Sunny_dale: Ghost
I woke up to the sound of someone knocking on Jonathan's dorm room this morning. He and I had stayed up late watching Dr. No on TBS the night before, so Jonathan slept right through the knocking. I, on the other hand, kind of had to pee -- so I woke up right away and was first to hear the news: Tim was not only not a robot, but he was dead.
Jonathan and I talked about it quite a bit after the campus police had finished asking us various questions. The left and Jonathan and I sat on his bed, staring at Tim's side of the room. Creepy. Neither of us really knew him, even though we'd totally hung out with him just the other night. He seemed like a nice enough guy, even if the whole Fett business was a little shady. Even if he *had* killed the Fett, he didn't deserve to die. Not like that -- not with his thoat ripped apart and his eyes wide open. The campus police showed us photos (I covered my eyes), but said we didn't need to ID the body, that the Resident Director already had.
Jonthan couldn't deal. He has this weird thing where he believes that he has the will to kill people. He named off several examples, but I pretty much shot down every one. Jonathan wasn't on the dark side. Jonathan was a jedi, and not the fallen kind. Even if he thought evil thoughts about people who were mean to him occasionally, it doesn't mean that it's his fault when they did. To prove my point, I told him to think really bad thoughts about me so we could see if I died. But he refused. And that, in a nutshell, is why Jonathan is my best friend. I asked, nay BEGGED, him to think bad thoughts about me to see if I spontaneously combusted or something, and he refused. Not because he doesn't think I'm right, I'm sure, but, because he doesn't want me to die. Why chance it, you know, he said. Also smart, because if two people who were connected to Jonathan died within 12 hours of each other, people might get suspicious. When I said that, Jonathan started to hyperventilate a little. I tried to calm him down, but he mumbled something about needing to see the school psychologist. Before he left, I reminded him to ask about that whole thing about automatically getting all A's on your classes if your roommate died.
"That's an urban legend, idiot. I'm not going to ask her that. Have some respect," Jon snapped at me. "Plus, that's in the event of suicide, not murder."
I was aghast.Respect? For Tim, or for death? Come on, people, we live in SUNNYDALE, people die all the time. I have respect for it and stuff, but, suspension of disbelief only goes SO far. Unless you're Roddenberry or Lucas, in which case, it can go way, way further. But, seriously -- for a small town, don't you think they are kind of an inordinate number of death by animal bite, just in Sunnydale?
I took it upon myself to take down Tim's posters after Jonathan left. We still had all of Jonathan's boxes anyway, and I guess Tim's parents would probably want his stuff mailed back to them in Great Britain. I didn't feel that good about it, though, picking through some dead boy's things... and I felt myself panic a little. Maybe I wasn't ready for this. Maybe I needed to live at home longer. Perhaps I wasn't ready to go to college, where I could get murdered and then -- like Tim -- not have anyone notice I was gone until the next morning. I mean, if I died, the only people who would miss me would be my Mom and Jonathan -- and they probably wouldn't even notice if I skipped seeing them for a morning.
But, this was Tim -- and Tim wasn't avoiding us. Tim was dead. Like, really dead. Not just merely dead, but really quite sincerely dead.
I lay on Jonathan's bed when I finished packing up Tim's belonging. I imagined my heart slowing down and stopping, my lifeblood soaking into Jonathan's tasteful navy comforter.
"Goodbye, cruel world," I said, outloud. Tucker flashed in my mind. He wouldn't miss me. He'd probably be happy if I just disappeared. Actually, he'd probably raise some kind of evil marsupial, just to slurp up my blood and gnaw on my bones.
I must have fallen asleep thinking about death, because the next thing I knew, Tim was sitting cross-legged on his bed across from Jonathan's.
"Tim?" I said blearily. I was aware that I was dreaming, but, wow. That was like, post-tornado, we're-not-in-Kansas-anymore-Toto Technicolor, there. It was so real. "Tim. You died."
"Got that, mate. I died. A lot. It happens to the best of us. Do you want to move in here, then, with your best friend?" Tim said, scratching idly at his throat. That sure didn't look like an animal bite. For one, there was no blood. He wasn't eaten up... it was more like he was given the Infernal Hickey of Death.
And huh, I hadn't even thought of that. Not the hickey thing, but... you know. Moving in with Jonathan. Dorm life. Livin' la vida local. It wasn't a bad idea, since I was staying here every night anyway. I don't think Mom could afford it, though.
"I don't think I can afford it, Tim," I sighed, noticing that we were both hovering slightly above our respective beds. Cool. Tres Yoga levitation.
"You'd have to take out a loan. It's not so bad, Andrew. Everyone does it."
"A loan?" I asked. And, as the dream broke wide open when I heard Jonathan's door slam in real life, I heard myself say outloud, "What are the interest rates like?"
"What?" Jonathan said. He looked better. Still a little upset, but better. He'd been crying, the poor little gelfling. I don't know why he has to take the whole world on his shoulders, like he's somehow the big problem, except no one will tell him so.
