Have you found yourself stuck in the middle of a particularly bad writer's block? Need a dose of inspiration? Or are you simply looking for some creativity to kick-start your newest novel? Then look no further!
Paranormal Prompts aims to bring you w...
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Hello everyone! This week, we're featuring a word prompt. Keep in mind that the words of the prompt need not be included in your entry if you don't want it to. You can interpret the prompt as literally or as figuratively as you like. For more rules, please check the guidelines below!
WORD PROMPT:
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WINNERS:
Please note that winners are not listed in any specific order. You can read the rest of the wonderful entries in the comments section below!
Always there waiting at Crane Street Stop 6 with a friend, they would always stand by the driver's seat near the door but would always let others leave first before getting off themselves. It was the same every day.
I thought she was the most beautiful girl I've ever seen, and it seemed that most men thought the same too, all crowding near the front of the bus and blocking my view of her.
After weeks, I finally picked up the courage to squeeze through that barrier of sweaty men and tap her on the shoulder to say "Hi. I'm Gabe."
Her reaction wasn't what I had in mind, she was outright startled by me. "How can you see me?" she hissed.
I was lost for words, then I heard someone behind me screeched in a raspy voice, "THE BOY! HE SEES THEM!"
Those men I had squeezed through earlier now stood stiff as a statue, their heads snapped in unison, staring our way, their faces all cracking like porcelain. "SHE'S HERE!" "GET HER!" "THE BOY SEES!" "GET HIM!"
"Stay behind me, Your Highness," the girl said to her friend. "You too," she said to me, "I'll kill you later!"
She pulled out two blades inscribed with glowing runes and slashed at the hoard of monsters. "What's going on boy?!" the bus driver yelled at me.
"Don't worry. She's just kidding about killing you," her friend said to me in the calmest tone possible. The girl was now cutting down the monsters faster than I could count. But then the front window burst open behind us, more of them climbed down from the top deck.
"I'm not supp...," I snorted. "What are you, a ghost?" Snappy little comebacks are my forte.
The boy stared at an old yellowed newspaper folded neatly in his lap. His familiar blue eyes never wavered as he reiterated. "You're not supposed to see me."
"Well... Well..." I rested my hands on my hips. "You're not supposed to see me, neither," I huffed. That'll teach him.
I felt the pull of the brakes as the bus neared a stop. I studied him, waiting for a reaction, any reaction.
I'd convinced myself: today was the day. Day after day, seeing him, a nagging whisper of recognition grew more compelling. Talk to him. What's the worst that could happen?
His unyielding gaze drew my attention to the paper in his lap.
I thought perhaps my eyes deceived me. Some sort of joke. I recognized the scene in the grainy photo on the page. The street sign, the storefronts, even the yellow bicycle locked to the rack outside the Dollar store. Glancing slowly over my shoulder out the bus windows, the image from the photo blossomed into 3d.
"How..."
The boy shook his head. The bus slowed; brakes squealing. As we thumped over a pothole, he rose from his seat.
"Where you going," I asked.
He never got off before I did. I'm embarrassed to admit, once, I'd remained on the bus just to see where he got off. He never did.
He handed me the paper. "Take my seat." He gestured, his tone insistent.
"But this is my stop."
"Not today."
I watched him leave, taking the two steps down as if he were late. Gunshots rang out. Instinctively, I ducked, but felt the punch and burn of bullets though none struck me. Outside, next to my yellow bike, I saw him collapse.
The sense of déjà vu overwhelmed me. I glanced over my shoulder. Three seats back and to my right, I saw him. Or rather me.
