Don't Let me Talk When I am Sick.

Let it be known that staying up late in the freezing weather will eventually give you a cold; I had certainly acquired one. I despised colds for one simple reason. The fact that, during the few times I was under the weather, I became prone to say anything that came to mind (things I usually would have never discussed otherwise). I rather enjoyed keeping matters close to my chest, not because I was shy or secretive, but because it seemed much safer than throwing myself into tanks of sharks. It gives you more cards to play, despite how many cards you have, and more surprises to release when the time calls for it.

On that morning the next day, a knock sounded at the door at the very same moment I awoke. My mind was blanker than a canvas, but I spoke clearly.

"Yes?" From beyond the door came a melodious voice. I'm not sure why I felt it was so, but nevertheless, the sound of it rang in my ears and I smiled a tiny bit. It felt like a dream, even though I knew I was awake. Yet, no matter the perplexity of my mental situation, I still found solace in a familiar vocal pitch which I assumed, in my tired state, was Lockwood. My eyes were open, my mind was dazed, my lips curling further on both sides of my face.

"It's almost noon, I was wondering if you wanted lunch? You didn't respond to Lockwood before he left so I thought I'd ask again just in case." Again, my mouth spoke before my mind did, not quite registering what 'Lockwood' had said.

"Sure. Sounds swell." My voice was a bit slurred and I can't remember if I imagined or heard it, but I thought I had heard a small noise of confusion. Like he hadn't been expecting that answer at all. I claim myself lucky that that night I had dressed in regular clothes due to the fact my nightgown was wet and I hadn't brought any other pajamas. In my random train of sick thought, I wondered if I would ever get chance to buy new clothes. Slowly, I got out of bed, making it out of habit, and went to the door. My room wasn't a mess, thank goodness, but I didn't check before I had opened the door. I opened it wider than usual, the door swinging open about halfway before it stopped, rubbing my eyes a bit as it did so. When I opened them again, I met with the rimmed glasses of George and not the expected smile of Lockwood. His face was still stone-like and bland, making him look like a boy in old-timey photos. Sure it hurt to smile for ten minutes, standing rigid, but they always looked so depressed and drab. His eyebrows crinkled as he noticed my expression go sour.

"Are you alright? You look rather dead"

I wanted to assure him I was perfectly fine, but not even milliseconds before I was going about to utter that sentence, the need to vomit struck my throat. I dashed, lunging toward the bathroom. My hand was held to my mouth in an attempt to slow the process down. I shouldered George on my way there and hit the doorway with my other shoulder, but made it with just enough time to slump to my knees. As I hugged the bowl like a friend, my guts were squeezed out of me in slow heaves. I felt a hand rubbing my back, but it hardly registered as my innards were poured out into the porcelain funnel. God, if I wasn't dying, I wished I was. I swear it felt like one of the worst moments of my life.

After I was done hurling, I moved to the sink and rinsed my mouth with water. I still felt a bit hot, but as I brushed my teeth, my arm working on autopilot, I didn't notice it at first. The toilet flushed next to me and I jumped. Ghosts can't flush a toilet! Yet as I looked over, I finally acknowledged George's presence beside me and guilt immediately followed. He looked slightly worried, minutely-genuinely worried. I hadn't even given him the time of day to get to know him, nor Lockwood. But I had my reasons. I knew that. Reasons neither of them knew. And they wouldn't know them. Hopefully, never know.

"Rethinking things?" The voice was faint, but that raspy voice would be forever etched in my memory. But right now, I wasn't looking for spectral company, quite the opposite actually. While George remained stoically baffled, I growled and barked toward my room, leaving the door wide open in my wake. It was bright inside my new, comfortable pad.

"Oh, shut up! Now is not the bloody time." I stood in the doorway of my relatively new room, forgetting George was right behind me. How I remember the events that transpired after this, I have no clue, but nonetheless, I remember it in grave detail. I sauntered to my bed as the skull blasted back his retort, not really caring about the sentences that flung from his mouth.

