Not all ghosts are random wanderers in between discernable realms. Indeed the realms themselves might be of varying realities, through which many spiritual forms may transcend, perspective being their compass. Some entities seek to be helpful, many meander in search of some semblance of normalcy but others...they prey and feed.
~
Mary was twelve when her family moved for the twelfth time. Her youth drove the stubborn red head into an insecure and vulnerable adolescence, albeit a passionately rebellious teenage phase. By her next birthday, she was a darling shade of gloom and doom. Her spiral of negativity attracted some malevolent beings, even as she continued to see beauty in her own darkness. It sparked a rift in her family and a fire in her house that nearly killed them all. But the worst was how they looked at her - as if they feared her or blamed her for the sleepless nights, feeling watched and paranoid.
Then it happened again, only it had started in her room. What she told the police was that a candle had likely fallen into her laundry, as it wasn't entirely a lie. But no one would have believed an utterance of the truth, that she had seen a shadow flicker up from the smoke of the candle before it stepped onto the floor. It had given what looked like a sickly grin then violently upturned the table, which did set the room ablaze, and made Mary scream. She was transfixed though, having looked at it, and couldn't move. Her father had to pull her from the room as the flame reached her bed. He was yanked backward, and the door slammed shut as her mother ran in to save him. The doorknob singed her flesh when she tried to force it open, and the pounding of her skinny fists was met with one thunderous BOOM that nearly put her through the opposite wall and knocked her nearly unconscious.
Everything after that was hazy, distorted, or outright black in her memory. The only recollections she could offer the first responders were raspy mutterings of her parents' screams, and confusion over how she had made it out alive. Firefighters said she had been found at the bottom of the stairs, though she couldn't remember crawling away from her room, much less making it down without breaking her neck. She shrugged at most questions, truly void of explanations. The bruise on her back had been attributed to either such a fall, or a panicking father's adrenaline strength. The door shutting had been blamed on a backdraft, supposedly intensified and sealed by her mother's hurried entry. The lock...that was just an accident, probably melted shut, derived from the good intentions of parents willing to let their daughter set her own boundaries.
~
She analyzed these moments for the next three years as she transferred multiple foster homes and schools. Mary kept her last name, Conner, and typically went by the name she shared with her mother, Astrid. Most families were receptive of these preferences, and she even allowed one couple to call her Mac, but no amount of good will or grand times lasted long. An older woman had cut the process short, once she had suffered what she called "demonic visions" every night that Astrid stayed with her. The paperwork read as if officials considered the woman crazy or senile and labelled her unfit to foster, and Astrid continued on her increasingly lonely path, though not every family who rejected the girl did so unkindly or even endured any harm. One simply dropped her off at child services and never returned, nor were they discovered within any record system following.
But today is a new day, and this town is a new start, she reminded herself as she shook off her first day jitters and foggy memories. It wouldn't do to have a meltdown, not in a public school; so as she walked and clung to the strap of her pack she silently sang her mantras to herself. I am okay, I am safe, the daylight protects me, the sun lights my path.
Her first day was relatively uneventful, something she privately cherished. The sensation that she was never safe permeated her existence, but she didn't feel overly threatened here. All but a few classrooms and detention halls were well-lit with sizable windows, so no claustrophobia sent her into a panic. This school at least approached her mental disorders fairly, expecting her to work but allowing her the space to step out and have her breakdowns in private. Still she walked rather stiffly until she could breathe outdoors. The recent mother figure in her life worked later than school released, but refused to teach Astrid to drive until they might spend some time bonding and building trust. The girl scoffed at the idea as she lit up a self-rolled piece of green sanity and glanced around the playground.
The remaining sun slanted over the monkey bars and glinted off of a metal slide. When she finally set eyes on the swings, she dug out her sketch pad and meandered over, toking as she bent back a branch of the tree that shaded them. Teachers had gone home and the underpaid security was too lazy to scold smokers, if there were even any cameras outside the building. And so she set about doodling, randomly at first. As she smoked and calmed, the sun crept lower and her lines proliferated as feathers until they became the sprawling wings of a humanoid, which had a face not unlike her mother's. Stamping out her joint, she smeared the blackened edge of its wrapping into being as the many folds of her graphite guardian's robes. Flicked the roach, spun her pencil; went about erasing extra smudges, tightening and emphasizing the ever contrasting lighting of the sunset on the page. She would sit lost in such a dance of creation until anyone might happen to come near.
