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sylph-feather · 4 years

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delta echo alpha delta

Summary:

He is here, for some reason, in this place and with these people he vaguely recognizes. He wants help. Please, please, please.

(All they see is a haunting and a monster.)

Prompt by @ectopal

“Jack and Maddie, at the end of their rope, beg Vlad to come to Amity to help stop the ghost that's haunting their family. Vlad realizes that it isn't a ghost that's terrorizing them, but their son, who recently became a half ghost and is having just about the worst time in the world dealing with it. Bonus points if in his human form Danny is extremely unsettling. ”

Notes: (yes the title is from lemon demon’s lifetime achievement award). this... i spent. way longer setting it up so sorry about minimal vlad but. uhh im really proud of this. i went. i went a little nuts, admittedly. with imagery. i hope its not incomprehensible?

Wordcount: 2825

Being dead… is new.

The Phantom isn’t sure just how it is new, it contemplates as it stares at two children who scream and scrabble at a smoking portal. Blank in their terror, they ignore him.

His eyes flicker towards a mirror on the other side of the room, and it only shows the two of them.

The phantom ignores them— who is he to interrupt? Dead men tell no tales. He gets the distinct feeling that everything is wrong, and a piece of that puzzle is the pair’s odd familiarity— but hey, he just died, he’s really not feeling up to much of anything.

Green eyes stare in the mirror, but that’s all he is— two green wisps, apparently ignored in the panic of two teens.

He supposes he should feel weirder having, presumably, died. No, he innately knows he died.

But mostly he just feels… confusion. Displacement.

And cold, not unpleasantly so, just a buried, almost peaceful chill.

In between blinks— perhaps he is tired, so tired, dead tired (he laughs to himself), the two teens flicker away, basement restored, before he can even think about questioning them. Why are you so familiar? Why am I here? It pokes sharply at his heart.

For the phantom knows he is dead, but he never considered that means alive once, too tired and dead-brained (hah) to question implication.

The ghost of Danny Fenton closes its wispy eyes, not strong enough to maintain form, let alone to pervade that shock scrabble at memories that may lead him to living again.

xXx

Three days pass. The ghost, in moments of waking, had decided Phantom. There is something so familiar about that name, the way it rolls off his (hypothetical) tongue.

In between blinks, he sees the Family in the basement, that place of awakening.

They speak of someone missing, lost. They gesture to the green, swirling abyss, upset as they work on something that looks like a rocket. Rocket. Stars pervade his mind as he lazily blinks, and he falls back asleep to dreams of space before he can even think again of questioning the Family, of asking can I help?

He knows what it is to be lost, but he is too tired and unfocussed.

xXx

The one with the firey, long hair notices him first. He has taken to floating about the abode. Nothing physical keeps him here, but there is some tug in his heart that makes him want to stay.

He likes the red haired one. She reads a lot. Talks about bad coping to the Parents, though he’s not sure what those words mean (he’s unsure also why he gets the feeling of vague annoyance, oddly familiar, and the stinging in his chest becomes so painful when he thinks like that, like a scorpion’s deadly barbed stinger).

One day, one higher energy day, a week after the awakening, Phantom lazily swishes after her, into her room. Sometimes he blinks and he hears the swishes of pages and a drip of water, and he has enough energy now to be curious.

The doors, the walls, the floor— they’re all nothing. Or maybe, rather, he’s nothing, he observes as he notes the girl crying on her psych book.

He frowns, distantly. She’ll ruin the pages like that. Maybe there’s something more he should be concerned about, but he is so young and lost, and so tired.

He runs a finger along a page, rolling away a tear, in an effort to dry it. The pages flutter in a wind, and the girl startles, glancing at the closed window.

For just a moment, Phantom sees not two piercing green wisps, but something blue and glinting, and a fragment of a foggy body in his place. He glances down— there is no second person here.

He’s distracted by the fact the girl is crying again, harder, scrubbing her eyes.

Distressed, he thumbs at her face, and a cool, wintery wind blows over her hair.

