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Page 1 Chapter 1

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Chapter One

Rose Weber was alone in the graveyard, she was sure of it. But what she wasn’t so sure of was for how long? Rose shouldn’t have come, she should have stayed in hiding, but when she come across the obituary that Brittany Young had died in a “car accident,” human nature had demanded closure, a chance to say good-bye. Damn human nature, it might be the death of Rose, it had been Brittany’s. Rose sighed, eternally optimistic Brittany, of the five them; Brittany had always held out hope for a normal life, that the past could be put behind them. She had hoped to have children, families, a better life. Rose had always rolled her eyes and said, “Yeah, sure, whatever.” But she had never flat out told Brittany that there would never be a normal life for them, maybe Brittany’s hope had been Rose’s hope too. Now, Brittany, and hope were dead, buried in a small town graveyard; in Kentucky. Brittany had been a California Girl to her core, she had grown up on the beach surfing, because it was the only time she had felt at peace. To bury her, here in Kentucky seemed like sacrilege. Brittany’s car had gone off a cliff in California, they had declared her intoxicated and driving too fast. Rose rolled her eyes again at the memory of the obituary, they had shipped her to Kentucky, because the obit had claimed she had family here. All lies, Rose thought vehemently, none of them had family, they had been abandoned and had been raised by the system. Brittany had run away, and moved to California, because as she claimed, “the ocean had called to her.” Brittany never drank either, none of them did, with the exception of Max, because, “liquor burned like fire but, in a good way.” Drinking meant loss of control, and loss of control meant the freak-shows that they were lost control; bad things happened when they lost control.

They all had similar back stories, Brittany, Rose, Max, Kris and Zed. Abandoned kids, growing up without a home, without family, all had found themselves living off the streets, doing whatever it took to survive, some more desperate or more resourceful then others. Rose had met Max when she was 12 and he was 16, she had tried to steal his car. Only it hadn’t been his car either, they wound up stealing the car together, and selling it splitting the money. They had a good system worked out, no one paid much attention to kids who just stood around looking bored. They would spend a good amount time watching and waiting for the right opportunity. Max was better at boosting cars then Rose had been, but Rose had great talents for distraction, she would skateboard out into traffic and “accidentally” get hit by a car, Rose would scream bloody murder, claiming her daddy was a lawyer, and would sue the person who had hit her, most of the time they would pay whatever they had in their pockets to get her to shut-up, when they didn’t, Rose ran. But everyone was so focused on the “accident” no one noticed or remembered anything about the cars that were stolen until much later. Rose and Max had been a good team, made some good money. Rose had warned Max about their final job, that something had felt off, she had refused to do it, Max had gone ahead without her and boosted a car under surveillance by federal agents. She wouldn’t see Max for a long time after that, but when she did, he would be different. Max introduced her to Brittany, Kris and Zed, saying they needed her for special jobs. But first, she had to be willing to do some special training. She should have said no, she should have walked away, like her instinct had told her to do, but she would do anything for Max. So instead of turning away, she had stayed, and now they were all dead, except for Rose.

Rose was certain her days of running and hiding would soon be at an end. She couldn’t hide forever, would she have a car accident like Brittany or drown like Zed? She had managed to stay ahead of them for now.

A whisper a movement caught the corner of her eye, Rose didn’t move, she closed her eyes and felt around, the graves were old here, but they still had life left in them. “Someones coming” the whisper said. Rose felt them. They had parked far enough away that she wouldn’t be alerted by them, they had been watching her the entire time, but once they had started moving closer, they had disturbed the dead, and alerted Rose. That was the thing about a graveyard, the ghosts were often disturbed more by the living, then the dead disturbed the living. They were trying to be quiet; to attack her from behind, Rose crouched down low, beside Brittany’s grave, whispered “Good-bye,” and felt the pull of spirits around her, drawing on their energy, she faded in with them until she became a ghost herself. She waited until the two suited men, who had lost sight of her. Came running to the spot where she had just stood. They began searching the area, one got on a walkie-talkie, “Sir, we lost sight of the girl.” Static, “are you wearing the goggles?” came the terse reply, static “No, sir.” “You Idiots, why aren’t you…” then static.

Rose stood and walked down to the men’s car, and saw the goggles inside, she needed to stay invisible, but if they had found a way to see ghosts with the goggles, then they might find her yet, she needed to hurry out of the cemetery, she could only hold onto the ghostly energy for so long, she wasn’t sure what would happen if she stayed a ghost too long, and she didn’t want to be here when she let go of the ghostly energy. The “special training” that Max had talked about had been experimental training. Max had turned Rose into a ghost, a ghost on the run.

 

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An Experiment in Writing!

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So in an effort to do what I love, (writing) my DH proposed an idea, that we would each write a page in a story and post it to the blog, I offered to go first, and have thus far, hemmed and hawed about starting it; then I’d ask if he still wanted to do it, and he stated “Yes, but you have to start it, so that I can contribute.” The deal is, we each write a page, then post it, then the next person will continue the story with another page, and son on and so forth. So here is my beginning of the story, I have no idea where this will go, and what take my husband will go with it, but I’m starting it. I’m not even sure what to title it.

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So, I’m starting a blog again!

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I love to write, I would spend hours writing horrible short stories, or long boring stories in my teens, I even won a writing contest once.  It was pretty cool I must admit. I would also journal all the emotional angst that my teens years seemed to be filled with including the drama of high school.  Things that make me laugh out loud now.  I might publish it sometime it was so bad!!!  But for me writing was my escape, I could focus my energies, and create characters that were my strengths, my weaknesses, my desires.  In writing, I could make my chaotic world make sense.  Then I grew up, and  settled down and had a child, and things didn’t feel so chaotic, things were good and writing seemed less important.  Every once in awhile I would get this itch, this creative story idea, that I was convinced would be the one I would sit down and write, and finally I would be recognized as the writer that I have always wanted to be…right after I change a diaper, feed the baby, do the dishes, fold some laundry, what its dinner time, the baby is crying…Maybe the chaos never actually left, I was just too busy to write about it.

I felt I was missing something, I had hobbies, I paint, sew, read, bake, exercise, swim…the list goes on, but there is something about sitting down either with a keyboard, or with pen and paper, and just…simply writing…pouring out the words that seemed jumble out of my head and through me make sense on paper(revision is still required, but the thought and essence is still there).  So I started writing in a journal again, stuff that is pretty private, and that helped.  My husband had a suggestion, “Have you heard of blogging?”

Me: “What?”

Him: “Blogging! It’s short for web log…”

Me:”Doesn’t sound shorter.”

I have the tendency to interrupt my husband, don’t worry he does it to me too.

Him:”People post personal journals entries on blogs, they also do reviews, notes, some people get paid for blogging even.”

Me: “Really?” SO off we went to the internet to look up blogging and possibly being paid for blogging.  Yeah, easier said then done that’s for sure.

My husband is all computer techie and stuff, so he created one for me.  I did one post, yay go me!  But then life got in the way, I had another child, decided to go back to school, help start a theater company, the excuses go on, but that passion that I used to have to write everyday became something that was pushed down on my to do list until it disappeared.

Now, my children are older, I finished my schooling, still doing theater, but I still miss writing.  So here I am again sitting  on the computer, with a brand new blog that yes, my husband did create for me again.  This is my first post.

Don’t you think it’s awesome?