Week 17

© hugovk

People got it wrong.

When most of the living believed that ghosts and spirits unite at midnight, or at three o'clock, they were simply too gullible to believe lies told in Halloween specials in television. Freddy, sitting on his tombstone, wasn't sure if the ghosts from other cemeteries meet at six o'clock every Thursday (like them, in Brookside Cemetery), but he was sure they didn't at midnight when everybody rests in peace.

Today, Thursday, is like any other Thursday at Brookside. Ghosts in the cemetery started to gather in front of Brookside Cathedral to catch up on everyone's life. Or "ghost life." This practice started when Joseph Cornwall, the oldest ghost (died at age 102) came at Brookside at year 2003 and convinced the ghost community that they needed to form some sort of cooperative, to unite for the progress of their "un-life." Joseph was a business tycoon.

"Good day, fellow ghosts of Brookside!" boomed tuxedo-wearing Joseph who stood at the entrance of the cathedral. "Would you gather round here please so we can begin."

"Freddy!" called Sam Daniels, a celebrated philatelist in his past life and Freddy's closest ghost friend.

"Hi Sam."

"Looks like Old Joseph's making the best of his 'un-life' huh?"

"Yet again, dear friend."

The two moved closer in front and stared at the glass bowl holding 697 strips of paper, on each a name of a ghost in Brookside is scribbled.

"Wonder who's coming up tonight," said Sam.

"I just want this all done," replied Freddy.

"A pleasant evening to all! So who's gonna be illuminating our moonless night?" said Joseph who buried one hand inside the glass bowl, and picked one strip out.

"Freddy Allen! I call on Freddy Allen to please come up."

Freddy dragged his feet on-stage and stared at the ghost mob. He looked at Sam who gave an encouraging smile. With a gulp, he spoke.

"Hello, I'm Freddy Allen. You can call me Freddy, or Fred or whatever. I died in 1998 at age 26, leaving my wife and our son. Some of you may know that I was a a doctor, and - "

He looked at Sam again; Sam mouthed "go on."

"And that I died of cancer. I'm a doctor who died of an illness. That's life that is: ironic, frustrating. Mostly frustrating."

Every ghost listened intently.

With a deep sigh, he continued. "Someone told me that the ultimate goal of life is death, and she's right. Everyone is bound to die, no exceptions. Some of you may be wondering then, 'why live when everything's bound to end anyway?'"

Every ghost listened intently. Even Joseph.

"It's because no one would live if death didn't exist. No matter how ironic and frustrating one's life is, we live. It's as natural as breathing. Even as natural as loving. We fight to live because to live means to explore, to learn, to be with the people important to us."

"In order to live, we need to die."

Freddy climbed down the steps, gave Sam a smile and left everyone speechless. He went straight to his tomb; "A Loving Father and Husband," it said.

He was dead. He already accepted that a long time ago. But he's more alive than ever.

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Freddy by KASH

Week 16

"Papa?"

"Hmm?"

"Did Mama leave us because I was a bad girl?"

"No dear. You were never a bad girl."

"Then why did she leave us?"

"Because Papa had been a bad boy."

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Papa by KASH

Week 15

© Theo Gosselin

Jessica

She ran away at 17.

Getting her saved stash on an old gray sock and her mom's worn-out photo under her pillow, she was convinced it was time she left her father and his new family. She sneaked out of her bedroom and tiptoed her way out of their house. "Good riddance," she whispered, gently twisting the doorknob open. Without any plans of shedding even a single tear, she ventured the silent streets of their city - the lamp posts the only witnesses of her escape. Everyone was asleep, but her heart was an owl wide-awake at two o'clock in the morning.

"Hey Mom, we'll go to Vancouver. You like that place, right?" she said, looking at her mom's photo. "Maybe we'll get some real family time there." She pulled her sweater closer as a cold drift blew.

She bought herself a train ticket and helped herself with a sandwich and a can of soda at Platform 12. At around half past two, she rode the train and stumbled her way across a guy reading a book on architecture, she thought, basing on the buildings on the cover. The guy peeked out of his book, smiled at her, and went back reading.

"Nice guy," she thought as she dug to her bag for her earphones. Staring outside the window, she drowned herself to the drums of Muse and wondered of what she'd do upon reaching Vancouver.

In the end, she thought it didn't matter. She was free.

Cyrus

He was 18 then and like most guys of his age his being sought for adventure.

That night of October 17 he decided he'd explore the world without telling anyone. He packed his things and grabbed his architecture book, then silently entered his sister's bedroom and left a letter on her bedside table. Everyone was asleep, or so he thought. Downstairs, he found Sid blocking his way out.

Seeing him, Sid stood and walked between his legs, shedding cat fur on his pants.

"I'll miss you too, buddy. Look after Mom while I'm away?" he said, patting the cat on the head. "And don't touch Mary's aquarium." The cat purred and went back to licking itself.

It was a bit cold when he went outside. Drizzling, actually. He didn't pull out an umbrella though. Instead he faced the sky and let the rain bruise his face and calm washed all over him.

He arrived at the train station around 2:15, bought himself a ticket and rode the train that will take him to Vancouver. While waiting for the train to leave, he pulled out his book and started scanning the tallest and grandest buildings to rise on this planet.

A girl went and sat across him. Peeking from his book, he saw a green-eyed girl with a disheveled - but not messy, he thought - brown locks and heavy luggage.

"Looks like I'm not the only one to sneak out tonight," he thought.

