No Mo NaNoWriMo!
Um...so this is the last story for wingsofcharity and my combined/modified NaNoWriMo (or...well, it's for the last day, but won't be the last ones posted because Beth weighs more than her computer, and her shoulder is especially bony).
Prompt 30: Remix a story written this month (by either wingsofcharity or myself). I chose to remix prompt 21 (It's right here, for your convenience)
So...I think I chose her original fiction, because I don't know most of her fandoms, and I really hope I did this right.
I didn't ask for this; none of us asks for this. I died fifty years ago, in 1958, when I was seventeen years old. I wasn't a particularly bad kid, but I was sort of a hippie. My parents kept my hair short, but couldn't stop me from listening to Elvis and Johnny Cash. They also could not my car from hydroplaning during a thunderstorm and wrapping itself around a tree. I don't have an agenda, nor do I carry out anyone else's agenda. There may be someone out there hoping for me to carry out some sick tasks, but I have neither the ability nor the inclination. I have a pair of wings, though. Finding those made for an awkward morning, well, so did finding myself "alive." I travel all over the world, wherever my whim takes me. For some reason, my whim insists on enrolling me in high schools. I hate high school, and repeating it for an eternity seems a mighty waste of time. However, since this odd urge came with the wings, I don't want to risk the consequences of doubting it.
I found myself in a small town, the kind that notices when a new family arrives. Of course, my parents don't fully exists, they're just illusions to ease people's minds. If I arrived in a town this size by myself, my face would be plastered all of the front page of their gazette. Their high school was the same as any other, because they're all the same on some micro-ideological level.
All teenage girls are attracted to loners. They may not admit it, but they yearn for a bad boy who they can tame. Hannah, the captain of the cheer squad, seemed especially earnest to change my ways. Because she was cute, or maybe because she didn't smother herself in perfume and used soap that smelled like soap, and not like flowers, I allowed her attempts to change me. I'll admit that she grew on me. I enjoyed the time we spent together. It took a few tries, but I finally coached myself to refrain from flinching when she accidentally grazed my wings. She didn't see them, no one did, but damn, those things are sensitive.
The car accident took me by surprise. I knew she would die before me, everyone does, but I didn't know she would die so soon. There was a girl from school, Zoe, who showed up at the crash site a little too soon for my comfort. Since I drove the car, I sensed my resumed status as an outsider. I'm used to being a social pariah, I enjoy the peace that comes with not having to work toward fitting in. With Hannah I always had to watch what I said. When we studied for a history test one night, I accidentally slipped in anecdote about when I helped demolish the Berlin wall. I had to play it off as something I heard while watching a documentary. That's why I was so comfortable as a social outcast. No one cares about you, so no one pries into your life. It's harder to be found out when no one's looking at you.
One morning, my whim decided to make me into a stalker. I knew Hannah's little sister from eating dinner at their house, well, and the time she walked in on me while I showered with Hannah before climbing out Hannah's bedroom window. Good times. I was a little miffed that my whim wouldn't allow for discretion. I continuously followed Cassie everywhere. I tried to hide and look like less of a creeper, but something wouldn't let me. I had a sense that Cassie would do something stupid, and I just had to keep her safe, I owed that much to Hannah.
Zoe, the girl with an odd habit of showing up at crime scenes, ended up sitting next to me outside the principal's office. I got in a fight before school over a parking spot, or something equally as trivial. However, since the other boy was the star quarter back, I was the only one awaiting punishment.
Something about Zoe struck me as particularly odd. She had wings, just like me. I couldn't help but touch them. Judging by how quickly she jumped across the room, hers were as sensitive as mine. However, her wings were different than mine. Something about her was a little off. She seemed to have a dark haze around her. Being near her gave me a sense of foreboding, like she wanted to lead me somewhere dark.
