This is the beginning of a story I am writing. If you like it, give me feedback either on here or at firstname.lastname@example.org
If I get enough positive feedback, i will continue the story.
I shiver as I stumble through the darkness of the forest. I glance behind me, making sure that no one is following me. I reach the clearing as the sunset ends its descent. The pink and purple light reflected off of the wispy clouds, the cool spring breeze blowing through my hair.
I make my way to the infirmary tent, holding my throbbing arm. I had wrapped it in towels, and I hadn't checked out the damage since the battle. As I enter the tent I see the nurse with her back toward me, working on another patient. I sit down and I close my eyes. Thoughts, awful thoughts and memories twist through my head. I shake my head in an attempt to adjourn what has now become a regular occurrence.
"Yes, hun?", says a voice.
I open my eyes and look over towards the nurse. She is a fair-skinned older lady, with dimples on her wrinkled face. Her eyes are a light blue, with her green-rimmed glasses resting just above the tip of her nose like a librarian. That is, when there were libraries.
"What is your name?"
"Trogon Dinarti," I replied.
I rise, walking over to her. She sees my arm, and begins unwrapping the towels. I look, seeing blood, and that is never a good sign.
"Compound break," she says, looking concerned. "A very serious one, that is."
I walk to my cot in the infirmary tent where I have been notified that I will reside for the next week or so, while they preform surgery on me and get the wound set and dressed. This is devastating news, you see, because a week in the infirmary means a week that I'm not fighting the battle I live for.
It has been 2 days since the incident that nearly took my arm. the healers have informed me that I will have my surgery tomorrow. I don't care when it is, I just want it done so I can get out of here.
It's the day of my surgery. Ever since I woke up, healers and nurses have been giving me herbs and medicines to prepare my body for the trauma it will endure during the course of the operation.
"Are you ready?" says a young healer, maybe in his mid 20s.
"Yes, lets do it," I reply.
I am on the table for the operation, there are healers all around. Some familiar, and some I had never seen before. I am laying here quietly, listening to the healers murmur to each other, occasionally glancing over at me.
"Here, drink this," smiles a pretty looking girl, who hands me a cup of what appears to be some sort of tea.
"Oh, thank you," I say, taking a sip of the sweet tea. Suddenly, as if someone were using a dimmer in my head, my vision fuzzed out until it was completely black.
I wake up from my deep unconscious rest after what seems like an eternity. I look around for a healer, a nurse, someone who might look familiar. Seeing none, I slip out of the tent that I had been relocated in. The chill of the early morning swept across my face. I walk to the fire pit where a few coals are still smoldering, and sit on one of the rocks surrounding the pit. The camp is deserted, with everyone sound asleep in their cots.
I start to hear the first signs of life at around 6:30 in the morning. People start exiting their tents, starting their morning routine. Nobody pays me any attention, even when I call out to them. One of the healers I recognize trudges out of his tent compound, looking depressed.
As the morning goes on, nobody seems to notice I'm there. They don't even talk to each other. They all seem to be in mourning.
I see a large amount of people filing into where the cathedral is in the woods. I follow, wondering what their draw to the place was. I sat down in an empty spot in the pews, waiting for whatever important service it was to happen.
Finally when it seems that most of the town is there, 4 men carrying a casket walk slowly down the isle, laying it down at the altar. As if on cue, the people rise and form a line to the altar, paying their respects to the deceased. I get in line, and wait.
As I wait in the line I wonder, who could have been this well-known, this well respected?
I am the next person to pay their respects. I walk up to the altar, take a deep breath, and look. The inscription reads:
Cause of death: -----
Aged 15 years
I stand stunned in front of the altar. A chill ripples through my body as I remember. The injury. The operation. Wait- the operation! The last thing I remembered was the pretty girl giving me the tea to drink. Did she kill me? Did something go wrong during the operation?
A sudden noise from behind me makes me jump to my feet. The mourners have all risen to their feet, starting to chant something.
As your spirit departs from this earth, we send you out with our prayers of renewal, as a fallen soldier, we are forever in your debt...
Oh, so thats why there are so many of them here. I was a soldier. I was fighting for them, for their rights.
But no, wait- I cant be dead! Its impossible. Ghosts? No. Preposterous. I must be dreaming.
To test my theory, I walk over to a couple sitting in the front row, where I used to sit.
(Still do, cuz Im not dead..)
I stand right in front of them, and yell at the top of my lungs, HEELLOOOO!!!!!! IM RIGHT HEEERE!!!!!!
DONT YOU SEE ME? I AM STANDING RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU!!
A heavy pang hits my heart and I get a tugging feeling at the back of my throat. Maybe I am dead, maybe I am a ghost.
There is nothing else to do, so I run. I run as fast as I can out of the church, past the village center, past the infirmary tents, and into the woods. I stop about 25 yards into the woods, and fall to my knees, crying.
What can I do? I cant go back to the battlefield, I cant even get someones attention. What happened? Why did this happen to me?
Just then, I hear a snap of a twig about 10 yards away from me. A boy around 14 years old wanders out from behind a tree.
I get up, instinctively sniffing and trying to hide the fact that I was crying.
The boy looks up, and gasps, Who are you?
Confused, I turn around, to see who he could be talking to.
No, Im talking to you, the boy says.
