(no subject)
Oh. I forgot about this one.
I tried to write today but unfortunately I dont feel like I'm in any state to. I dont know what's up this time. Almost feel as if I was in a trance the whole of November.
Noah snorted, disgusted, tearing the tracks from that train of thought before it got any further. He hadn’t meant to think of that. Definitely not that. He forced his attention on the fact they were just shadows then, just a big black blurs. Could it have been because Noah was too young to understand what they were? Or could it have been that his Sight had not been developed?
Noah frowned and leaned back to lie down, arms crossed over his chest. He glared at the ceiling. Or could it have been because everyone around him denied it? Including his grandparents, who had been so very gentle, never raising their voices, “Don’t talk about such things, Noah, they don’t exist. They’ll go away.”
Whatever the reason may have been, the obvious answer was to accept it now. Open himself to Seeing completely. The disbelief you leave at the door? It shouldn’t even be there. Get rid of it. Take anything with a grain of salt? Get rid of the salt too. When you open your eyes now, Noah told himself, breathing deep, really open them. Open your eyes to everything.
***
Saying that was simple. Actually fucking doing it scared the shit out of Noah.
Think of the biggest mall you know. Okay, now think of that mall during a three-day sale, everything off fifty to seventy percent. Good. Now multiply the amount of people by five. Yes. That is exactly what the sidewalks looked like to Noah where the dead outnumbered the living.
Ghosts had been vivid to begin with, but now in the most crowded of places, it could be downright impossible to tell the living apart from the dead. Your first indicator would be how the dead passed through objects. And the dead of course we're quite up to date in terms of fashion. Noah focused on the little things that did tell the difference, mostly in the hopes of preserving his sanity. The living had a sort of soft glow around them, the color mostly depending on their mood or their age. Children were often in possession of white or pastel auras; the old had a grey aura, hinting just how close they were to being ghosts.
Perhaps the most disturbing yet was how everywhere Noah went there were monsters. Hiding in trees, perched on roofs like god damned gargoyles, sometimes standing in the middle of the road. Seeing them made Noah on edge, ready to bolt, but they simply stood as still as statues. Even if Noah went up to one of them, there wouldn’t be a reaction. It was as if they didn’t see Noah. Perhaps, he thought, tilting his head up once at a Kapre, that they couldn’t see First Plane inhabitants without having their own First Plane counterparts? Noah didn’t stick around to test that theory; he got the hell away from that thing before it did notice him.
Over the next few months, it became apparent to Noah that while he hadn’t quite adapted to Seeing the Second Plane, things were definitely not right. There was a ghost in the school’s Chemistry Lab, probably a student who thought it was a good idea to drink tile cleaner for a dare, and until one day it hadn’t noticed the students coming in and out. Noah could have missed how the ghost’s brow was furrowed in confusing, eyes following the Chemistry teacher as she walked across the lab to distribute work books. Wary of it deciding to be violent, Noah approached the ghost and was surprised (read as scared shitless) when it turned to look right at Noah.
Noah stared back, unblinking. The ghost moved its mouth, tried to say something, but all Noah could hear was the low buzz of his classmates talking, filing out to return to their classroom. The ghost didn’t seem to realize it, moving its mouth faster, as if it was slowly becoming hysterical, eyes wide. It started shouting silently, pleading with Noah, body tensing, curling into itself. Its mouth opened wide, undoubtedly crying out and reached to grasp Noah by the shoulders. Noah gave himself credit for not making a sound when the ghost’s grip felt as real as any living person, when the ghost was basically screaming at Noah's face.
He nearly jumped when he heard a voice, an actual human voice, call his name. Noah whipped his head towards the door, where the Chemistry teacher was standing with a brow raised. “What are you still doing there? You’ll be late for your next class.”
Noah fumbled for something to say and was so very thankful when he realized he had been standing in front of the Table of Elements. He was not so thankful that the ghost in front of him was solid to his touch as his gesturing to the board hit the thing in the chest. “Sorry, miss, I was just checking something.”
The teacher didn’t look very convinced but she took his word for it anyway. “Alright then, Noah. Please do hurry. I think I already saw Mr. Montejo in the classroom.” The teacher walked away, leaving Noah alone with the ghost. The ghost released Noah roughly and turned away, shoulders squared and mumbling to itself. Noah collected his things faster than he ever had in his whole life and ran out of the lab without looking back.
“I've never heard anything like that,” Honor commented later that day when Noah finally had enough nerve to call him. It was nearly midnight and Anne and Moses were already in bed; Adam had already left for his graveyard shift. There were frying sounds in the background, prompting Noah to raise an eyebrow.
“Are you cooking dinner?” he asked, incredulous.
“Of course I am. You can’t expect me to go to work on an empty stomach.” Honor might have used a headset, because he certainly didn’t sound as if he was having a hard time with his hands. “Normally, ghosts require a medium to even be able to touch anyone.”
