In Dreams of Trees : Ghosts

Wordcount: 340
Rating/Warnings: PG
Summary: Blue meets Red and everything gets very confusing.

NOTE: This is a very rough draft with no editing at all (per National Novel Wiriting Month rules) and is presented for amusement value only. Think of it as a periscope into my writing process rather than a coherent story!

There will most likely be spelling and grammatical errors afoot as well as flat out bad writing, info dumps, plot holes, contradictions/retcons, uneven characterization and pacing. These snippits are also posted out of order, so please refer to the Outline to figure out where it’s supposed to fit.

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Ghosts

“John?” Said Red with a choked sort of surprise, his hand stopped halfway to reaching out to him.

“What?” Said Blue, confused, “I’m not– who are you?”

“I don’t understand,” said Red, “How did you get here? You’re dead, I know you’re dead.” He reached out again and Horn snarled, which seemed to snap him out of it. “What’s that?”

“I am not a what!” snarled Horn. “Who the hell are you and stay away from Blue!”

“Blue?” Said Red, confused. “John what’s going on?”

“I’m not John,” said Blue, trying to calm things down, “I’m Blue. I don’t know who John is, sorry. Who are you?”

“I’m Red,” said Red dazedly, “You know that, why are you asking me? And this had to be a dream, but this is a very odd dream.” There was a chittering and he looked down at one of the squirrels and frowned. “But it is John, you can see him too.”

“It’s not a dream,” said Blue. “But I think you have me confused for someone else.”

There was a pause as the squirrels around Red chittered and he kept giving Blue confused looks. “I can see you, you’re standing right there, but you don’t know who you are? What happened to you? I thought you were dead.”

“Horn and I came through a door into the City a little while ago,” said Blue, “I don’t know who John is, but I’m not him. Are you sure I don’t just look like him a little?”

“No, I know that scar,” said Red, confused, “I know that scar and the way you carry your head with that odd inquisitive tilt and how you always ask questions in that condescending calming tone that means you really have no idea what I’m talking about and you’re worried I’m dangerous– God. What the hell is going on here?” Red let his arm drop and just stared at Blue in bewilderment.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” said Blue. “I was sort of hoping you could tell me.”

Martha Bechtel

My name is Martha Bechtel and I write fantasy and science fiction stories, paint small model horses silly colors, cast resin and plaster magnets, code random code (and Wordpress plugins)... Come on in and join in the fun!

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