For What It's With, My Thoughts

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
Thoughts are some of the hardest things to get in, in today's society. But what if they were...impossible?

Submitted: May 13, 2014

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Submitted: May 13, 2014

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The trashcan was full of Starbucks latte cups. Some were empty, some were not, and all of them had about fifteen too many shots of sugar in them. I preferred the nearly black coffee I held in my hands.

Ah yes, it was merely another white girl brigade looking to ravage the park again with their endeavors. I could see some white couples on the bridge kissing, and a pair of girls with more Starbucks coming my way.

I pulled the fedora down as far as I could without arousing suspicion and walked away. As I ran through the park, I saw another boy on the bench making funny faces into his Snapchat phone.

No one was thinking as they lazily strolled the streets on their Instagram phones, not bothering to look up. I clenched my teeth and kept the hat on.

I stopped at a street corner and listened to the passing conversations. I caught a girl with short Uggs and a tank top saying “…and I was like ‘wow I just had this thought what if we could all just like not’.”

I snorted at the incoherency of the sentence. They had a thought a rarity in this society, and generally abolished by this point.

I continued to walk until I found an old Seer shop. The sign was lopsided and covered in graffiti and the building was abandoned. I slipped in past the wooden slat and sat down on one of the cushions.

I closed my eyes to my own thoughts, when I saw a rapid movement. My eyes shot open and I glanced around. Sitting cross-legged in front of me was a stunningly beautiful girl.

Her skin had a slight dark tint and dark, smooth caramel hair softly sifted down her back. Green eyes filled with spirals of brown looked back at me and long diligent fingers took off my fedora, releasing my short mass of silky black hair.

“You’ve come here to think.” She said. Her voice was possibly the most appealing thing I’ve ever heard. It was like liquid floating over something else soft, like satin.

“Yeah.” I whispered.

“It’s hard to get a thought around here, isn’t it?” she said, absentmindedly-twirling part of her hair.

“I guess so.” I replied.

“I’m glad somebody else is able to think for themselves.” She said and got up. She walked straight into the grimy old picture at the end of the hall. I cleared the picture and saw an old women looking at me.

She was from the old generation. She was a ghost. I didn’t even know her name. However, the person in the picture was unmistakably her. I cleared the name plaque under the picture.

Madame Kennedy

Well Madame, I guess it is hard to get in a thought. For what it’s worth, those are my thoughts.


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