I learned how to control the spirits of the dead last week. Apparently my grandmother had been a, whatever you call it. A witch? A necromancer? When she died she gave me some old books in her will that gave me supreme mastery over the spirits that reside beyond(more) the veil. My brother got all her money and a car. He always was her favorite.
I keep trying it out but there's some technicalities. It only works on things that weren't intelligent and don't have a will that can fight back, and the longer they've been dead the easier it is.
But bodies are really hard to find, and apparently all the dinosaur bones in museums are actually replicas made from molds. So, so far, all I've been doing is reanimating a lot of chalk and very confused puddles of oil.
Which is pretty entertaining, watching professors panic as the chalk flies out of their hand and starts scribbling "WHY DON'T WE RUB YOUR CORPSES ALL OVER THE WALL?!" on the chalkboard, and causing my brother's car to break down with a long streak of oil behind it that says "WE WILL BURN YOU WE WILL BURN YOU WE WILL BURN YOU" over and over again. But eventually everyone adjusts to things, and it stops being all that scary when you realize you're just dealing with chalk and oil.
I mean I'm grateful and all, I started up a sidewalk chalk art blog that's getting a lot of hits. But I guess I was just expecting a tiny bit more from the ability to reanimate the dead.(less)
Stephan exited the noisy classroom at the order of his teacher. He was in 6th grade and it was the third time that week that he was expelled from the classroom. This time it was because he had glued pieces of paper to his teacher's back, while she was(more) helping another kid next to him.
Stephan didn't really care much about school, his parents didn't care if he passed or not either. So, his life in school resumed itself to just spending the time with his friends and causing chaos, besides hitting weaker kids for money and fun. He walked through the quiet halls and left the building. He was about to sit on a nearby bench when he heard a voice.
"Help! Someone help me!" It seemed like a girl in distress.
It wasn't like Stephan to help people, but something about the yell disturbed him. "Hello? Where are you?" He shouted back, hoping the girl would hear him.
"Thank goodness!" She seemed relieved. "I don't know where I am, please follow my voice."
There was something fishy about the situation, but Stephan didn't want to leave her. He followed the voice through the short street in front of the school. Everyone was either at work or in school, so he was the only one there.
Finally he got to an abandoned house. It was in ruins, the walls missing bricks and full of graffiti and the windows broken by vandals.
"I'm here! Where are you?"
"Oh, you came! Thank you. My name is Lilly, by the way. I'm in the basement."
Hours later, searches were made to find the boy. They went to the house, but the children weren't there. There were several names written in white chalk, of children that had disappeared mysteriously for many years.(less)
White chalk to me is the essence of this planet. Forged from the minerals found deep within the crust. Chalk is crushed, mixed, dried, and reformed into the plain and unassuming shape we all know. But did you know it holds more than that?
(more) It holds wonders that are limited to what our mind can think of. We use it everyday to educate, to draw, and to transfer ideas to the world. The true form of white chalk is the Earth using itself to teach itself. (less)
He lay still, skin as white as chalk. His right index finger occasionally twitched, his eyelids occasionally opened and closed. But he was dead, no doubt. Nothing could save him now. There was no point in rushing to a hospital; I'd much rather sit with him in his last(more) moments. Silence. We gaze at the moon, full, fat, reddish moon, and with his last breath, he draws up an astonishing few last words;
"The m-m-man who did this t-took the money" his final word draws out along with his breath. It's almost as if you could hear his lungs give in and his heart quit. His voice is not the same; it screeches, like chalk across a rough board. His time is up.
This is all wrong. He should still be here. Alive. With me. I have nothing. I don't even have the money he died for. Why couldn't he have given me a name? A location? Anything other than "the man". How on Earth is that going to be of use to me? The man. Hah. I guess I'd better start looking into this.
The only people he was with on the day he died were his Brother, myself and Lucius. Lucius! I'd expect as much from him. His dealer. He needed money. He's killed before. It must be; if not who else? But he's long gone. Took off on a plane to New Mexico, probably using the money he stole off my love; my life. There's no way I can find him now. Even if I knew exactly where he was, I don't have any money to get to him.
It's Lucius. A text message, with only 3 words in it:
'He committed suicide.'
I hear the trigger of a gun at the back of my head. Bang.(less)