"I think this is a perfect time. You're as sick as a dog with mange and the only time you think rationally is when you are just that. I haven't spoken since yesterday and this is how I am greeted? If I was alive, I would be offended."

"but your not alive." I deadpanned. His face contorted, relaxed, and griped.

"But I am still offended!" His ectoplasmic shouts were ringing in my ears and they didn't like it. Not one teensy weensy bit.

"And what do I care? You'll simply vanish again and leave me stuck here in the living world once you're done shouting! You can go anywhere and see anything you please, and I am stuck here to sift through one hell of a life. At least you can get escape!" I screamed at the skull with every fiber of my being, seething into a blanked-out rage that I didn't think I possessed in my current state. Sure I was ranting, but I had never seen the skull so mad. Nor so hurt. He looked almost human and for a moment, I forgot I had been yelling at a ghost confined to a skull as his only way of seeing my world

" At least You get to have a full life! You know where I go isn't sunshine and roses! It's more messed up than your predicament is! You think I didn't feel the out-of-place darkness in this place too? The obvious feeling that something isn't right? I've got to hand it to you kid, I know you are full of emotion, but I would never have thought you would start acting like your arse of a mother!" Even with my fury, I felt my blood run cold. I saw his face. The ectoplasmic crinkles, that possessed the human bones and gave them life, shone nothing but a struck child. He would have looked like a kicked puppy if he would have been shot more through the non-existent heart he had. I couldn't say anything. I couldn't think anything. My body just went limp onto the bed. I couldn't speak, I couldn't sleep, I couldn't even think. My body resting in limbo as I thought about what the skull said. The ghost still hadn't disappeared, so I knew that I wasn't the only one regretting what I had said.

It must have been seconds rather than hours, however for I heard a cough at the door. I didn't want to look. I knew what I would find. But I was only delaying the inevitable. So slowly, I faced the only person around to hear that ridiculous banter between a girl and her skull. And Regrettably, I found George there, staring at the bowl with wide eyes, flashing from the skull (who was sticking its tongue out) and back at me.

"This a bad time?"

I groaned in frustration.

It took me a while to pry him from the skull, without touching him of course. If I did that the effects would only last longer. I tried as best as I could, battling three things at once: a butt-hurt skull, George, and trying not to touch George. That's pretty hard to balance if you ask me. Eventually, I succeeded, ending up with George staring at me from the window sill. At first, it just seemed like an endless staring contest, but after a bit, George finally moved and pushed up his glasses. Much to my chagrin, I still couldn't see his eyes.

"So, may I ask questions as to what I just saw?"

"you may-" He opened his mouth to speak, "but you are not guaranteed an answer."

He didn't smile, not even a chuckle. He just responded in his normal, no-care attitude.

"Still as frigid as the day we met, I see. Tell me, Ice queen, do you enjoy being conceited?"

"As much as you enjoy being vexatious."

"I quite like myself as I come."

"And I happen to enjoy myself just as much, thank you." He grunted a bit, almost growling, but I hadn't a care in the world as to tell what kind of sound he made. Well, maybe I would have, but in this situation and at the time, I didn't. Why should I care what he thinks of me? He didn't seem like he'd take me seriously, but he obviously had questions so I thought I may as well indulge him for a few. He leaned on the door frame, staring at me with his arms crossed.

"So, you can see dead people." His voice was flat as if it was just a fact he wanted restating. I didn't see the apparent humor of using a 90's American movie reference.

"No." I thought for a moment while he raised an eyebrow. "Well, That's not exactly what I can't do." I think I added silently in my head after my response.

"Then what can you do?"

"I... don't know," I replied hesitating, but straight to the point and frustrated (however not at him this time). "I honestly don't know what it is I do, but all I know is that it involves people who don't exist in this world anymore and souls." I. honestly, didn't know what I was capable of. Maybe I could go to this "Other Side" I had been lectured on so many times and visit the skull? I didn't know what I was capable of, nor did I want to find out. I had a few fears, back then, but a major one was myself. I was deathly afraid of what I could possibly do and it was all because of that stupid accident.

