldn’t swim – didn’t help my foot got caught in some plant at the bottom.” He was dragging a line in the dirt behind them.

“Hmm.” Michael said, seriously what do you say though? Wow what a great story Sam! No.

He stopped walking. His eyes landed on something far too familiar.

His Les Paul guitar form a year ago. “Sam” He took a breath in swallowing, “What is this place for again?”

Sam looked over at him like he was crazy. He knew he had just told him. “Um, lost things, thrown away stuff, and forgotten dreams.”

“Forgotten dreams.” He turned and looked at Sam, “Apparently it includes given up ones too.”

**

They played the chords again and again the sounds never became a cohesive.

“Dude this is such a ridiculous idea.” Calum told everyone, he ran his hands over his face out of stress.

“It’s just not clicking yet.” Michael told him.

“Well yeah Michael, it hasn’t been clicking for four months! This is so fucking stupid for us to think that we would ever work and make it as a band.” He removed his bass setting it on the stand. “I’m not getting my hopes up anymore, I quit.”

He left the garaged the teens had practiced in for the four months together.

“I’m out too.” Ashton gripped his drumsticks together getting up from the seat, “I got get a steady job, and this isn’t doing it. I need to support myself.” He quietly left the other two.

Luke looked over at Michael, “Told ya.” He started wrapping up the chords into nice bundles as Michael processed the fact his band was over and dreams were just killed. When Luke finished he left the garage as Michael stood in the same position. He later took off the guitar setting it on the stand, turning off the amp and unplugging it and never touching it again.

**

Sam walked over to Michael, “Whose is that?”

He ran his hand over the curves of the guitar, “Mine. It was mine.”