He’s too tired to do much more, and his chill becomes like a blanket to him.

xXx

It’s small, but maybe Phantom can help the family. His waking moments get more frequent and longer, and he starts to fidget with objects; the daughter cries, and he rustles her hair. The mother sleeps on her research of the great swirling door, and he drapes a foggy arm over her. The father squints into darkness at his foggy form as he goes down for a midnight snack— then blinks and rubs his eyes. He flickers the computers off when they should be sleeping, touches at their shoulders in comfort, because he wants to help them and he wants to be with them so bad. The flailing stinger pierces again and again.

“We’ll find him,” the Parents insists, and the Phantom tries to support them as best he can. The Daughter has given up, but he tries to help her, too.

Bluntly, the Phantom notes perhaps he is not exactly selfless— one of the few concrete truths he knows of himself (the other being an enjoyment of word play; he’s twisted dead and ghost every which way). There is some innate desire within him to be with them; seen, known, interacted with.

At the moment, he’s not more than a blustering wind and a foggy reflection.

He sinks to the floor, ghostly sigh escaping his ever invisible lungs. He’s wondered if ghosts are supposed to breathe as he does, but it’s not like anyone’s around to ask. His crackled voice is never heard by the Family, responded to by nothing but icy silence.

He brushes a hand against the cold lab table from his floating position. His hands feel solid to him, but again, do not reach the Family.

The Phantom takes a look around at the toxic green beakers and sleek white tech. He is slipping away again, not that he wants to— but not that he has a choice.

In what feel like his last moments for the day (week? Month? Time is undefinable) he grasps at a beaker, curious.

Green oozes onto the floor as it blows over. Frantically, the Phantom tries to correct his mistake— but touching it… touching it feels good. A jolt of electricity and energy. The tiredness… is gone.

Something flickers beneath him, and the Phantom jumps into the air. White feet follow black legs. Him.

The mirror that showed green wisps and two teens now show a white haired boy, with two green eyes. Something seems… underneath that reflection, though. Approaching the mirror, Phantom tilts his head, and the picture glints into something blue eyes and black haired for a fraction of a second, as though it is iridescent.

And then he blinks out altogether again.

xXx

Phantom’s first appearance is in the night. The girl has put away her book she was crying over while reading in the kitchen, and the Parents are upstairs; they eat, softly, quiet. It’s like walking in snow. The cold is not tranquil, the flakes not soft, they are just sharp things that land quietly in flesh.

The Phantom decides to break it with an icy crunch.

From the shadows, from the floors, he claws at that energy.

The Family stare in shock at the white haired, green eyed form that flickers in the shadows.

Their ears ring as his form, like static snowflakes, glints into something familiar, as they sit frozen.

xXx

He sleeps again, after that stunt— but the Phantom wakes, hopeful. The Family is searching for the lost person— perhaps they will also be sympathetic to his cause. Maybe they don’t even need to find the lost one, Phantom considers; this feels so much like home, maybe… maybe. No, no, you can both get help, he scolds in gentle reminder to himself, reminding those thoughts are the scoprion’s poison. It’s not malevolent— it just, in some way, he just knows he’ll slot in like a missing puzzle piece. He doesn’t know how he knows, and thoughts like that make the urge of please see me, the love, the need, grow so strong.

His voice reaches them in a static scream; he gives that approach up quickly when the Parents shoot into the nothing. He doesn’t want to scare, he wants to be helped, and to help. He’s finally a little less braindead (his chuckle is tinny static) and can contemplate a little more emotionally complicated situations— in other words, he can tell continuing to screech is perhaps not the best idea, and perhaps more subtlety that is available to him with his increased thoughts is required.

The TV channels, the word magnets, the radio. Static and the message lost lost lost please help lost lost forgot forgot see me see see see seeseeseeseesee me.

The Phantom feels his message is going well until the Family destroys those things in a green fire.

I need your help, though, he grimaces. Perhaps they just aren’t getting it. The dead cannot speak, are not supposed to; he knows this when he writes messages, something grating in his mind that keeps him from communicating all but his basic thoughts and wants.

Determined still, he starts flickering into existence again, clawing out of shadows. Lights flicker at his arrival.