"Interesting... so that's why they put you here." George turned on his heel and headed downstairs. I blinked a few times. Processing the foreshadowed information before going after George in a hurry. I hollered at him from the hallway, making my way to the stairs George had disappeared down in such a rush. He could have rivaled sound in speed.

"Wait a minute! What do you mean by that-" Suddenly, a flash of light and warmth blurred my vision. I braced myself against a wall, but it didn't do much to help my aching head. As luck would have it, I hadn't even started going down the stairs. Slowly, I descended the stairs (jumping over the last step and landing with a dancer's grace) and followed the plump hurricane that was hoofing it to the library.

Now, I had only been inside the library once before during the tour, but It wasn't as large as it was now. Now there even seemed to be large, pine doors with carvings etched into the wood, depicting ghosts and swords. Even a few angels. I took my time entering, staring in awe. Proscenium arches ran along the rows, stretching three, maybe four stories high. I didn't understand how such a large library could fit inside a house smaller than its size! Books ran along each shelf from end to end, squished together. Leather bound books, paperback, hardback, manuscripts, papers hole punched and strung together. Hardwood flooring let out a sound as I padded along after him, almost getting lost in the rows. Some books were as long as my arm while others looked more like a newspaper strip. The room even smelled different than before. I was amazed.

But my curiosity about what the donut had said intrigued me more than the massive amounts of books that were now at my fingertips.

I shook my head to clear it and followed after him, dodging a few book stacks in my wake. I struggled to keep up. Man, was he fast for a donut eating piglet. But in my strides, I was unaware of how much energy I was using and where I was going. And I certainly didn't see George on the floor, bending down so much that it seemed like to much skin was showing. I wish it would have been in slow motion, just so I could tell myself what a great job I did on watching where I was going. I am glad I do not remember the initial fall, as I would have remembered George's bent-over backside, but what I do remember was how much it hurt when I hit the library carpet floor. There was a grunt that came from the piglet.

Is it possible to dislike someone this much in just two weeks?

"You must be blinder then I am."

...the answer is yes, it is very much possible.

Slightly angered, I got up from my spot on the velvet carpet -more like a huge runner on the hardwood floors- and rubbed my aching behind. I bit my lip to suppress a groan that wished to come out, but for some unknown reason, I felt the need to show no sense of vulnerability. Lucy Carlyle never showed pain. My stomach felt like it wanted to hurl again, my head was aching badly, and my hands were shaking badly. My knees were wobbly, barely able to keep my weight off the ground. But I needed to know why this curly fry haired boy ran in such a flurry. He knew something. And I needed to know what It was. Screw my cautiousness.

I watched George as he flipped through, what appeared to be, a common leather-bound book. It was black, with a few scratched along the spine, and a small emblem on the front of it. Cautiously, I peered over George's shoulder. He didn't seem to mind, but it was hard to tell as he was to busy. He pulled two more books off the shelves. He paid no attention to the first one he picked up but instead chose the third. It seemed rather large, but as George flipped through it, I saw that only half of the book was filled, a giant ink blob plastered on the last page. My pain and sickness and oddly subsided, not that I had paid much attention to it in the first place. George stayed on the last page, just looking at it. I couldn't see his face from where I stood, only the last page, which only held a large splatter of black substance and the phrase:

- she died.

He gulped and turned his head toward me. I stared back, perplexed. I cursed mentally at his glasses, constantly hiding his eyes. He seemed a bit paler then he had a few minutes ago, but I was unsure whether that was him, or a trick of the mind. His perspiration accumulated in masses on his shirt collar. He was nervous, I think. Either that or spooked by something. I think he found what he was looking for, but it didn't look like the answer had satisfied him one bit. He fidgetted for a few seconds and made a noise equivalent to a squeaky boot on linoleum tiles. Not a loud sound, but it was uttered, nonetheless. I pointed to the book with my hand and nodded my head in the same direction.