“It might be because I’m a Seer,” Noah replied as he looked over his homework and bit the end of his pen. He had wasted his whole evening on searching through his stock of PDFs in search of an answer, much less an explanation.
Honor was quiet for a moment as the frying sounds died down. Noah could almost imagine him plating fried mongo sprouts, decked in the usual Guardian black, with a jacket and his shotgun on the kitchen counter. “I can check with HQ about that. Maybe that have something similar in their records.”
“Should I, I don’t know, exorcise that thing?”
The smirk was all too apparent in Honor’s voice. “You can try but you would only get yourself possessed. And believe me, that is not something you want to try. Just leave it alone and ignore it.”
Noah glared at his history homework, wishing he could have targeted his ire at Honor instead. “Oh yeah. I’ll totally ignore it when it fucking grabs me and screams in my face.” He tried to read the instructions but couldn’t focus, mostly on the part of how sleep clouded his mind. “It seemed really scared. Like it was trying to tell me something.”
“Let’s not read too much into this. For all you know, it might have just realized it was dead.”
Noah paused and gave that possibility some thought. Ghosts could go through the same stages of grief as the living, but more often than not, they were stuck in denial and anger. Often it was a combination of both. “So the thing might turn into a poltergeist. Why the hell shouldn’t we nip it in the bud?”
“Because that would draw attention to ourselves, of course.” Honor’s words were a little garbled now; Noah suspected he was eating, if the utensils on plate sounds were any indicators. “There are such things as security guards, if you remember. And probably worse, we could attract the attention of more ghosts. White Ladies, Black Ladies. Kid, you don’t want to face off with an army of ghosts. Don’t worry. I’ll call HQ up and ask them what to do that won’t involve getting our asses kicked.”
“So what the hell should I do until then?”
When Honor spoke this time, Noah had no trouble picturing his face. Hooded eyes, a crooked smirk, and all that only inches from his face. Hell, his body might as well be flush against Noah’s. “You can think of me.”
In spite of himself, Noah’s face turned the exact color of a tomato. Even worse, he couldn’t find of a single thing to reply to Honor. Not anything equally provocative or relatively scathing. It had been months since that last kiss but Noah could still feel the metal bead on Honor’s tongue. The best Noah could manage was to sigh and say in the tones of one who wished quite the contrary, “Do take care. I hope you won’t get your internal organs scooped out and fucking eaten in front of you.” He hung up just as Honor sputtered and laughed.
I tried to write today but unfortunately I dont feel like I'm in any state to. I dont know what's up this time. Almost feel as if I was in a trance the whole of November.
Noah snorted, disgusted, tearing the tracks from that train of thought before it got any further. He hadn’t meant to think of that. Definitely not that. He forced his attention on the fact they were just shadows then, just a big black blurs. Could it have been because Noah was too young to understand what they were? Or could it have been that his Sight had not been developed?
Noah frowned and leaned back to lie down, arms crossed over his chest. He glared at the ceiling. Or could it have been because everyone around him denied it? Including his grandparents, who had been so very gentle, never raising their voices, “Don’t talk about such things, Noah, they don’t exist. They’ll go away.”
Whatever the reason may have been, the obvious answer was to accept it now. Open himself to Seeing completely. The disbelief you leave at the door? It shouldn’t even be there. Get rid of it. Take anything with a grain of salt? Get rid of the salt too. When you open your eyes now, Noah told himself, breathing deep, really open them. Open your eyes to everything.
***
Saying that was simple. Actually fucking doing it scared the shit out of Noah.
Think of the biggest mall you know. Okay, now think of that mall during a three-day sale, everything off fifty to seventy percent. Good. Now multiply the amount of people by five. Yes. That is exactly what the sidewalks looked like to Noah where the dead outnumbered the living.
Ghosts had been vivid to begin with, but now in the most crowded of places, it could be downright impossible to tell the living apart from the dead. Your first indicator would be how the dead passed through objects. And the dead of course we're quite up to date in terms of fashion. Noah focused on the little things that did tell the difference, mostly in the hopes of preserving his sanity. The living had a sort of soft glow around them, the color mostly depending on their mood or their age. Children were often in possession of white or pastel auras; the old had a grey aura, hinting just how close they were to being ghosts.
Perhaps the most disturbing yet was how everywhere Noah went there were monsters. Hiding in trees, perched on roofs like god damned gargoyles, sometimes standing in the middle of the road. Seeing them made Noah on edge, ready to bolt, but they simply stood as still as statues. Even if Noah went up to one of them, there wouldn’t be a reaction. It was as if they didn’t see Noah. Perhaps, he thought, tilting his head up once at a Kapre, that they couldn’t see First Plane inhabitants without having their own First Plane counterparts? Noah didn’t stick around to test that theory; he got the hell away from that thing before it did notice him.