It’s hard to do much like that, though; his brain dies (more?) and it’s all his concentration of see me see me.

The Family shoots at him, and more sleek machinery invades the household— defenses.

It doesn’t hurt him.

But… if he gets frustrated, slams at the fixtures a little harder than needed, rakes the words into place to try to say something, who can blame him? The Phantom, for some reason he cannot explain, feels the Family is his family. The Phantom wants to be seen. The universe tries to keep the dead in line, restrain the dead from disrupting that natural order of their old life and their afterlife. It’s a lot of factors, the Phantom dismisses, very much like a sassy teenager, and slams a door a little harder to get someone to notice.

The real problem is that they notice, then react in all the wrong ways. But the Phantom cannot swallow that, that his efforts are squandered, because then where would he be?

xXx

By the time the Fentons are valiant enough to get Vlad to get the “gang” back together, the creature is a constant. The ghost scrapes its filthy claws over the lights, resides in mirrors, screams over anything electronic— and their tech puts no stop to it. It’s like it has a foot in each world, caught between the ghost zone’s intangibility that would let it not be hurt but make it challenging to interact and the human realm’s solidity that would allow it to be wounded.

It is too powerful.

xXx

The Phantom can feel that the irritated old man is powerful. Something about his eyes glints red, in that same iridescent way that something inside Phantom’s green eyes glint blue like a glacier, if you just tilt your head and squint just right.

The Parents, who the Phantom has grown wary of— and yet he’s still here— why? It feels so much like home. He wants it to be home, because it’s always felt his place. Maybe that missing person doesn’t need to be found— maybe he can—no, no, remember!— the Parents, they are ranting about ghosts loudly. The man is impassive, and the Phantom plays with tilting his head just right to get the man’s skin to flood blue.

“I think it’s Danny,” Daughter says softly. That name stings him, but Phantom doesn’t think Daughter means to hurt him. She, Phantom still likes. She looks at him when he shows, looks at him like someone is concerned, even if she cries harder than ever nowadays (maybe Phantom is just awake to see it more, but he notes the constant redness of eyes and face is new, so maybe not). She doesn’t destroy his messages, just stares. Not helpful in the least, he notes sarcastically, plucking at the invisible yet black (—how can it be both? How can he be two things that are so opposite and parallel?) jumpsuit of his (how can it exist when he never can exist, so many hows).

“That isn’t Danny,” the Parents cement, and Phantom frowns. The name stings again, the scorpion sitting perched upon a rib and taking personal offence to that person. Who is Danny?

xXx

Watching the old man is tiring and boring. Phantom doesn’t have enough energy to reach him, to say help me (because the old man has the glint and that has to mean something) so he decides to change that.

When he sleeps, he dreams of so many glinting things. Flickering figures of the Family and the Teens that visit sometimes. But they are just ghosts of memories.

xXx

It is in the night when he wakes up, green eyes staring at the silver pool moon, pleased as he ever is staring at those stars.

A breath passes his lips, and his nonexistent form shudders. Someone—!

“You must change back,” the ghost he saw in glints of the old man says. Belatedly, he introduces— “I am Plasmius, and I am… like you.”

“You see me,” Phantom murmurs, breath foggy. No, that isn’t right. The ghost is squinting in general directions, as though Phantom is a glimmer in his eye. Phantom is a glimmer in his own eye in the mirror, so he understands.

“You are... foggy,” the blue ghost amends, confirming Phantom’s thoughts. “Something about you is wrong.”

“Thanks,” Phantom says sarcastically (a new ability, a new joke that he loves), “tell me something I don’t know.”

“What happened to you?” the ghost asks.

“I woke up,” Phantom says bluntly. “I’m here now. They won’t help me.”

“Their son— they ignored their son?”

“They have a Son?” Phantom’s eyes flutter— “is he the lost one?”

xXx

The ghost went back to flickering inside the old man, because the Mother charged in.

“Oh,” she sighed, “it’s just you.”

“Yes,” he says, and he glimmers and shows fangs and horns, “just me.”