"What book is that?" He stared at me for a long while, not saying a single word. His face paled further.

"You can see this book? This place?" I was confused about what he meant. What did he mean by could I see it? Of course, I could! how could I not see the white marble pillars, nor the velveteen runners and polished oak floors? The black stained bookcases that towered over their heads with thousands of books filling the empty space in their sturdy shelving. The smell of paper and leather and dust littering the air. The dim lamp that hung over their heads as one stood and the other stared perplexingly.

"Yeah, Missy Piggy, I can." There was a sound of choking, probably on his own spit, and a grumble. Slowly, he rubbed his temples in irritation. But even as he spoke, he was hesitant. He was shaking, ever so slightly. I couldn't fathom why. I just wanted a simple answer.

"You're not supposed to. At all. This is both a nuisance and very very disturbing." I don't know how, but even in my sick mind, it clicked.

The library was a different plane of existence only he could see. Like a pocket of space only to be accessed by one person. A separate dimension in a separate time in a distant spot in the universe. I remembered when the skull told me about pockets like these, but I had never exactly believed him.

The long hallways that spanned meters longer and the large entrance doors, the skyscraping bookshelves and the plethora of books that filled the void with color: they were not in our natural existence on Earth. None of these dimensions, none of these pages, none of the smells, actually subsisted. They only existed to one person. One single person who had never had anyone else with him to see the wonders of his other-worldly palace. Who knows how many years he spent alone, everyone believing he was nuts?

How lonely could this boy have been?

"So this is something I shouldn't be seeing?" I don't know why I restated the obvious, but I was a bit ashamed of myself at the time. All I did since I had gotten there was assume that neither of them had similar pains in their past. Had I sized him up too quickly? Them up too quickly? It was entirely possible-

"Not without my permission, no." He put the books back on the shelf, getting up and straightening himself. Though, it wasn't like he could be straightened much with those clothes of his. A vein throbbed in my forehead. Figures that I would jump the gun and empathize before I knew the situation. Nice going, Lucy. But there are worse fates than getting something wrong. I never really was that good with emotions back then, aside from my own (though I still had a tough time controlling those).

"So you can...regulate them? Your... abilities, I mean."

"Of course. Can't you?"

"If I could, then you wouldn't have seen Skull." He kept staring. The only thing he was capable of apparently.

"You named it?" I shrugged at his comment.

"It still refuses to tell me its name, so I improvised." There was silence. A long pause in which we questioned everything we knew and how we came to be in that spot, in those moments, at the time we did. A quiet that tore apart ever thought we had ever had and given them new life, new meaning. A stillness so incomprehensible, that we neither recognized nor realized its presence among us until it was gone.

And in that silence, a small bit of understanding.

Here I was with no control over anything I could do, nor see. And here was an extremely intelligent teen who had answers to the things I wanted to know most. He had his own questions I could answer. One could help the other comprehend what was happening and vice versa. All we needed was get along for an hour or two (if we even had that long). He pushed up his glasses. I could finally see his eyes.

They were light blue, plagued with ghosts from both the past... and the present. They were not cold, as I had once thought, but so careful. They were forever thinking, forever calculating. They were the eyes of someone who had seen so many horrible happenings that he took extra precautions so he would never have to experience the pains those other people did. They were soft, yet knew so much horror. Needless to say, he caught me off guard. His facial color had returned, thankfully, but I didn't really care about that. He knew things I had yet to understand. Things I needed to learn if I was to survive what was coming to me. I needed his help.

Whether I liked it, or not.

"We both have questions we want answers to." His voice broken the string of quiet that hung in the air between us. I nodded in agreement. "Luckily, Lockwood isn't here to stop us from receiving them." His sentence struck me as odd. Lockwood was capable of many things, I knew this even then. But why keep me from a truth I was bond to discover anyways? Did he not think I was fitted to be there like he had preached before? I didn't voice my thoughts, though I could feel them rising in my throat. I nodded again, not trusting my own voice. He sighed, and took steps toward the door, shuffling as he went by. He stopped next to me but didn't face me as he stared at the door leading to the hallway beside the stairs. The blue gaze making me silently shudder.