The girl looked to his direction. Meeting her eyes, he smiled. The girl smiled back and started digging inside her bag. He went back reading and wondered on what sorts of adventure he'd find in the city of Vancouver.

It didn't matter, he thought in the end. He was already on one.

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The Runaways by KASH

Week 14

© lenaah

My name is Diana and I want to die.

In my bedroom of white, beige and flowers, I am in desperate need of the perfect outfit. I waltz around my vintage floral wallpaper-covered room while deciding whether to wear my favorite floral-printed skirt to match my white top. “Just choose a simple outfit. It’s no occasion, no need to be extravagant,” I keep telling myself, but I’m still feeling a bit uneasy.

I’m seeing Roger. My ex-boyfriend.

Frustrated (and running late), I put on that skirt and wore a peach headband with a little rose on top. My friends say that I look like a garden with that outfit, but I always tell them to zip it; my uncontainable love for flowers won’t be thwarted by nasty remarks. After convincing myself that I looked alright, I stepped outside.

Roger and I met in his parents’ café just a block away from my house. When I arrived, Roger’s with his new girlfriend. Jessica.

Avoiding their eyes, I said “hello” before taking my seat. Roger and Jessica smiled at me in response.

“Thank you for accepting our invitation to be our wedding planner, Diana,” Jessica said. I flinched but re-arranged my features right away.

I would flinch there and then (like when Roger held Jessica’s hand or when they both insisted on using white lilies on the wedding), but I still managed to be professional-looking. My afternoon went to a blur while discussing their wedding.

Their wedding. I flinched again.

When I reached home after finalizing every wedding detail with the two, I locked myself in my room and sat in front of the mirror. In my hands was the portfolio of Roger and Jessica’s big day; in the mirror was a photograph of Roger and me.

It’s then that I’ve decided that this wedding will only happen if I were to be the bride, and the flowers would be roses, not lilies.

I threw the portfolio away and grabbed my journal, jotting down my plans for Operation Getting-Roger-Back.

“Roger, you’ll be mine again,” I scribbled down.

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Getting Roger Back (Prologue) by KASH

Week 13

© Art Flow(away)

Snow began to fall that typical afternoon of November and brought smiles to people – kids try to catch snowflakes, couples race to coffee shops for hot cocoa and fathers start to gather firewood for their hearth. Everyone savors the magic of those first days of snow fall except me. I stomped my way to Libra.

“Why the long face, G?” asked Ken.

“It’s snowing Ken, and you know how much I adore the season.”

“Well honey, I have the one thing that can cheer you up. My distributor just delivered new books from that detective series you’re in love with. Check them out at the back shelves.”

“Oh, I love you!”

At the back, I engrossed myself on the extensive book collection of Ken’s bookstore. Bookstores give me a sense of belonging: piles of books hug me and book pages smell like home. Tapping my fingers on the books’ spines, I found the book I wanted and pulled it out.

"Collins. Interesting choice.”

I turned around and saw a man with blue eyes hiding behind his glasses, a book by Hilary Brown in his hand.

"Brown. You dig love stories?"

"Well, who doesn't want stories of head-over-heels love?"

"I love them as much as I love chemistry."

"A woman who despises love stories. Now that would be a first."

"A straight guy who’s in love with fictitious love. Looks like you have gender issues.”

Amused, the guy offered his hand.

"Patrick."

"Grace." I said, shaking his hand.

"So tell me Grace, why the ardent hate on romance?"

"Too predictable and too unrealistic. Besides, I had enough of gallant princes saving dames. Over time I learned to love how I am nobody's leading lady." I said, still browsing the books on the shelves.

"Man-hater?"

"Not really, just a descendant of Narcissus."

“Well, Narcissus, I guess it’s about time you believe in love once more. Give Mr. Right a little encouragement. Sometimes guys are easily discouraged by snobby women.”

Patrick smiled before heading to the cash register. After paying, he went out and faced the snow fall that’s growing stronger by the minute.

“Hey Kenny, know that guy?” I asked upon reaching the cashier.

“Patrick? He’s a regular customer. You often have classes when he visits, that’s why you don’t see him much. Why, what’s with him?”

“He’s a weirdo.”

“But cute.”

“I didn’t notice. Besides, I think he's gay.”

"Honey, I am gay. I am 200% sure the guy's not on my league. If he was we'd be kissing in the snow right now."

"Gross. I still wonder why I decided to be your best friend."

"Simple: I give you the best books. Now that Collins is $14, but I'll give it to you at $10."

"I love you!"

"Stop saying you love me and go find yourself a boyfriend to cuddle this season."

"No. I think I'm in love with you Ken." I said, pouting my lips, ready to kiss Ken.

"Now that's gross. Stop it before I take back your discount. Seriously G, you are in dire need of a boyfriend. I'd give you romance novels for free just to tickle any romantic bone you have. How about Patrick? He'll do you some good. He's obsessed with romance novels as much as you love those suspense thrillers."

"I'll think about it."

I went out and cursed the weather. Rubbing my hands together, my eyes caught someone waving at me from the other side of the street.

"Hey Narcissus! Looks like you need a cup of coffee. Care to join me?"

Patrick was on the coffee shop across Libra, holding two coffee cups, smiling broadly.

Ken was right, Patrick did look good. He was blonde, blue-eyed but didn't look like one of the jocks. He looked smart with those glasses of his. With a little doubt, I crossed the street and spent the rest of the day talking about books over espresso.

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Books, Coffee and Detective Novels by KASH