We ate lunch the next day, as people tend to do. However, we ate lunch together, because despite her foreboding aura, she was rather delightful. The discussion meandered toward Cassie. I wanted to have a rousing debate about whether cafeteria food actually qualified as food, but Zoe just would not allow it. She said that Cassie was supposed to have died already, and that I couldn't just protect her, or some such nonsense about how I was affecting destiny. It turns out that she listened to her cell phone. It gave her instructions, and she blindly followed them. I pity her blind faith, and yet sometimes I envy it. At least she knows why she's here, I just hang out and relive high school. Sometimes, I'm convinced that I'm trapped in a wacky nightmare, and at any minute I'll wake up.
On Monday, something made me wait outside Zoe's foreign language class (I never did learn which language she took that year, since she's taken them all, repeatedly). Our eyes met, and my hormones took over. Thinking back on it, the boy's bathroom is not the most romantic place to have your first kiss. And yet, that didn't stop me from pinning her to a bathroom stall and using all of my sixty-seven years of experience to kiss her senseless. Eventually, I distracted her enough to grab that damn phone of hers. She explained the messages she received on it, and I knew she'd gotten one that morning. As soon as I extracted it from her jeans, she elbowed me and took off out of the bathroom. Despite the high five I got from the kid coming in, the only thing I could think about was getting her alone again.
Later on, I found her laying on a couch. Unfortunately, there was another kid doing their homework, so I couldn't do anything my hormones were screaming at me to do. Which made me think of how odd it was for a co-ed high school to provide couches. And, since these soft, comfortable, bed-like pieces of furniture were so kindly provided in the lounge area, then why were the condom machines only in the bathrooms? I stopped my mind from traveling down this road by initiating conversation with Zoe. The other kid put on her head phones, and Zoe acquired and overall sense of unease. Following my whim again, I told her to stay on the couch, despite her mind screaming at her to go to the roof. To be honest, I've never fought my whim, and I sort of used her to find out the consequences. Which was a terrible thing to do, but I like to think that it wasn't only an experiment. I also relished in the feel of her legs across mine, and wondered how her body would feel against mine. I know my motives are decidedly selfish, but what else can you expect from a sixty-seven year old trapped in a hormone-filled seventeen year-old's body for fifty years?
Prompt 30: Remix a story written this month (by either wingsofcharity or myself). I chose to remix prompt 21 (It's right here, for your convenience)
So...I think I chose her original fiction, because I don't know most of her fandoms, and I really hope I did this right.
I didn't ask for this; none of us asks for this. I died fifty years ago, in 1958, when I was seventeen years old. I wasn't a particularly bad kid, but I was sort of a hippie. My parents kept my hair short, but couldn't stop me from listening to Elvis and Johnny Cash. They also could not my car from hydroplaning during a thunderstorm and wrapping itself around a tree. I don't have an agenda, nor do I carry out anyone else's agenda. There may be someone out there hoping for me to carry out some sick tasks, but I have neither the ability nor the inclination. I have a pair of wings, though. Finding those made for an awkward morning, well, so did finding myself "alive." I travel all over the world, wherever my whim takes me. For some reason, my whim insists on enrolling me in high schools. I hate high school, and repeating it for an eternity seems a mighty waste of time. However, since this odd urge came with the wings, I don't want to risk the consequences of doubting it.
I found myself in a small town, the kind that notices when a new family arrives. Of course, my parents don't fully exists, they're just illusions to ease people's minds. If I arrived in a town this size by myself, my face would be plastered all of the front page of their gazette. Their high school was the same as any other, because they're all the same on some micro-ideological level.
All teenage girls are attracted to loners. They may not admit it, but they yearn for a bad boy who they can tame. Hannah, the captain of the cheer squad, seemed especially earnest to change my ways. Because she was cute, or maybe because she didn't smother herself in perfume and used soap that smelled like soap, and not like flowers, I allowed her attempts to change me. I'll admit that she grew on me. I enjoyed the time we spent together. It took a few tries, but I finally coached myself to refrain from flinching when she accidentally grazed my wings. She didn't see them, no one did, but damn, those things are sensitive.