"It's high time you got them."

He continued out the door, leaving me to follow him. I didn't see it, but at the time I was following him, everything shrunk. Condensing into the normal library I had seen before in my tour and nightly outings. Everything was so confusing, so curiously dangerous and after three weeks I was getting at least some type of answers. Yet I didn't even get out the doorway before my fever had taken control. I hadn't felt it getting worse, but oh, it had. The heat blinded my vision once again and I stumbled. The floor hurt. I could barely hear George say my name along with a door opening before I was fast asleep. This time, on the cold linoleum floors of the kitchen, with no means of waking up any time soon and two teens with hardly any tools to help me. But still, as I would learn later from Lockwood, a small smile was present on my face as he scolded George and carried me back upstairs.

Leave it to me to pass out at the most inopportune moments.

When I woke, I wasn't surprised to find Lockwood there, sitting on a chair beside me. It must have been the one he brought up during the few days he talked to me. His eyes were softly shut, his eyelashes moving rapidly as he dreamed. His soft lips slightly parted as they glistened from the light that came from the bedside lamp. His hair falling over his eye and nose, cheeks full of life as they reflected the beams. His face was so innocent, so peaceful, I didn't even want to move for fear of disturbing him. His limbs lay limp at his sides. He was dressed in a button up white shirt and dress pants. His dress shoes tired tightly to his feet, all professional like.

I won't say it didn't look good on him, quite the opposite and he seemed rather comfortable. But something about the way he was now versus how he held himself when he was awake was very different. Awake, he seemed to be all pep and bounce, waiting for the next adventure that lay around the corner. Yet when he was asleep, he looked calm, content with his life, while also showing signs of scars left on him by others. However, his body seemed to glow unnaturally both awake and asleep.

The night had settled nicely in the attic room where we resided. I watched him with my perpetual curiosity while he dreamt.

I felt better then I had earlier, certainly much better. The fever had receded, thank god, and I wondered if it had to do with the cold compress that resided on the bedside table. A medicine bottle rested beside it, a spoon teetering on top of it. A kettle and two cups were there as well; one used and the other clean. My eyes brightened as I took the non-used cup from its spot. I crossed my fingers as I picked up the kettle, hoping that the tea was warm, or if there was any left at all. My luck gave me a pass for the day as I poured the cup, finding it was both relatively full and warm. I wasn't going to question where or how it got to be up here, just drink it. As I sipped, I found that I was actually very thirsty. I sipped and sipped, sitting up on my bed as quietly as I could. I was glad I didn't get a creaky mattress. Eventually, the pot ran out of tea to drink. Once it did, I lay back down and stared at Lockwood in thought.

There was something about the way he slept. The way he rested. He was and looked peaceful, but there was something there that I couldn't pinpoint. It unnerved me, intrigued me, in a way. Lockwood's head tilted to the side ever so slightly and his heels connected while his knees spread apart. His lips curving downward with the smallest kink imaginable. His face no longer seemed peaceful, but so restless that ever emotion blurred into what one would assume to be peaceful. He looked... He looked...

Broken.

So incredibly defeated.

Like he had nothing to lose.

At some point in the night, he began to twitch. Just his finger, rising and lifting only fractions of inches. Then a tiny jerk of his hand. His lip quivered and his eyebrows knotted in the center. My eyes widened a bit, as I watched, growing concerned. His breathing began to change and perspiration dotted his forehead. I wasn't afraid, but I was a bit worried. My nightmares had never been so calm, but maybe this was worse for him? I did nothing except observe. His muscles began to tense as if he was bracing himself from some force unknown to me. Lockwood's body began to slightly glow from where it rested. A lime, murky green spilling from his fingertips. Above his head, were a string of figures and symbols, all in red. I didn't know what they meant, but I didn't like the way they glowed above his head.

