Here's my new ghost, hope you guys like her. She's somewhat like me, but hey, most of my female characters are. I just can't fucking stand preppies and sluts, so I guess Ryan and I have something in common.
Read on.
Horace turned off his TV and listened hard. He heard something…some noise. He got up to go see what or who it was.
"No! DON'T TOUCH MY CAR!" he roared, as he saw five teenage boys all dressed in black trying to rock his precious car off the cinderblocks and onto a sledge with wheels on it. It was hooked to a big truck, for which Horace would have liked, had he not been so angry.
"Oh, SHIT, it's the Breaker, RUN!" one of them yelled. The boys all dropped the car and ran for it, and Horace had to give it to them, they were fast. All but one of them got away, and the one he caught was fat and wouldn't bend. In the end, Horace simply twisted his head around backwards and dropped him under the stack of cars with the others. He stood up straight, head high, feeling into the wind.
Some people just never learned.
Following the pair of eyes, which were very large and very green, was a teenage girl with a willowy form but a bit of a belly. She was short, about five two, and faded, washed out. Blood ran down one whole side of her neck from a huge gash just above and slightly to the back of her temple, so that half her hair was bright blue and the other half was a deep, black-red, sticky and tacky. There was a silver dog chain around her small, pale throat, and it was cut up and into her flesh, coated in blood. She wore baggy, tattered black pants faded gray by too many washings, and they had big pockets near the bottom covered in small brass spikes. A black t-shirt with the logo SYSTEM OF A DOWN flapped coldly in the breeze. Hers was a round, china doll-like pale face with a sweet mouth and a small button nose. She was too cute to really be pretty, and Baby had been her nickname.
Her name was Chamilla Mahar, or just Millie.
"Where…am I?" she asked herself. She looked down at herself, but she didn't really need to. She could see her own body lying just over by the dog dish, coated in blood and so pitifully blue skinned and bloody. She knew she must be dead.
She bent and picked something up off the ground. It was a motor part, now coated in blood and hair. Hers. It also looked as if it had been ripped out of something recently, too, for it was coated in oil as well.
She looked back up into the stars, a sad expression on her face, holding the motor part, the wind raping her two tone hair. Somewhere in the distance, a coyote howled, and she shivered. She had been orphaned by a fire eleven years ago, and had been alone most of her life, but as she stood there in the middle of a desolate junkyard, dead and betrayed by those she had thought of as friends, she thought she had never felt so alone.