Okay, so I went to see the movie Rise of The Guardians, and I felt it needed a fanfiction. So here we go!
ANFJHJSDFFJBSJNFKNVSBDFNVSCD HVIURIUHVUVHVRUVBD8SY734YTIE WRNCNERY34C8T9Y(aka a line)
I was just walking around in the forest one night, not feeling like flying, and came into a group of adolescents sitting around a campfire.
"One night, only two years ago, in this same exact spot, a young girl set up a camp. She was a wonderer, and never stayed in one place to long. She would have packed up her items in the morn', but she never did."
I began to feel interested in this boy's story, wondering why the wonderer wouldn't wonder.
"She was cooking a squirrel she had managed to catch when a terrible moaning came from the woods. She passed it as the wind hollowing, but then she heard it again. And again. She stood up but was pushed down by some invisible force!" The boy yelled, and his friends gasped.
"She struggled, but found there was no leaving. She had to stay put, or the ghost would push her again! She sat still, shivering with fear, and then the knife she had always kept in her pocket, stabbed her stomach!"
All the boys stared wide eyed for their friend to continue, and so was I.
"She died that very night, this same night, two years ago, and they say her spirit still wonders, but can't wonder very far from where she died. She could be standing right next to you, and you wouldn't know it!" He finished, his friends looking to the woods nervously.
I thought for a second that the boy I sat next to looked at me, into my eyes, but he didn't show any reaction.
Sighing, I considered that I might be a ghost, but weren't ghosts supposed to have a life before they died? I'm pretty sure I am some sort of spirit, but if what these boys say is true, then did I have a life?
Did I? All I remember is cold, fear, and then I didn't feel scared. And I saw the moon. He said I had a name, Jack Frost, but nothing more. Is this how all ghosts start? Am I a ghost? Was I murdered like these boys described the wonderer girl, or did I die naturally?
More and more questions filled my mind, and the more curious I got the more the wind picked up.
I didn't bother to notice the boys looking around suspiciously; I was too wrapped up in my own thoughts for that. But I got angrier.
I looked up to the moon. "Did I have a past? Did I actually have a family that loved me? Why am I here?"
Nothing.
"Answer me!"
Nothing.
Except a huge gust of wind I released that knocked a brown haired boy out of his seat on a log.
"The ghost! It's after me!" He screamed, followed by a chorus of even more terrified screams afterwards, and all the boys ran back the way they came on an old pathway.
"Sorry! Come back!" I yelled to them, but they were too far gone, and even if I was their conscience they wouldn't hear me.
Grunting, I shot up in the air to get back to the lake. I'm not going to talk to myself. My sanity is almost all I have.
I landed a little less than softly on the frozen surface of the lake I was born in. Why I stayed, I have no idea. I just, felt I had some unfinished business here. Like I was missing something.
But of course, don't all ghosts stuck on Earth feel this way? That something is missing? I guess it's just part of who I am. Or what I am.
But it wasn't always boring around the lake. Sometimes the children would come and play and I would play with them. I must have liked snowball fights when I was alive.
And there was this girl that would come over sometimes, just sit there and look at the lake mournfully.
She looked about my age, not nine, but sixteen. She had long chestnut hair and maple wood eyes. She would sometimes pray, and sometimes cry, and sometimes just talk to herself.
She always looked happy when she talked to herself, like recalling happy memories. But that would lead to sniffling, which lead to sobbing, which lead to crying. I liked seeing her happy and wished I could make her happy, but she was too old to play the childish games I played.
So then that left me with nothing but making her cold. The Mourning Girl, I called her.
Wait.
She's The Mourning Girl, but who does she mourn?
Is it, me? Could she really be mourning me?
I sat down where she would sit, and staff in hand started to draw frost roses on the lake.
It's possible, but what are the odds? She could've been mourning long before I came.
And how would I know for sure? I couldn't just go up there to her and ask, hey do you know who I am?
But just because it's impossible for her to see me, I'll keep trying! There has to be a way. Then a solution crossed my mind.
A smile crept along more lips, and I fell asleep.
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Pretty good for statrters. R+R!