Phantom does not like the way he is looking at the Mother, but he’s not that good at judging subtleties in people still, so he lets that feeling pass.

xXx

The next… Phantom isn’t sure if it’s the day, he fell asleep, but his naps are less and less, so he feels safe in calling it the next day… the next day, the ghost flickers out of the old man to float with him again.

“How do you do that?” Phantom wonders. Is it the key to not being seen, to guise oneself as one of them, as not dead?

“You should be able to do it, too,” the ghost mutters, “I see it in you.”

“The blue eyes and the black hair,” Phantom breathes. Like a bird feather that shows green at an angle, so too does his other, and this ghost is the same.

“But you are unstable,” Plasmius informs in a frown. “You never settled into one world, so you are stuck unable to traverse between them.”

Phantom blinks, confused, and Plasmius heaves a sigh of thin patience.

“You flicker a lot more than I do,” he informs bluntly, in a tone that suggests perhaps Phantom is an idiot. “And,” he tacks on, more contemplatively, “you seem to not remember anything, as though you’ve separated yourself from that essential connection.”

“Connection,” Phantom echoes, and he yearns for that connection. His entire soul keens for it, to fill that hole.

“Yes Danny,” Plasmius grunts, and that scorpion strikes again, “a connection.”

“I’m Phantom,” he defends, tapping at his ribs like he can knock the stinging creature off, away from his vulnerable chest.

“You’re both,” Plasmius says.

“Danny is the other?” Phantom asks.

“The blue eyes and the black hair? Yes. He is your glint, and he is the lost one, and he is just you.”

“Oh,” Phantom breathes, and the scorpion is writhing and striking his heart and itself and his ribs and— and—

He passes out, green eyes going out like a light.

—But the flickers, the flickers finger around him, crawling over his form like electricity for a moment, and his form is a patchwork of two, and his mind is a flood of memory.

xXx

“I defeated the ghost, last night, and he gave me your son,” Plasmius’ old-man voice rings.

And Phantom is Danny and Danny is Phantom— and as usual he sleeps. Memories came in dreams, an eruption after so long of being dammed, brought forth at simple acceptance. Despite the dreaming, or rather because of it, he is achingly tired, with zero energy.

This time, his family (the Family, the same) surrounds him in warmth, in that thread of connection, and inside, in more normal and soft dreams, he feels something become filled.

The scorpion crawls away into the soft, soft snow.

#dp #phicphight #phic phight #phicphight20 #danny phantom #phanfic #my writing #phic phight 2020 #quill

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valhalla-awaitsfor-us · 6 years

Note

5 of the prompts. You choose the OCs. I love all.

I FINALLY DID IT. IM SO SORRY FOR THE WAITING.

@asttralhell

“Seriously! I just put that pie out, who took it? ”

When Lottieheard frenetic footsteps coming up the stairs she just knew it was Eugene. She didn’t feel the need to turn around toconfirm it. She has lived with the boy for ten years now, she knew hisfootsteps. Rushed, noisy, as if they were shouting: “Here I am!” every time Gene entered a room. No, Lottiedidn’t need a confirmation; and she also didn’t need to know what washappening. As usual, she just knew it.

“Lottie. CodeRed. Code fucking red.”

Charlottewas trying to finish a painting she had been working on for days… But asalways the inspiration seemed to be laughing in her face. She couldn’t find theright shapes, the precise colors, and her shadows couldn’t be worse. Maybethat’s why her cousin thought it would be an excellent idea to invite Rileyover. According to Gene “It was going to help her to relax.” To befair, he had a point. Her best works came to her when Lottie was having fun. SoRiley was more than welcome to their home … but when the girl proposed tocook a pie, Lottie knew deep downthat it wouldn’t end well. Riley was a horrible cook, and Eugene an even worsekitchen assistant. There was no way that combination would end up well. For thatsame reason Charlotte excused herself saying that she preferred to continueworking on her painting, leaving them alone to take care of the pie.

Hissuspicions were confirmed when Eugene ran into her room, messy hair andirregular breathing, panic reflected in his blue eyes. Charlotte put the brushon the easel and gave him her full attention.

