Fiction

The whole world went technicolor gold and blue as I drunk in the sight of you. 
 

For centuries, I have been summoned by unsuspecting children playing a game they did not know the consequences to.

    As she sat down in the secluded booth in the corner of the diner, she couldn’t help but stare out the window.

Rascal, Randy, and Rhonda are nomads. They have no singular home. Why? Because they’re ghosts. They fly from one abandoned house to the next, staying for months, days, years, and sometimes decades.

Before the story begins, it is important to note that as the night gets longer and longer, the light gets darker and darker until it is so deep that you can’t see anyone to help you.

In a world where ghosts are feared and not widely accepted as being real, three ghosts go from abandoned home to abandoned home, looking for someplace to stay away from humans.

 We all sighed as we saw the sold sign being pushed into the dirt. It was time for us to pack up and move again. This was the time of year when houses sold the most. Later that evening we had everything packed, and we floated outside.

Many many years have passed. Along with that many houses. It feels like an eternity since I could walk and an eternity since I could taste.

"What do ya think Viv? Think they figured us out yet?"

Izzy sat on the foot of the bed and flipped the sequins on her shirt from green to blue, green to blue, green, blue, green, blue, green.

As she was rollerblading from the pickle factory at two am underneath a full moon, Chrysanthemum (who every one called 'Chris' to save time) saw that the lights in the Egglington Public Library were still on.

Elena was sick of staring at the perfectly shaped buns of the dancers in front of her. All she wanted was to see the faces of an audience infatuated with her technique. Mesmerized by her perfectly placed steps and her long lines.