Ghosts - Millard Nullings

1956

"Ghost girl," A voice hissed manically through the other side of the bathroom door. "Get out of the bathroom, you've been in there for nearly 30 minutes,"

I elected to ignore this silent command to leave the bathroom and continued to stare myself down in the rustic mirror that was probably made back in the 40's.

I hated it. Me. I hated myself with a burning passion. The way that my hair fell with a silver patch just in the front. The way my eyes were undeniably blue. The way my body just sat still no matter how much time passed. I disliked my peculiarity, and how I was practically a ghost. I was a lost cause. I hated every fiber of my being and yet, I was still here.

Finally, I decided to leave the bathroom and head to the library like I had for the last 97 years. I cautiously opened the door awaiting my attacker. Like I thought one of the older peculiars in my loop was standing there. I never bothered learning his name as it didn't concern me. In my opinion, he wasn't worth my time.

I walked out of the door to find that he was in my way, making me unable to pass in the ordinary way. He raises his hand just to hit me in the face, I slightly bowed my head as a sorry for taking so long in the bathroom and quickly made my way to the library. That was how it worked in my loop, we respected the people who were above us, and were allowed to be punished in anyway that seemed fit. Mrs.Osprey made these rules and as our headmistress expected us to follow them.

The current date was Friday, July 13, 1956. As it was everyday since before I even knew what a peculiarity was.

Since I got here 97 years ago I have taken it upon myself to be the wittiest peculiar that had ever lived. In my opinion, that meant being smart in more than one way. Knowing when to talk, knowing nearly everything about every subject, and knowing more than one language. I often spent my days in the library, reading books that I've already read over making sure I never missed any extra details that didn't even matter to the average person. For some reason I kept coming back to the same book by the same author. Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare, written and published in 1597. For some odd reason I loved this book, ironically it was about a life that I knew I couldn't have.

As I enter the library for the millionth time, I take in a deep breath. The air in this temple of lives and deaths, and love, was so pure it was absolutely remarkable. I was one of the only people who entered this magnificent room. I didn't mind it though.

The life in this loop has been treacherous, for me at least. I was the freak of the freaks, basically dead. I was the one that they would hunt down to make themselves feel better. They would tear me down, and throw me around. And I just went through it, without a complaint, not a word, not a sound. For I was dead. And dead people can't feel pain. They don't know how to hurt. Because they're dead.

Tracing my cold, paled hand across the familiar bookshelves, looking for the book that I was desperate to read, my mind began to wonder.

What were the other loops like, and why had I heard so little about them? I knew practically nothing about these loops and where they were, it was pitiful in my mind. How was I supposed to be a prodigy if I didn't know something as simple as that.

As I felt my hand rest against a welcoming worn out leather that was Romeo and Juliet;  slowly pulling the book out of the spot that it was recently fit tightly between Great Gatsby and Pride and Prejudice, two other favorites of mine.

With the aged book in hand I headed to the window seat that was fit snugly between two large mahogany bookshelves that nearly reached the high ceiling. It was beautiful, the library; like something out of a book itself. I take a seat on the slightly tough cushion and glance at the window. Snow started to fall as usual and the younger children began to run around in it while in their thick snow trousers and large coats of varying colours.