The car accident took me by surprise. I knew she would die before me, everyone does, but I didn't know she would die so soon. There was a girl from school, Zoe, who showed up at the crash site a little too soon for my comfort. Since I drove the car, I sensed my resumed status as an outsider. I'm used to being a social pariah, I enjoy the peace that comes with not having to work toward fitting in. With Hannah I always had to watch what I said. When we studied for a history test one night, I accidentally slipped in anecdote about when I helped demolish the Berlin wall. I had to play it off as something I heard while watching a documentary. That's why I was so comfortable as a social outcast. No one cares about you, so no one pries into your life. It's harder to be found out when no one's looking at you.
One morning, my whim decided to make me into a stalker. I knew Hannah's little sister from eating dinner at their house, well, and the time she walked in on me while I showered with Hannah before climbing out Hannah's bedroom window. Good times. I was a little miffed that my whim wouldn't allow for discretion. I continuously followed Cassie everywhere. I tried to hide and look like less of a creeper, but something wouldn't let me. I had a sense that Cassie would do something stupid, and I just had to keep her safe, I owed that much to Hannah.
Zoe, the girl with an odd habit of showing up at crime scenes, ended up sitting next to me outside the principal's office. I got in a fight before school over a parking spot, or something equally as trivial. However, since the other boy was the star quarter back, I was the only one awaiting punishment.
Something about Zoe struck me as particularly odd. She had wings, just like me. I couldn't help but touch them. Judging by how quickly she jumped across the room, hers were as sensitive as mine. However, her wings were different than mine. Something about her was a little off. She seemed to have a dark haze around her. Being near her gave me a sense of foreboding, like she wanted to lead me somewhere dark.
We ate lunch the next day, as people tend to do. However, we ate lunch together, because despite her foreboding aura, she was rather delightful. The discussion meandered toward Cassie. I wanted to have a rousing debate about whether cafeteria food actually qualified as food, but Zoe just would not allow it. She said that Cassie was supposed to have died already, and that I couldn't just protect her, or some such nonsense about how I was affecting destiny. It turns out that she listened to her cell phone. It gave her instructions, and she blindly followed them. I pity her blind faith, and yet sometimes I envy it. At least she knows why she's here, I just hang out and relive high school. Sometimes, I'm convinced that I'm trapped in a wacky nightmare, and at any minute I'll wake up.
On Monday, something made me wait outside Zoe's foreign language class (I never did learn which language she took that year, since she's taken them all, repeatedly). Our eyes met, and my hormones took over. Thinking back on it, the boy's bathroom is not the most romantic place to have your first kiss. And yet, that didn't stop me from pinning her to a bathroom stall and using all of my sixty-seven years of experience to kiss her senseless. Eventually, I distracted her enough to grab that damn phone of hers. She explained the messages she received on it, and I knew she'd gotten one that morning. As soon as I extracted it from her jeans, she elbowed me and took off out of the bathroom. Despite the high five I got from the kid coming in, the only thing I could think about was getting her alone again.
Later on, I found her laying on a couch. Unfortunately, there was another kid doing their homework, so I couldn't do anything my hormones were screaming at me to do. Which made me think of how odd it was for a co-ed high school to provide couches. And, since these soft, comfortable, bed-like pieces of furniture were so kindly provided in the lounge area, then why were the condom machines only in the bathrooms? I stopped my mind from traveling down this road by initiating conversation with Zoe. The other kid put on her head phones, and Zoe acquired and overall sense of unease. Following my whim again, I told her to stay on the couch, despite her mind screaming at her to go to the roof. To be honest, I've never fought my whim, and I sort of used her to find out the consequences. Which was a terrible thing to do, but I like to think that it wasn't only an experiment. I also relished in the feel of her legs across mine, and wondered how her body would feel against mine. I know my motives are decidedly selfish, but what else can you expect from a sixty-seven year old trapped in a hormone-filled seventeen year-old's body for fifty years?