I bit my lip to give me some sort of courage and leaned forward. Gently, I tapped his forehead, bringing him back to reality. There was a small shock that ran through my arm and a small pause before his eyes were open and staring at me. His brown eyes bore into my own and I couldn't help but do what I'd been doing for what seemed like hours now. I stared at his confused, precocious eyes that were so dark they seemed like black holes in the universe. There was surprise inside them, but also sadness and a distant fear.

Once his mind seemed steady, I came back to Earth as well. My arm slowly retracted and I sat on my haunches, staring back at him. I heard him clear his throat a moment, and he pushed back his hair with one hand. He blinked a few times before fashing me a small smile. His composure back to the state it had been when I first met him. Defensive, yet proper. He reached for the kettle.

"It's empty if you were looking for a drink."

"Ah, got thirsty?"

"A little bit, yeah."

"...How are you feeling?"

"Better, thanks."

He sighed, noticing my obvious abstaining from a proper conversation. In turn, I just looked at him. I was... I don't know what I was, but what I do know, is that I wanted answers. Badly.

"Why were there figures above your head?" He paled, and gulped, similar to what George did earlier. Although he looked fine, there was definitely awkward tension. He hesitated and I smirked. "So Anthony Lockwood can hesitate." He chuckled and clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

"And you are full of retorts, according to George, Lucy Carlyle." His speech was airy. I smiled and he did the same. All was quiet for a bit. His tone didn't seem flustered, but he was still a bit shaken. He laughed the same way he spoke, long and drawn out in long breaths. " I'm sorry if I woke you." I giggled a bit.

"I should be the one apologizing for waking you. After all, you'd still be asleep if I hadn't." He stared at me, perplexed.

"What do you mean by that?" I sighed a bit, tired of what I had done earlier.

"When people dream, their minds can... drift, from this existence and frolick into the next. Their souls travel and see different parallel universes that they otherwise wouldn't be able to. Be it happy," I paused for a moment before continuing, letting the air accumulate, "or be it not so happy. Their souls wander the universal planes until the body is ready for them to come back down to earth. It's kinda like when you listen to a song for so long that you eventually stop listening to it and you just slip into an alternate reality for a brief moment and come back when you realize your body is still present in the universe."

His eyebrows knit in confusion as he tried to process it.

"So it's like the soul takes a mini-vacation, but eventually has to go back to work?" My smile widened to the beginnings of my cheeks. If I would have looked, I would have seen him staring in awe. I was just so excited to have someone not call me crazy for once in my life.

"Exactly! Just with a bit more finesse and mystery and less work-related, but you get the general idea." I was off my bed in an instant, pacing around the room, not out of nervousness, but out of pure excitement. Lockwood had his eyebrow raised as he watched me. I went on a mini-tangent.

"What the souls see are the dreams we have mixed in with the storage of the memories we had that day. So the dreams we have will always correspond to our events we remember unless we dream too much in which we learn nothing and then the soul gets confused and goes to an extremely random universe. It's all so real to us yet our bodies never go anywhere! Just the smallest recognition and we sling back into our bodies so fast that we-" I looked over at his stupidly grinning face. He was staring at me intently, watching very closely. I felt like slapping him, but my body just paused in place. I stood up straight and coughed. "Sorry." His chuckle was deep and throaty, and his elbows were propped on his knees and hands holding up his chin as he bent slightly.

"No, no, go on. I'm enjoying hearing you talk for once."

Cheeky beanstalk.

"Anyways. I don't know what I do, but according to... my very old friend, I somehow can bring souls back to reality. which is what I did with you." I stopped for a moment and sat back on the bed in front of him. He looked at me like he expected me to go on, but I didn't.

"Now your turn." He sighed again but still smiled.

"You're like a yo-yo."

"How so?"

"You can do so many amazing tricks, but you're always stuck to your string."

He got up and gestured to the spot beside me. "May I?" I nodded and let him sit down next to me. We shifted to make it more comfortable, him with one leg up on the bed and the other dangling off while I crossed my legs, waiting for his explanation. He took a deep breath, and let it go slowly.

