Umbrella
She smelled the rain long before it came the next day in torrents and thunder and lightning. Some ghosts lose their senses the minute they awake from death. Not so for her-her sense of smell was like a second sight. Or rather, her sense of smell for rain was her second sight. She couldn't seem to smell anything else besides rain. Sometimes it was blatantly clear why-after all, she had died in the rain, in the torrents of thunder and lightning. But sometimes, she didn't know why or how it came to be that she would be a ghost-something that haunts others because it is weary and scared and full of unrest.
She didn't put herself in this category of ghosts. The first time she had met a ghost like that, she had fled as far as she could have-the very idea of a ghost ghost scared her. So she spent most of her time thinking. Waiting. Time was meaningless for her. As a ghost, she had all of eternity.
--
The wave of déjà vu hits her like nothing else does. Sometimes, the mere smell of rain triggers it, but sometimes, even that isn't enough. A sudden poof! -then a glimpse of pink polka dots against white or patterns of cherry blossoms or even stripes of pink and yellow opens her eyes to something that she vaguely thinks that she should remember but doesn't really.
Umbrellas. Yes. That's what they are.
If she tries hard enough, she can be real long enough for her to feel some of the rain. She concentrates, closes her eyes, feels the drops oozing along her translucent skin. She opens her eyes to see if what she's feeling is real, but instead, her concentration is lost, and the drop falls through her heavily.
It is bright and sunny the next day, but somehow sad, as she watches the blinking red lights from ambulances and police cars.
--
She met him once, the would-have-been Shaman King. He was unremarkable, but most people were, so she forgave him. He had strange eyes, she remembered, a sleepy, uninterested look. He asked her strange questions; questions she didn't remember now. She remembered vaguely protesting that it wasn't important, and his eyes lit up. Strange was the only word she could describe him with.
He looked lost, as lost as she was, when he wandered away in the rain. She was curious and watched him leave. It was only when he was out of sight did she realize that he had left his umbrella behind. It was pink and frilly, and she smiled at that and wondered who it really belonged to. He probably had a special someone, she thought as she picked it up, who let him borrow it. It was open.
She didn't worry about him; as a ghost, she had forgotten the frailty of humanity. The thought of him being wet and cold crossed her mind faintly, but only enough for her to lift the umbrella over her head. The pitter-patter of the rain hit the umbrella in a rhythmic frenzy of abstract syncopation. She was surprised; she tried to gasp, forgetting that she could no longer breathe, nor did she need air.
The sound filled her ears, happiness filled her spirit-for a brief, precious moment, she was solid again.
Her hand reached out to catch raindrops, forgetting that she couldn't. It hurt when the rain fell through her hand so easily. She closed the umbrella slowly, then looked to the sky.
--
He's back today, with the faintest trace of a smile on his face. Did you do this? he asks, but she's not sure what he's asking. She's confused and it shows because he motions to bright yellow police tape, lined around a body. She doesn't know what he's talking about. He smiles sadly. Do you understand what it means to be a ghost?
But she's not like the others, she protests. She merely watches; she would never hurt anyone.
Are you sure? Yes. She is.
He steps close to her; she tries hard not to recoil. It is impossible-his touch is cold and unyielding. I'll be back tomorrow.
She wants to leave the moment he is out of sight, to leave and never see him again, but somehow, her feet are rooted into the ground, and she isn't even bothered when humans walk through her.
--
She was surprised when the girl approached her. "Where's the umbrella?"
She looked at the girl curiously. "Who are you?"
The girl paused, but not out of any sort of hesitation (which didn't really make sense, but that didn't matter). "Anna, but that's not important. Where is the umbrella?"
"Is it yours?" she asked, genuinely curious.
"No," Anna said sharply. "He stole it from a crime scene, the idiot. So now, I have to give it back."
She blinked. "Can I come with you?"
Anna had strange eyes, she thought. Her eyes flickered, then, Anna nodded and held out her hand.
Hesitantly, she put the umbrella into Anna's hands.
--
Once again, there is the sense of déjà vu the moment she is on the scene. It's not supposed to rain tomorrow, but that smell just washes over her until she is lightheaded (if ghosts can be lightheaded). Bright yellow caution tape and blinking red lights assault her as if light and color can really hurt someone. She doesn't know. Maybe they can.
There are no police nearby-they all seemed to be gathered near that tree over there. Anna walks faster.
There is a rough tape sketch of a body on the ground. She can't help it-she bends to touch before she realizes that she can't, really. Then a flash, a scream; she is constricted and can't move. Anna is unsympathetic; she watches her carefully and places the umbrella on the tape outline of the hand.
Stop, she wants to scream. Anna slowly fades with the sky and the lights and the colors. Nothing is left but black and white and red.
--
That death was meaningless. It was a hit-and-run, the police said, random and meaningless.
More like hits and run. The body was rendered unrecognizable; the face was ruined; the hair gone. They weren't even sure at first if it was male or female. They had a list of missing people, but the list was long and it didn't help them identify the body.
"It's this one," the boy said, almost matter-of-factly.
The boy? The policeman gave him a sharp look. "You're not supposed to..."
"It is," the boy insisted. "This one."
The policeman looked curiously at the name. "Are you sure...?"
But the boy was gone. The policeman shrugged. It wouldn't hurt, just this once. And that was one less mystery to solve... He checked the name, then the records. No family, no friends, nobody. He looked at the body.
With a flourish, he penned the name down on the tag attached to the mutilated body.
A ghost in the background slowly faded away, but the policeman couldn't see, so he merely called the coroner back in to put the body away.
--
Anna takes the umbrella with the pink frills when no one is watching, to place it on a grave-open, because it is raining.
/end
Notes: Written for 20 themes; this one is #2 forgotten umbrella. Tense and POV changes are all deliberate. Yes, it's weird and plotless, but oh well. Comments and suggestions will be sincerely appreciated.