“What kindof code red?”

“What kindof code red? A code red! How many kinds of code red do you know?”

“Last weekyou started shouting “code red” around the house because you couldn’t findyour green socks. Forgive me for thinking that you may be exaggerating again.”

“They aremy lucky socks …! Whatever, there’s no time to talk now.”

Eugene ranto the window and opened it. The hot summer air flooded the room and Lottiewrinkled her nose, annoyed. She didn’t like to use the word “hate” asif it meant nothing, but she hatedthe heat.

“Umm…Gene?Do I want to know what you’re doing?”

Her cousin,who seemed about to throw himself out the window, turned to see her, smiling.

“From hereI can reach the branch of the tree … God, Lottie, you’re wasting thestrategic advantage of your room. If you wanted to, you could totally sneak outat night and nobody would notice.”

“Sneak out?And go where?”

“I don’tknow, there are plenty of cool things out there.”

“Andwhy would I need to sneak out to see them? Why can’t I go during the day?”

“You arenot getting it.”

Lottieopened her mouth to answer but a noise on the first floor caught the attentionof the cousins. Someone had just closed the oven with an exaggerated force; asif that person was full of anger.

“Where thefuck…?!”

Theunmistakable voice of Riley traveled through the walls, and Charlotte tried toremember the moment when she naively thought that this time it would bedifferent, this time they would really have fun together, without fights,without arguments without … whatever Eugene and Riley did every time they hangtogether. Charlotte looked at Eugene, waiting for an explanation, but hercousin kept looking towards the stairs, as if he expected Riley to appear atany moment, looking for him, chasing him like a dog to his prey. Geneswallowed.

“What didyou do now?” Lottie asked tiredly, forgetting completely about her painting.

“In mydefense…” Eugene said finally looking her in the eyes. “Her pie sucks. Ialmost threw up the whole thing.”

“The whole…?How much did you eat?”

Eugeneshrugged and opened his mouth, looking for a credible excuse, but Riley’s footstepscoming up the stairs, made the boy completely forget about the conversation andhe literally threw himself out the window, landing on the oak branch, and thennimbly jumping to the ground. Charlotte would have been impressed if she didn’tknow that her cousin was capable of even flying if necessary to run away fromhis problems.

"Seriously!I just put that pie out, who took it? ”

Riley,still wearing an apron, entered Lottie’s room, emanating an aura of pure fury.In his hands she had a plate with a tiny pie portion. The image was funnywithout a doubt. A rude girl like her was wearing a pink flower apron, afterbaking a pie, while at the same time her eyes reflected thirst for blood.

“Where ishe?”

“Who?”

“Eugene,Lottie.”

“Oh…” Lottie took a few seconds to look around her room, and finallyreturned her attention to Riley as she shrugged.

“You knowyou’re my best friend, but you suck at lying.” Lottie gave her a humble smile,and she prepared to take her brush again, determined to stay out of the fightbetween her friend and her cousin. “Only this was left.” Rileycontinued looking sadly at the plate.

“Looks yummy.”Lottie encouraged her, dipping her brush in red paint for simple inertia.Actually, she was pretty lost.

“Doyou want a bite?” Riley asked hopefully with an uncertain smile.“It’s the first time I try. My grandma is the family cook, but I think Idid a decent job.”

Charlottelooked at the piece of pie, in the hands of her friend, for a few seconds,deliberating if it was worth it to accepting the offer or not. On one hand shewanted to make Riley feel better, but on the other she didn’t want to end upthrowing up an hour in the bathroom. Finally she looked up and denied.

“No thanks,I’m … busy right now.” Riley shrugged and Lottie refocused on her painting,but before the brush touched the blank canva her hand stopped. It was useless. Shesighed. That wasn’t her day…

“Riley, doyou think I have talent …?”

Before shecould finish the sentence her friend began to cough exaggeratedly. His eyesfilled with tears and she grimaced. Lottie watched her in silence, bewildered,waiting for Riley to recover the composure.

"Shit…” Riley said observing the remaining piece of pie with repulsion.“I think I feel sorry for Eugene now.”