~
Mary was twelve when her family moved for the twelfth time. Her youth drove the stubborn red head into an insecure and vulnerable adolescence, albeit a passionately rebellious teenage phase. By her next birthday, she was a darling shade of gloom and doom. Her spiral of negativity attracted some malevolent beings, even as she continued to see beauty in her own darkness. It sparked a rift in her family and a fire in her house that nearly killed them all. But the worst was how they looked at her - as if they feared her or blamed her for the sleepless nights, feeling watched and paranoid.
Then it happened again, only it had started in her room. What she told the police was that a candle had likely fallen into her laundry, as it wasn't entirely a lie. But no one would have believed an utterance of the truth, that she had seen a shadow flicker up from the smoke of the candle before it stepped onto the floor. It had given what looked like a sickly grin then violently upturned the table, which did set the room ablaze, and made Mary scream. She was transfixed though, having looked at it, and couldn't move. Her father had to pull her from the room as the flame reached her bed. He was yanked backward, and the door slammed shut as her mother ran in to save him. The doorknob singed her flesh when she tried to force it open, and the pounding of her skinny fists was met with one thunderous BOOM that nearly put her through the opposite wall and knocked her nearly unconscious.
Everything after that was hazy, distorted, or outright black in her memory. The only recollections she could offer the first responders were raspy mutterings of her parents' screams, and confusion over how she had made it out alive. Firefighters said she had been found at the bottom of the stairs, though she couldn't remember crawling away from her room, much less making it down without breaking her neck. She shrugged at most questions, truly void of explanations. The bruise on her back had been attributed to either such a fall, or a panicking father's adrenaline strength. The door shutting had been blamed on a backdraft, supposedly intensified and sealed by her mother's hurried entry. The lock...that was just an accident, probably melted shut, derived from the good intentions of parents willing to let their daughter set her own boundaries.
~
She analyzed these moments for the next three years as she transferred multiple foster homes and schools. Mary kept her last name, Conner, and typically went by the name she shared with her mother, Astrid. Most families were receptive of these preferences, and she even allowed one couple to call her Mac, but no amount of good will or grand times lasted long. An older woman had cut the process short, once she had suffered what she called "demonic visions" every night that Astrid stayed with her. The paperwork read as if officials considered the woman crazy or senile and labelled her unfit to foster, and Astrid continued on her increasingly lonely path, though not every family who rejected the girl did so unkindly or even endured any harm. One simply dropped her off at child services and never returned, nor were they discovered within any record system following.
But today is a new day, and this town is a new start, she reminded herself as she shook off her first day jitters and foggy memories. It wouldn't do to have a meltdown, not in a public school; so as she walked and clung to the strap of her pack she silently sang her mantras to herself. I am okay, I am safe, the daylight protects me, the sun lights my path.
Her first day was relatively uneventful, something she privately cherished. The sensation that she was never safe permeated her existence, but she didn't feel overly threatened here. All but a few classrooms and detention halls were well-lit with sizable windows, so no claustrophobia sent her into a panic. This school at least approached her mental disorders fairly, expecting her to work but allowing her the space to step out and have her breakdowns in private. Still she walked rather stiffly until she could breathe outdoors. The recent mother figure in her life worked later than school released, but refused to teach Astrid to drive until they might spend some time bonding and building trust. The girl scoffed at the idea as she lit up a self-rolled piece of green sanity and glanced around the playground.
