This story is set in an AU, Bella and Edward are kids in the fifth grade and both human. Basically, I got really bored one day last December. We were completely snowed in so I decided to write something for once. I'd love to hear some constructive criticism, as my LA teacher so fondly calls it. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight, the Twilight characters, the Twilight plot or anything that pertains to the Twilight universe. I just took Ms. Meyer's wonderful characters and used them to write this.
A Winter's Ghost
The snow crunches as a figure steps forward into the ring of light surrounding the old deserted playground. The sky is dark and cloudy and the whole world seems ominous. The figure, a man, continues walking. The soft crunching of the snow is the only sound that can be heard, save for the far and distant cries of the birds. The man is dressed in a brown coat, a dark shirt, and jeans. In his right hand a briefcase made of dark leather dangles by his leg and a blood-red rose droops from his left. The man's face is bright red in the cold weather, his hair is a light brown color with the slightest amount of hair gel, and he wears a simple brown scarf around his neck. His lips are red and chapped from the wind, his eyes are a faded grey color and speak of weariness and despair.
I turn to the boy sitting beside me. Edward is a few inches taller than I, with a slightly crooked nose, beautiful green eyes, bronze hair and has been my best friend since third grade, not long I suppose but it feels like forever to me.
"What do you think that guy is doing?" I ask, wondering why anyone would be wandering around this old rusty playground at this time of night.
"What guy?" Edward asks.
I give him a look and point in the direction of the man with the rose. Edward claims he still cannot see him. I can't tell if he's having a laugh at me or not.
The man sets his briefcase down by the swing set and sits down on a swing. He begins to move his legs back and forth, sending himself swinging through the air. Surprisingly, the swing set is silent. The rusted chains must have been oiled recently.
"Hah! There, do you see him now? He's right there, on the swing set," I say to Edward, sure that he must be able to see him.
"No, I don't, and even if I did I wouldn't give a damn what he's doin'," Edward says, somewhat irritated that I feel the need to bring it up again. "A'ight, let's go. There's gotta be somethin' else to do in this stupid ol' town."
I sigh and wonder how Edward has ever lasted this long in this small of a town. Born and raised a city kid, Edward moved here at the beginning of third grade. Edward never made many friends, except me of course, and he can't stand living in such a rural area. Understandably, he plans to hop on the first train out of here.
Edward and I jump over the railing of the kiddies' fortress and scale the chain link fence surrounding the playground. We grab our bikes and begin to pedal down the trail to the town's main street. I turn my head back to the playground once more, the man is gone and the swing he had previously occupied is completely still and covered in snow. It looks completely untouched. The only sign that the man had been there at all is the blood-red rose lying in the crisp white snow.
We make it back to the main road and head for the town diner, hoping to make it before the owner closes down for the night. As we wind around the corner of the local newspaper house and the diner I screech to a halt. On the cover of today's newspaper is the headline "Local Man Killed in Tragic Accident". I bend down to read more through the glass pane. The man's name was Raymond Martin; he was killed yesterday afternoon around 3:00 when he was hit by a car on his way from work.
"Bella, come on! Let's go. I'm starving!" Edward whines from a few feet ahead of me.
I tell him to shut up. He looks at me, slightly offended, but he can tell that I mean it.
I never knew a Raymond Martin. He must have been new around here or lived on the other side of town, because I had nothing to do with the guy. And yet his death still terrified me. Not because it was a "tragic accident" and certainly not because of grief. No, my shock was caused by the picture underneath the headlines. The picture of a man wearing a brown coat, a black shirt, a brown scarf, and jeans, clutching a briefcase with a single red rose in his hand.