Chapter 7: Life? Or Panic...

The day was normal, in that I went to bed early, and enjoyed a book briefly. The early thing was, however, because I felt worry and couldn't focus on my book. I was slowly starting to become better at ignoring distractions. However, the next day, I walked to school, arriving late, and wound up paired with Dash in English for being tardy. I could tell the day was going to go badly already. I also had been worrying over things last night, and had finally decided on a course of action. Math passed; Social Studies did too. I finally finished another round of torture, and decided that, because, other than dropping a science-tube-glass-thingy, nothing unusual had happened, ignoring the constant emotion-rush I kept getting from everyone, maybe I was not going to have this permenently. As a result, I let my guard down. I was pushed into a locker at the end of school, and stayed there for nearly an hour before I somehow fell out, minus my clothes. This left me to unlock the locker and grab my clothes. I walked home, tired. I finally decided it was time to find out.

I walked down to the lab, where a primitive ghost finder was. Technically not a ghost finder, but a small, green rock. Mom and Dad called it Ectoranium. They were using it to make a ghost finder. I learned from a lecture I had actually payed attention to that ghosts had negative reactions to it. I slowly picked it up. Instant pain shot through my arm, and into my chest, and I barely managed to let it go. My hand looked blistered. It felt as if it had spent a minute on the stove, with the stove on. I could barely move it, it was so painful. Finally, I realized that there was no mistaking the signs. I was a ghost.

I began to tremble, and collapsed on the floor. My parents would kill me. I was dead. Did I have rights? Was I human? No. There were no laws for my protection. Mom and Dad had always told me that ghosts didn't deserve existance, and I was one. The thought revolved inside my head, over and over. What should I do? I couldn't tell Mom. She had always wanted to dissect a ghost. Dad just wanted to kill them. Jazz would never believe me. Was it right of me to not tell? Sam and Tucker might be my friends, but I wasn't prepared to tell them that I was dead. They would feel guilty, and maybe, try to send me on. Should I agree? Maybe it was best. I didn't know what to do, and the world was a swirl of topsy-turvy color. I think I passed out. I know I was hyperventilating, and the next I knew, the floor was touching my cheek, and blackness was receding from my vision. The world felt "trembly", like a minor earthquake was passing through.

The realization was exhausting. I walked up the stairs after staying there for several minutes longer. Jazz was reading in the corner at her desk, so I creeped by to reason through my new predicament. I hoped that it was only a dream, but pinching myself earlier had proven that wrong. I sighed, and tried to finish my math. At least a new alternative to dying of other people's emotions had arisen. I borrowed a CD player, and listened to that to distract me from the emotions. I worked my way through problem after problem, and finally gave up on sleep. Jazz came upstairs to ask me how I felt, but stopped at the door p, and instead let me borrow her headphones after commenting on how much I should use less music, and focus more on studying. I smiled and thanked her, staying up all night to work on my problems, a few painful jolts hitting me internally. I ignored them as much as I could. The day had been horrible, and I picked up a random sheet of paper and wrote on it, expressing my feelings in excruciating detail. I made sure to hide it so Jazz wouldn't see it. I set it under my mattress, along with a few other such papers that had never been burned because I forgot.

Read! review! How do you like his Angsty moment? Did you know that America once accidentally dropped 4 nuclear bombs over Spain? Or something like that...Tell me what you want me to write about! Again, AP exams haven't begun yet, so studying like crazy is the order of the day.

-Miaulin