Lottiestared at Riley astonished for a few seconds, analyzing her face until her faceslowly began to form a smile, until she finally burst into laughter.

“What?”Asked irritated and confused Riley “What’s funny?”

Lottiecould only shake her head, unable to utter a word. The situation wasridiculous. It always was when the three of them got together. But thatparticular day was being extremely weird. Eugene had jumped out of the window,terrified that Riley would take revenge on him. For what? So that she feltsorry for him? Lottie struggled to breathe; laughter was preventing her frominhaling properly. Meanwhile, Riley stared at her in silence, frowning, waitingfor answers. Charlotte tried to find the words but her cell phone distractedher. Eugene’s name flashed on the screen and the redhead took the phone withoutfirst glancing at Riley, who just rolled her eyes.

“Answer tothe jerk.”

Lottiechuckled before giving her full attention to her cousin’s message: "Hey, Lottieee, sorry for leaving. Mylife depended on that. How are things there? Has the beast calmed down yet? I’mat the park. If Riley doesn’t want to kill me anymore, would you two like to gofor ice cream?” The girl looked up and Riley raised an eyebrow.

“And? Whatdoes he want?”

“He …He’s saying sorry … And he asks if we want to go with him for ice cream.”

“Sorry? Really?Let me see the message.”

"No,”Lottie answered immediately, and Riley nodded, smiling, knowing perfectly wellwhat the content of that message might be.

“Okay …”Riley surrendered after meditating for a moment. “We’re going for ice cream, orwhatever.”

Lottiesmiled but looked at her painting, still unfinished, a constant reminder thatinspiration had left her.

“I….”

“Hey.”Riley interrupted her thoughts. “You need a break. You have been locked inthese four walls for hours now; it is time for you to go out and breathe freshair. What do you say?”

Silenceflooded the room for a few seconds, while Lottie struggled internally betweengoing out to have fun and keep working. She looked at the blank canvas one lasttime before looking around the room. It was full of drawings and pictureshanging on the walls, she couldnt help but smile.

The drawing of a golden fish swimming in black water,illuminating everything around him was the fisrt thing that caught her attention; she had painted it after a visit to theaquarium with Gene and Riley, two months ago. And the drawing of the girl witha green balloon and her dog … Lottie was inspired after Eugene dragged themto the fair. Riley and Gene were competing in a shooting game, trying to win asilly and giant teddy bear. But then, this little girl appeared from nowhere,carrying a puppy in her arms, and asked if she could play with them. Lottiecould see in the faces of the two friends that the rivalry had been forgottenin a matter of seconds, and now both of them were decided to let the littlegirl win. Eugene because he loved kids, and Riley… well, Lottie was prettysure that she did it cause of the dog… Oh! And her painting of the swing inthe sunset of a spring day! She had painted it the night of her birthday. Afterall the guests at the party left the house, Lottie, Riley and Gene went for awalk. The three of them ended up at the park and saw the sunset. Lottie sittingin the hammock, Eugene on the top of the slide and Riley on top of a monkeybar. They didn’t talk for a few minutes, just watching the sun disappear. Thathad been a great birthday for sure.

Lottieput her brush on the easel, and took a deep breath, directing her attention toRiley, who was still there, waiting patiently for an answer.

“Maybe youare right.”

“Of courseI am.” Riley smiled and offered her a hand andLottie accepted it without hesitation.

That nightLottie´s white canvas was flooded with bright colors.

My previous drabble about a young witch trying practiced her magic on secret:

#oc #ocs

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impertfectedchoices · 7 years

Text

I Promise - PT.1

Prompt: In a Heartbeat

Ship: James X MC

POV: (Point of View): James

Word Count: 1511

Artist Comment: SO LIHHH, this is my first fan fiction! Woooooooh, perfect for people to look back and see where I’ve come. 😅

But I chose to write something like this because not only am I always curious about how significant others react if their spouse get hurt, and to see how much they reeeallllyyy care, but I wanted some angsty sad stuff with this being my first one. I’m still learning how to actually portray a character’s personality, so hopefully I did them justice. Plussss I also wanted to see his reaction, being in a somewhat similar situation. Like this. IM SORRY BAE, you don’t deserve this torture.😩

11:03am

“Well, when observing last month’s trends, it’s clear that everyone’s topic of interest leans towards midterms.”