Wha? I manage to get out.
I asked you what your name was.
M-my name is Trogon... You can see me?
Well of course I can see you, youre standing right in front of me. Oh, and by the way, my name is Andy. Andy Foden.
Andy Foden is an average sized boy around 14 years old. He has shaggy brown hair, and green eyes. He wears a dirty brown tee shirt, and some sweatpants. On his dirty feet he wears a worn looking pair of navy blue flip flops. He looks like he probably doesnt come from a family with money, but the smile on his face couldnt be any bigger. He is one of those people with that outgoing, charismatic personality.
As we sit and talk about recent happenings, Andy and I get to know each other. I tell him about what I believe has happened. About the battle, the surgery, and the funeral.
Oh, yeah, I heard there was a funeral happening today he says.
Did anyone say anything about how I died? I say awkwardly, still not wanting to accept the fact.
No, I dont think so, he frowns.
I close my eyes, disappointed. It isnt until then that I realize how tired I am. Andy must feel the same way because he inhales and starts to speak.
Its getting late, he yawns. You can crash at my house if youd like.
Yeah, okay cool, I reply, happy I didnt have to ask.
His house is about a 6 minute walk from the center of town. It is a run down little house on a small hill. The shutters in the windows are closed, with several shingles missing on the roof. A makeshift yet well kept garden runs along the front of the house on either side of the stone walkway leading to his front door.
We walk in the house, and the smell of freshly baked bread fills my nostrils. The inside is just like the outside with a homey and warm appearance to it.
Andy, is that you? a voice calls from the other room.
Yes, Ma! Andy smiles. I brought a friend Id like you to meet. His names Trogon.
What? You know we dont have enough food to feed another mouth, besides- she steps into the room, Wait, where is he?
See, I told you that nobody could see me. I say to Andy.
Wait, she doesnt have good eyesight, thats probably why, he whispers back.
She puts her hands on her hips, Andy, havent I told you that youre too old for an imaginary friend?
Ma, I dont have an imaginary friend, Andy blushes, trying to hide his embarrassment.
Oh, so youre talking to yourself again? Thats even worse! People will start thinking youre crazy, if you keep that up. She retorts.
Is he talking to himself again? I hear a voice say from upstairs.
Yes he is, you should come down and straighten him out for me, Ive got to make supper. says Mrs. Foden.
Oh, alright, says the voice, followed by heavy footsteps coming down the stairs.
Thats my Pop, says Andy.
Mr. and Mrs. Foden are nothing alike, from their appearances. Mrs. Foden looks like a nice, sweet older lady, while Mr. Foden looks more like he could be a blacksmith. He is about 6 and a half feet tall, with dark hair and thick eyebrows. His hands are rough and callused, and he has muscular arms like you wouldnt believe.
Whats wrong with you, boy? Why cant you be respectable like your siblings? he accuses.
I-Im sorry Pop, I try my best, Andys voice quivers.
Well try harder. What you should be doing is fighting in the battle. his father says roughly, Not paying around with imaginary friends and talking to yourself.
As Andys lower lip starting to tremble, he bites it to keep from crying.
Fine, I will. I will sign up first thing tomorrow morning. he tries to sound brave.
Good, thats what I like to hear. Go make your father proud. smiles his father.
Andys face fills with relief and happiness from his fathers praise and approval.
Oh, I bet you are probably wondering what the war is and what its over. I will try my best to explain.
About 18 years ago, there came a new discovery that would change the world forever. Or so they thought. This discovery was the Trinity Gem, which was the gem that was required for time travel. Scientists were all demanding to own the new gem, wanting to be the first human to travel through time. It was then realized that the amount of gems in the underground caves was not numerous enough to feed the ever growing demand.
Then, about 3 years later, a new problem surfaced. Half of the scientists wanted to use it for personal needs, and half wanted to use it to further the better standing of the nation. This ended up splitting the country into two sides, the Vachies and the Trogos. The Vachies wanted it for personal needs, and the Trogos wanted it to better the nation and the world. My parents were both Trogos, and they decided to name me after that.
These two sides started brawls all over the country, raiding old military stations for weapons since there was no stable form of government anymore. These Vachie groups soon gathered in large groups and took over the Trinity mines. This of course did not fly well with the Trogos, causing them to start attacking the Vachies. This soon turned into an all out civil war.
On the day that I turned 7 years old, my parents went off to fight in the war, leaving me alone to care for myself. (7 is the age where you are supposed to be able to take care of yourself). A week before my 8th birthday, I received news of my mothers death. She had been captured by the enemy, and never seen again until her body was found a month later in a ditch, beaten and cut all over. I weeped every night until about 5 months later when I was told my father had also died. He had been on a special mission to overtake a Trinity mine with his squad, and had run into a field filled with land mines.
It was then that I sucked up my tears, and when I was just 8 1/2 years old, I decided to join the army. I wanted to avenge my parents deaths, and make those Vachies feel all of the same pain and suffering they had caused me. I have been fighting ever since. that is, until a day or two ago, when my arm was nearly taken off by a charging Vachie with a bayonet. And then somehow I died mysteriously during my surgery, and here I am today, a ghost. And only one person sees me and knows that Im there. The one person that may be able to help me, and his name is Andy Foden.