"It's not easy to say, but above people's heads, I see a series of symbols and letters either in red or white. They are codes that I decipher. Sometimes they are symbols I know, and others I have to learn. Sometimes they are ciphers. Other times they are entire foreign languages. I had to flip through an entire Japanese character book to find the written word. The white ones are easy, but the red ones take time. Judging by your face, you want me to get to the point."

"I like learning, but you are dancing around it like a ballerina."

"I am not!"

"Shall I call you Twinkle Toes from now on?"

"Absolutely not!" We were both smiling and giggling at our own banter. Twittering like songbirds in the dead of night while everyone slept snuggly in their beds. Well,

almost everyone.

"Then get on with it!" I nudged his shoulder with my hand as we laughed. He pushed my hand away, his laugh not gone, but his expression trying to be serious.

"Alright, alright. You really want to know?" I nodded. "Okay then. Simply put, I see the date and time a person will die. The white labels I can change... But I have never been able to change a red date." Something flashed in his eyes then, the same second he talked about red labels. I had almost missed it had I not been paying attention. It was like a stone had entered his pupils and blocked everything off. For a moment, I couldn't meet his gaze. Neither could he with mine. I was beginning to dislike long awkward pauses, so I decided to continue.

"You know I have plenty more questions to ask you." Again he belted out a laugh, and like the other ones, they sounded as real as the felt to her ears. They vibrated and sent shivers down my spine as he got up from the bed and dusted himself off, shaking his head as he did so. He picked up the kettle and teacups as he talked, also tapping the spoon atop the medicine bottle cap mid-sentence.

"I'll answer them soon, but for now -remember to take a spoonful when you wake tomorrow- it's best that we get to bed. George would have a cow if he wasn't here to help." I chuckled a bit as he made his way toward the door. He smiled and reached for the handle. Again, I saw a small flash of something cross his eyes. A reflection maybe?

"Goodnight, Lucy." With that, he closed the door, leaving me alone in the room I was beginning to consider my new home. No one else there except the empty skull, a medicine bottle with a spoon beside it, and furniture. I got up from my spot on my bed and stripped off my clothes, putting on my pajamas and sitting back on my bed. I faced the window, my back against the headboard, my waist down covered by blankets. I reached over to the lamp and turned it off with a click. A small sigh escaped my lips as I sat in silence. A lonely silence. The worst of all silences one could ever endure.

You would think that after realizing that the two people I am practically stuck here for life are actually goofballs with senses of humor I'd be thrilled and jumping with joy. But to honest, it only made it worse. They were like me in a sense that they didn't wish to get to close. We all had differences that, by making us unique, also made us distance ourselves from the people we could have learned to care about. We refused to date, make friends, or even look at our loved ones for a fear of being hurt either by them or by our own faults. I didn't go to sleep for a while longer that night. I learned later that neither did Lockwood. He sat in the kitchen with his hands intertwined and pressed to his forehead in thought. George, however, was fast asleep and snoring rather loudly underneath me.

I stared out into the night on my bed, watching time pass and the moon slowly ellipse in the darkly colored sky. The only thought on my mind being what the freshly made breakfast was going to be like tomorrow.

A/N: I know it has been a long time, so here is what has been going on lately:

1.) homework

2.) Grades

3.) Highschooler thoughts

4.) ...

5.) some rather... strange dreams

6.) Welcome to Night Vale (if you have no clue what this is, I suggest you find out. Seriously. At the very least look it up.)

So there.

I will be working on the next chapter in The One Thing I Can't Live Without, and I will try to have it out by the end of the month (no promises) my updating schedule is very random. And I mostly base these stories on experiences I have had, like the sickness piece.

My apologies to anyone who has been waiting for this chapter to come out.

Have you ever wondered what it must be like to fly? If not, you must be a very down to earth.

Songs inspiring this chapter: Dear Fellow Traveler by Sea Wolf, Dream by Image Dragons, and Heir of Grief

Stay Tuned and Thanks for Reading!

~Pheonix