Are you 100% positive you won’t need to stay? I can take a day off. Reyna wouldn’t mind covering for me at this morning’s meeting.

“When it comes to midterm finals, all the students go crazy trying to find quick crash study ideas, sir!”

I’m fine James, it’s just a small cold. Nothing I… *sniff* can’t handle! Plus you’ve been been with me since Monday, I got this!

“And the worse thing they can do, is look up Buzzfeed articles on: Ways to Pass Finals Without Studying!”

*Muffled laughter erupts from the staff amongst themselves*

And I don’t regret it, but okay. I just wouldn’t bare with myself if I didn’t ask.

“Uh… I think we should break off and do some researching.”

I’ll be okay James, I promise.

I love you.

Geez, so mushy, Heh!

She smiled up at me. You were to think she must’ve been carved by a true artist at their craft… because her smile was so mesmerizing. God, her laugh was so contagious. It dissolved any stress I thought I held in myself still. It seemed as if my mind lost its train of though just being able to hear her voice. Let alone, thinking about her. She was just genuinely captivating. I had to take her word for her word, I just needed to get through this meeting…

… but I love you too, my darling.

An uncanny smile glided giddily on her face, as my smile grew larger, and more effortless. It’s been a year, and she still remembered the “pet name” I opted for us to call each other. She was so disappointed she couldn’t just call me “Jamesies”, but-

“Um, James?”

And with a blink, I was drawn back in the library, standing in-front of the conference table; empty. I hadn’t noticed that everyone, once watching me; had moves toward separate tables & computers alike, fast at work. I was then able to distinguish the voice.

“Hey Reyna, sorry. I assumed I spa-“

“Spaced out? Yes, in the middle of the meeting.”

Had I really let my thoughts consume me that much? Normally, I’m able to regulate my thoughts enough to multitask. I’m able to focus on more than one thing, on the rare occasions that I do; and work productively.

“No one really noticed, I was able to stir things in the right direction. I let everyone know to go ahead and research on midterm finals and student procrastination with it.”

She was trying to reassure me. Reyna always had such a calm spirit underneath her steadfast & determined perseverance. She truly reminded me of myself, or in ways, something similar to Vasquez and I. Mentor and colleague. When the time comes, she’ll be capable to take MC’s place when she moves into my position. I’m blessed to have had MC’s help to hire her as a journalist to our team.

“Thank you Reyna,” She seemed to relax more after my reassurance. Patting her shoulder, I headed towards a vacant table. “Let me go do something productive, but I may need your help a little later with an interview ab-“

“Are you alright, James?”

I froze midway. Looking back at her, even from a distance; the concern was still very distinguishable. Could she notice? I had been pretty good at keeping my facial expressions indecipherable. It’s difficult for others to pick up on my feelings, if only but a guess. MC told me herself, that she found the task a challenge, although now, she has it down to a science. I really must be more worried than I assumed I had been.

“Pardon me?” She seemed to grow more hesitant at my surprised expression. Cautiously, she set her papers off to the side and took one step closer, growing more urgent.

“Um,” Clearing her throat, she took a breath, trying to expel what nerves she had left dwelling. “Well Mr. Ashton, not to be too forward, but I noticed that MC hadn’t attended any meetings all week. You mentioned that she’d be here today, but she’s not... Is she okay?” Yeah, she most definitely can pick up on it. For a moment, it seemed intriguing to see her investigating skills pick up on minuet things like this. “She’s out for today, she caught a small cold. So, she’s resting. I was going to pick up on her tasks for today.” She seemed to sprout more worry. “Is there anyone there watching her?”

“She’ll be fine. Her roommates checked up on her periodically while I stayed for the past few days. And one’s going to be keeping her company today. I’ll be stopping by to see how she’s doing after we’re all done here.” She nodded, finding enough strength to work up a smile. I wanted to diminish any worry Reyna had. She had taken a liking to becoming friends with MC, and it was clear to see she was weary of her health as well.

