Small Stories

Fantasy - Keys to Redemption

Class - CRWR 203 - Introduction to Writing for Children and Young Adults

The assignment is to write the first chapter of a novel.

Dying had doomed me to a life of boredom.

Apparently I was a shit human being when I died, so the universe decided to laugh at my face instead of giving me, you know, room to change.

If they had, I might have even used it.

Students were beginning to arrive, so I dropped through the roof onto the first floor. My high school's roof was where I spent most of my uneventful nights, because staying at home depressed me too much.

It'd been three months, and going through locked doors was no longer fun. Being invisible had no more appeal. Flying didn't get me any close to heaven — if you could even call it flying, that is. It was more like hovering.

And really? I couldn't leave this idiot-ridden earth unless I got forgiveness? It's not like I killed anyone. Maybe I would've been okay with a punishment if it wasn't this ridiculous. I bet even murderers didn't get deals this bad.

I reached the trophy case by the principal's office. My school kept a small memorial for me inside, which seemed like the wrong place for it, if you ask me.

I sat cross-legged in front of it, or more accurately, floated just above the floor. I read the inscription for the hundredth time:

Noah Rivera

2002—2019

I itched to rip my photo out of the frame and burn the fake flowers, because I didn't want to be dead. But my fingers might as well be smoke.

"How is this fair?" I complained. I glowered at the glass, straining to see a reflection. I was even okay with seeing myself as a pale glowing ghost, injuries and all. "I swear I would've been nicer if I had the chance."

The glass refused to acknowledge me, but then I saw him in it. Daniel, the key to my redemption, was walking by me.

Every day I wondered when he'd get his shirt cleaned, but lo and behold, his red plaid button-up still had my blue paint splatter. The loops of his laces drooped, no longer double-knotted because I wasn't there to step on them.

And his face, as always, was schooled blank when he passed the trophy case. He never turned to look at it, only clutched his books tighter.

Fate had promised me an impossible deal. I could leave my monotonous ghost life if I got him to forgive me, but how could I if I had no way to interact with anything?

I waited for him to stash his skateboard above his locker, then followed him to homeroom and took my place at my old desk, which no one dared to sit in. They should've at least made it more presentable. The wood still had pencil etchings and grey eraser marks in the corners.

For lack of a better activity, I watched Daniel scroll through his phone in front of me. He was on Instagram, dropping a like on every picture.

His friend Logan had posted a throwback photo from sophomore year. Logan held the camera, and Daniel stood beside him smiling and spinning a keyring.

Daniel didn't press like on that one, and I wouldn't have either. It was that spinning that started it all.

Years ago, whenever he was bored, he'd take out that metal ring with probably a dozen attachments, and swing it around his finger. It never fell. At least, not until that field trip to Capilano Bridge where I shoved him as a joke and it ended up in the river seventy metres below us.