Over the next few months, it became apparent to Noah that while he hadn’t quite adapted to Seeing the Second Plane, things were definitely not right. There was a ghost in the school’s Chemistry Lab, probably a student who thought it was a good idea to drink tile cleaner for a dare, and until one day it hadn’t noticed the students coming in and out. Noah could have missed how the ghost’s brow was furrowed in confusing, eyes following the Chemistry teacher as she walked across the lab to distribute work books. Wary of it deciding to be violent, Noah approached the ghost and was surprised (read as scared shitless) when it turned to look right at Noah.
Noah stared back, unblinking. The ghost moved its mouth, tried to say something, but all Noah could hear was the low buzz of his classmates talking, filing out to return to their classroom. The ghost didn’t seem to realize it, moving its mouth faster, as if it was slowly becoming hysterical, eyes wide. It started shouting silently, pleading with Noah, body tensing, curling into itself. Its mouth opened wide, undoubtedly crying out and reached to grasp Noah by the shoulders. Noah gave himself credit for not making a sound when the ghost’s grip felt as real as any living person, when the ghost was basically screaming at Noah's face.
He nearly jumped when he heard a voice, an actual human voice, call his name. Noah whipped his head towards the door, where the Chemistry teacher was standing with a brow raised. “What are you still doing there? You’ll be late for your next class.”
Noah fumbled for something to say and was so very thankful when he realized he had been standing in front of the Table of Elements. He was not so thankful that the ghost in front of him was solid to his touch as his gesturing to the board hit the thing in the chest. “Sorry, miss, I was just checking something.”
The teacher didn’t look very convinced but she took his word for it anyway. “Alright then, Noah. Please do hurry. I think I already saw Mr. Montejo in the classroom.” The teacher walked away, leaving Noah alone with the ghost. The ghost released Noah roughly and turned away, shoulders squared and mumbling to itself. Noah collected his things faster than he ever had in his whole life and ran out of the lab without looking back.
“I've never heard anything like that,” Honor commented later that day when Noah finally had enough nerve to call him. It was nearly midnight and Anne and Moses were already in bed; Adam had already left for his graveyard shift. There were frying sounds in the background, prompting Noah to raise an eyebrow.
“Are you cooking dinner?” he asked, incredulous.
“Of course I am. You can’t expect me to go to work on an empty stomach.” Honor might have used a headset, because he certainly didn’t sound as if he was having a hard time with his hands. “Normally, ghosts require a medium to even be able to touch anyone.”
“It might be because I’m a Seer,” Noah replied as he looked over his homework and bit the end of his pen. He had wasted his whole evening on searching through his stock of PDFs in search of an answer, much less an explanation.
Honor was quiet for a moment as the frying sounds died down. Noah could almost imagine him plating fried mongo sprouts, decked in the usual Guardian black, with a jacket and his shotgun on the kitchen counter. “I can check with HQ about that. Maybe that have something similar in their records.”
“Should I, I don’t know, exorcise that thing?”
The smirk was all too apparent in Honor’s voice. “You can try but you would only get yourself possessed. And believe me, that is not something you want to try. Just leave it alone and ignore it.”
Noah glared at his history homework, wishing he could have targeted his ire at Honor instead. “Oh yeah. I’ll totally ignore it when it fucking grabs me and screams in my face.” He tried to read the instructions but couldn’t focus, mostly on the part of how sleep clouded his mind. “It seemed really scared. Like it was trying to tell me something.”
“Let’s not read too much into this. For all you know, it might have just realized it was dead.”
Noah paused and gave that possibility some thought. Ghosts could go through the same stages of grief as the living, but more often than not, they were stuck in denial and anger. Often it was a combination of both. “So the thing might turn into a poltergeist. Why the hell shouldn’t we nip it in the bud?”
“Because that would draw attention to ourselves, of course.” Honor’s words were a little garbled now; Noah suspected he was eating, if the utensils on plate sounds were any indicators. “There are such things as security guards, if you remember. And probably worse, we could attract the attention of more ghosts. White Ladies, Black Ladies. Kid, you don’t want to face off with an army of ghosts. Don’t worry. I’ll call HQ up and ask them what to do that won’t involve getting our asses kicked.”
“So what the hell should I do until then?”
When Honor spoke this time, Noah had no trouble picturing his face. Hooded eyes, a crooked smirk, and all that only inches from his face. Hell, his body might as well be flush against Noah’s. “You can think of me.”
In spite of himself, Noah’s face turned the exact color of a tomato. Even worse, he couldn’t find of a single thing to reply to Honor. Not anything equally provocative or relatively scathing. It had been months since that last kiss but Noah could still feel the metal bead on Honor’s tongue. The best Noah could manage was to sigh and say in the tones of one who wished quite the contrary, “Do take care. I hope you won’t get your internal organs scooped out and fucking eaten in front of you.” He hung up just as Honor sputtered and laughed.