The remaining sun slanted over the monkey bars and glinted off of a metal slide. When she finally set eyes on the swings, she dug out her sketch pad and meandered over, toking as she bent back a branch of the tree that shaded them. Teachers had gone home and the underpaid security was too lazy to scold smokers, if there were even any cameras outside the building. And so she set about doodling, randomly at first. As she smoked and calmed, the sun crept lower and her lines proliferated as feathers until they became the sprawling wings of a humanoid, which had a face not unlike her mother's. Stamping out her joint, she smeared the blackened edge of its wrapping into being as the many folds of her graphite guardian's robes. Flicked the roach, spun her pencil; went about erasing extra smudges, tightening and emphasizing the ever contrasting lighting of the sunset on the page. She would sit lost in such a dance of creation until anyone might happen to come near.
Growing up was never a easy thing for young Aiden Esence Hikari. Being born into the world by a mother thlst never even wanted you, and being forced to go to an orphanage upon birth, seeing your mother, your only parent, was dead. Growing up alongside other orphan children, but never being able to play. While all the other children played soccer in the backyard, he would watch from his bedroom window as they had fun. Every child had a room mate, but nobody would stay with Aiden. Every time someone did they would cry to the guardian saying "Aidens scaring me!!" Aiden would stay up until dawn, huddled in the corner, as far away from everything as he could be, with his eyes squeezed shut. The world was torturing him. If he opened his eyes he would see things like something out of a horror movie. Bloody handprints on the walls, decapitated limbs laying everywhere, and even hear the demonic laughter of children. It was scary. Everything anyone could ever fear lied in that place he saw.
He grew up away from people, every time he passed somebody in the hallway they would whisper to their friends "ignore him, he's a freak anyway, I mean look at him!" They would gossip. He had never made a true friend as far as he knew, and as far as he was certain, he never would.
It had been another day, a typical day. Another day of a never ending living hell. The orphanage owner, after many hours of trying to convince herself not to go near Aiden, finally approached him, and made him go outside. She said he would end up looking like some dead person if he didn't get some nice sunshine. He at first wanted to just sit in the yard until he was allowed to go back in but sadly she wouldn't allow him to do such. "Why not go to the park?" She said "it could be fun" she said. Yeah right. Being outside was a weak ness and so much more could happen, but alas he was stuck obeying so he went to the park, but once he got there he went and sat on the grass under a shady tree. He didn't go for the swings, or the slides, or any other activity. He just wanted to stay away from any body..He looked down at his pale hand that was lightly shaking before he put his hand down. He didn't like being here, no not one bit. He saw all the people in the park and that made him press his back further against the tree from where he sat. He looked up alittle, seeing a blue and green ball roll his way and a young boy came to claim it. Aiden looked up at the child, and the second the child saw him, the child picked up the ball and ran away screaming. Aiden was pale, and had lifeless grey eyes. He had black hair which didn't help his appearance. ...he never could look at somebody without them freaking out...He quietly sighed....never..
He grew up away from people, every time he passed somebody in the hallway they would whisper to their friends "ignore him, he's a freak anyway, I mean look at him!" They would gossip. He had never made a true friend as far as he knew, and as far as he was certain, he never would.
It had been another day, a typical day. Another day of a never ending living hell. The orphanage owner, after many hours of trying to convince herself not to go near Aiden, finally approached him, and made him go outside. She said he would end up looking like some dead person if he didn't get some nice sunshine. He at first wanted to just sit in the yard until he was allowed to go back in but sadly she wouldn't allow him to do such. "Why not go to the park?" She said "it could be fun" she said. Yeah right. Being outside was a weak ness and so much more could happen, but alas he was stuck obeying so he went to the park, but once he got there he went and sat on the grass under a shady tree. He didn't go for the swings, or the slides, or any other activity. He just wanted to stay away from any body..He looked down at his pale hand that was lightly shaking before he put his hand down. He didn't like being here, no not one bit. He saw all the people in the park and that made him press his back further against the tree from where he sat. He looked up alittle, seeing a blue and green ball roll his way and a young boy came to claim it. Aiden looked up at the child, and the second the child saw him, the child picked up the ball and ran away screaming. Aiden was pale, and had lifeless grey eyes. He had black hair which didn't help his appearance. ...he never could look at somebody without them freaking out...He quietly sighed....never..
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