I lean forward and hand her some papers. “These are some templates. All I’ll need you to do today is interview a sample of students & teachers; get some comments of their experience with midterm finals. If you can get it to me by the end of the weekend, that would be great!” Nodding, she grabbed her laptop from the table, and looked back at me. “Just, if you don’t mind, giving me an update on her? From, a concerned friend?”

“Will do.”

Smiling genuinely towards her, I waved goodbye, grabbing the rest of my papers. The unoccupied table I was originally going to was still empty. Some of the students cluttered together at different tables; some discussing & showing off information they found from credible articles, and others looking up articles to gain a collective opinion. I made my rounds toward each table, giving constructive criticism, and approving work. By the time I reached the table I wanted, I had already felt semi-drained.

It wasn’t a simple task; to tuck away my anxiety. Every minute that past, calling MC raced my thoughts, even walking out to go to her aid grew more and more into an option. But, once you show worry, it travels to the majority your staff. I realized how frequently I had been checking my phone.

11:50am

This would be the best time to bury myself into my work; that’s all I need; a good distraction. I reached for my phone, and held on to the side for a few seconds.

-Slide to power off-

I slide on the screen with my thumb subconsciously, and put my phone at the side of the table. Instead of working up more worry in myself, checking the time every second, I’m going to lose myself in my work. By the time I check, it’ll feel like the time flew by. I just need to keep working, and look forward to getting lost in her voice again.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“I’ll be okay James, I promise.”

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

My head flew up from its steady surface.

A few blinks later, and my vision cleared into light. I had been still seated at the library table I was at this morning. I looked around an empty room, Then down to my laptop. It had taken the same notion as me; the screen was black. After taping on one of the keys, I typed in my password. I must’ve been more exhausted than I anticipated. Maybe I should take it easy... but the newspaper club depends on me, they’re Head to run everything smoothly.

Sighing, I ran my hands down my face, trying to reawaken myself from my drowsy position. I couldn’t have been asleep for that long. The sudden brightness caught my attention, as the screen came to life, pulling up my novel I’d been working on. My eyes glided to the corner.

6:38pm

No…

My eyes darted up, scanning for any window for reassurance. Confirming my accusation, the sun had been setting outside. I could tell just by seeing the libraries reflection on the glass.

I moved my books to the corner, pulling my phone from underneath a stack of papers. After several attempts to turn it on, I came to the obvious realization & lapse of judgement:

I turned it off earlier

As I muttered swears and insults to myself, I began hoping & praying that she’d been okay.

She was okay.

She has to be okay.

She is okay.

The phone breathed on, and I froze. All I could do was stare, stare at my screen; and for what felt like forever, nothing was there. Nothing had popped up. As my phone screen went black, it suddenly began vibrating repeatedly, notification light flashing like a strobe light as the screen cut on and a multitude of notifications flew down it.

The feeling of repulsive guilt and anguish engulfed me as my phone continued vibrating.

MC 👑😂☺️👫💕 Missed Call (10) & Voicemail

MC 👑😂☺️👫💕: Text Message

Building the courage to scroll down, I noticed phone calls & texts from Kaitlyn. Guilt plaguing me enough to avoid reading & listening to MC’s first, I opened hers, anxiety clearly working to my disadvantage.

“Uh, James? I’ve been calling you from MC’s phone. She’s not okay…”

I dropped my phone on the table as I stuffed my books into my messenger bag.

“…um, were at the hospital right now, we had to leave a little after 2:15,”

I pulled my lanyard from around my neck and grabbed the keys from them, shutting my laptop closed.

“I don’t think it’s just some cold, she hasn’t woken up since talking about you earlier. That was around 11:30 this morning, when you get this, come asa-“

Her voice began to muffle as I stuffed my phone straight into my pocket, running through the library doors towards my car.

My mind fell blank, with only one thought racing:

Please, let her be okay.

6:45pm

•NEXT

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