"Nothing. Well, I mean, something. Do you think I should move in here? I think Tim would have wanted it. Don't you think so?"
[[ open to Jonathan ]]
Jonathan and I talked about it quite a bit after the campus police had finished asking us various questions. The left and Jonathan and I sat on his bed, staring at Tim's side of the room. Creepy. Neither of us really knew him, even though we'd totally hung out with him just the other night. He seemed like a nice enough guy, even if the whole Fett business was a little shady. Even if he *had* killed the Fett, he didn't deserve to die. Not like that -- not with his thoat ripped apart and his eyes wide open. The campus police showed us photos (I covered my eyes), but said we didn't need to ID the body, that the Resident Director already had.
Jonthan couldn't deal. He has this weird thing where he believes that he has the will to kill people. He named off several examples, but I pretty much shot down every one. Jonathan wasn't on the dark side. Jonathan was a jedi, and not the fallen kind. Even if he thought evil thoughts about people who were mean to him occasionally, it doesn't mean that it's his fault when they did. To prove my point, I told him to think really bad thoughts about me so we could see if I died. But he refused. And that, in a nutshell, is why Jonathan is my best friend. I asked, nay BEGGED, him to think bad thoughts about me to see if I spontaneously combusted or something, and he refused. Not because he doesn't think I'm right, I'm sure, but, because he doesn't want me to die. Why chance it, you know, he said. Also smart, because if two people who were connected to Jonathan died within 12 hours of each other, people might get suspicious. When I said that, Jonathan started to hyperventilate a little. I tried to calm him down, but he mumbled something about needing to see the school psychologist. Before he left, I reminded him to ask about that whole thing about automatically getting all A's on your classes if your roommate died.
"That's an urban legend, idiot. I'm not going to ask her that. Have some respect," Jon snapped at me. "Plus, that's in the event of suicide, not murder."
I was aghast.Respect? For Tim, or for death? Come on, people, we live in SUNNYDALE, people die all the time. I have respect for it and stuff, but, suspension of disbelief only goes SO far. Unless you're Roddenberry or Lucas, in which case, it can go way, way further. But, seriously -- for a small town, don't you think they are kind of an inordinate number of death by animal bite, just in Sunnydale?
I took it upon myself to take down Tim's posters after Jonathan left. We still had all of Jonathan's boxes anyway, and I guess Tim's parents would probably want his stuff mailed back to them in Great Britain. I didn't feel that good about it, though, picking through some dead boy's things... and I felt myself panic a little. Maybe I wasn't ready for this. Maybe I needed to live at home longer. Perhaps I wasn't ready to go to college, where I could get murdered and then -- like Tim -- not have anyone notice I was gone until the next morning. I mean, if I died, the only people who would miss me would be my Mom and Jonathan -- and they probably wouldn't even notice if I skipped seeing them for a morning.
But, this was Tim -- and Tim wasn't avoiding us. Tim was dead. Like, really dead. Not just merely dead, but really quite sincerely dead.
I lay on Jonathan's bed when I finished packing up Tim's belonging. I imagined my heart slowing down and stopping, my lifeblood soaking into Jonathan's tasteful navy comforter.
"Goodbye, cruel world," I said, outloud. Tucker flashed in my mind. He wouldn't miss me. He'd probably be happy if I just disappeared. Actually, he'd probably raise some kind of evil marsupial, just to slurp up my blood and gnaw on my bones.
I must have fallen asleep thinking about death, because the next thing I knew, Tim was sitting cross-legged on his bed across from Jonathan's.
"Tim?" I said blearily. I was aware that I was dreaming, but, wow. That was like, post-tornado, we're-not-in-Kansas-anymore-Toto Technicolor, there. It was so real. "Tim. You died."
"Got that, mate. I died. A lot. It happens to the best of us. Do you want to move in here, then, with your best friend?" Tim said, scratching idly at his throat. That sure didn't look like an animal bite. For one, there was no blood. He wasn't eaten up... it was more like he was given the Infernal Hickey of Death.
And huh, I hadn't even thought of that. Not the hickey thing, but... you know. Moving in with Jonathan. Dorm life. Livin' la vida local. It wasn't a bad idea, since I was staying here every night anyway. I don't think Mom could afford it, though.
"I don't think I can afford it, Tim," I sighed, noticing that we were both hovering slightly above our respective beds. Cool. Tres Yoga levitation.
"You'd have to take out a loan. It's not so bad, Andrew. Everyone does it."
"A loan?" I asked. And, as the dream broke wide open when I heard Jonathan's door slam in real life, I heard myself say outloud, "What are the interest rates like?"
"What?" Jonathan said. He looked better. Still a little upset, but better. He'd been crying, the poor little gelfling. I don't know why he has to take the whole world on his shoulders, like he's somehow the big problem, except no one will tell him so.
"Nothing. Well, I mean, something. Do you think I should move in here? I think Tim would have wanted it. Don't you think so?"
[[ open to Jonathan ]]