Saturday, 06 June 2009

• Reincarnating The Opportunity

  Songfic style inspired by a song “Ghost” by Parachute.
  
  Type: Short Story
  Final title: Reincarnating The Opportunity
  Author: Nannie Starrison aka Starrynite45
  Genre: Romance, Fluff, Supernatural, Humor, General, Spiritual
  Word Count: 6,139 words, 5,907 words without lyrics
  Summary: He has been waiting over century for her to come back home. She finally comes. All he needs is the opportunity but unfortunately, he is not human anymore. Will he be able to get a chance to fulfill his promise or will he just be her ghost forever?
  
  

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  Disclaimer: Please read at the bottom of this entry. Thanks.
  P.S. I've timestamped for some new additions and edits.
  
  

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  Home, oh home. Sweet home! I’ve missed you so much!
  I’ve been waiting for her for like what? Forever, if I recall.
  Now, she came home, finally. My waiting has ended.
  There, she is standing there, a girl of my long lost love, in front of my door.
  So long, way too long since I was be able to set my feet there. As if I had them. I mean technically I can’t set my light feet anywhere.
  Thus my duty has been keeping me busy forever. I didn’t return here for so long and I am certain no one lives here for at least 2 decades since then.
  
  Oh, she’s unlocking the door now, have to catch up.
  I squeeze my transparency self through the ajar door. She doesn’t even know she leaves it open as that damn door is a bit too complicate to close properly by itself.
  Just my luck, as I am not quite sure if I could walk through the thick wall now. I am just tad too tired from traveling.
  I glide and stop just an inch far from her. But ala, she never knew I am exist.
  
  Suddenly, I feel her shivering and look around her, panicky and cautiously.
  
  “Look behind you
  Avoid the shadows
  Watch your back now
  Make your breathing shallow...”
  
  Well, it doesn’t seem like she never knew anymore. She feels me!
  Just my luck.
  
  

  
  

  
  She stares blankly at my face, though I’m sure she doesn’t realize my lips are just a mere centimeter from hers. Oh my, her lips are so inviting! Just as I am about to claim them--
  
  
  She sucks at her breath then turns away, much to my displeasure.
  I hear her mutters something like “You’re just overreacted, calm down! There’s no such thing!” under her breath as I glide, yes, glide over her again.
  
  I chuckle and think “If only you know.”
  To be honest, I never meant to scare her away but she has to deal with me after all, now or later. She still has to get used to me since I have no intention to stay anywhere but here, with her.
  
  Her tan skin looks a bit paler than it should be and there’s a good amount of goose bump all over her exposed area when I lightly touch her on a forearm. She shivers again.
  
  I frown. Is my hand that cold? But it sure does mean something: she feels my present, obviously.
  
  Just my luck.
  I think as my grin couldn’t be any bigger.
  
  “Keep your room locked
  And leave the blinds closed
  I’m right there staring at your window....”
  
  She starts to head to our supposed living room. Yes, our room, our chairs, our fireplace, our everything, everything.
  Just as I reach a room. I practically gasp in shock, as much as my barely there mouth can hang open.
  What happened to OUR living room!? Can anyone explain?
  I gasp like a fish for a good 3 minutes. Then I collect my jaw up from the floor and snap it shut.
  Who to explain to me? Bloody hell, no one can see me, let alone talk to me, unfortunately.
  
  Much to my dismay at the sight of my deadly living room which everything covered in white sheet and the family of mouse scurrying across the said room in tow which the latter one is why I was so shock. I just thank God they never move anything out of place as my wish before I deceased.
  
  I turn my gaze to a woman who was once my wife, back in 120 years ago.
  Instead, I don’t see any negative expression from her. Not in a bit. She just sighs happily and looks almost excited at these things she could call it antique, or so I think.
  
  My lips tuck into a faint smile. Despite how long the time goes by, despite the fact she’s no longer in her same body, she never changed.
  
  How could she manage that, I would never knew. I’m just merely a ghost, waiting for sanctuary, not the God who to know everything.
  I pull myself back from my own thought and focus on her once again.
  
  “...And all I need is you, all I need is you.”
  
  Dear Lord, I never want to see her go. At least not right now.
  I’m praying if I could have a second chance.
  
  “I’m in the background on the radio
  I’m in your car, in your house, waiting at your door
  Under your footsteps, I’m everything you know
  Just let me haunt, Let me haunt, Let me be your ghost...”
  
  After I follow her around like her own shadow, watch her picking up and admiring some good old things whilst I stare helplessly at her beautiful face for like eternity. I notice she is now heading upstairs. Her face still holds the same exciting expression yet I swear I just see her nervously glancing over her shoulder. She stops right at track and turns around facing my direction.
  
  This time, it’s me who suck in the breath and hold on. Her eyes widen like she realizes something.
  
  Did she just see me?
  
  Next action should be my answer.
  
  She seems to scowl to herself and looks right through my ghostly shape to the front door we walked in an hour ago. It is now half open and the summer wind blows into the hallway making her wavy long blondish brown long lock floating behind like a tidal wave, her white summer cotton dress flows softly and hugs her figure like a second skin as she walked to close the door.
  
  I later find myself dumb stuck at her goddess-alike sight, my mouth starts to water and that’s why I am snapped back to the reality: to wipe off my drooling.
  
  I hear a “click” sound of a door lock before follow her to the second floor once again.
  I glide (again) and keep my pace fall in her footsteps. Her white Mary-Jane shoes click on the Burgundy wooden stairs like an intro of some melody.
  Click, left.
  Click, right.
  Click, left.
  Click, right.
  Whilst I hum our favorite song to match her clicking heels, Lord forbid me, her feet in those shoes are too damn appealing!
  She even looks beautiful more than I can remember.
  
  “...Let me haunt, Let me haunt, Let me be your ghost.”
  
  We reach the top of stair as her delicate hand flicks the old switch and turns the chandelier in the ceiling above on. The light is brighter than I first thought that I have to blink several times to adjust my eyes which is weird to me since I never have to do that.
  Looks like there was someone changed the whole bulb there to the new ones not long ago. I also notice there’s not much dusk as I expected. She must have sent someone to clean up our home already. But apparently, they didn’t do the good job exile those rats out of our living room or kitchen or well, even our garden, GARDEN!
  
  Rat is everywhere we can go. In my case, glide.
  Just my luck.
  
  My wife, whom I still don’t know her current name, grabs on the nearest doorknob she found and takes a peek in there. It used to be my study. I snuck my head to sneak a peek too.
  I glance over here and there then feel a bit more relief. It seems like it is still my study. At least they didn’t move anything out of its place. I would hate it if they do.
  All in the swift move, she almost jumps into the room, leaving me stumble forward to the expensive carpet I got from Middle Asia.
  
  As I get to my airily feet I hear her exclaims.
  
  “Wow! This is fantastic!”
  
  I look around and find her gushing over the row of my bookcases which looks just as in the same sorting before I died. I chuckle at her never die habit and passion over book thing and prance nearer to get closer look.
  
  I begin to think that maybe Buddha was right about people’s souls and rebirth. I am no Buddhist anyhow when I was alive, I used to read about it from books by people who discovered different cultures while abroad in Far East Asia and contemplating if it was true. I always thought I would immediately go to God but not long after I died, I find myself in compromise position I engaged my soul to. I also realize that even I died, I have found and learned many things which once I was still living, I couldn’t quite sure or know the truth then I found myself opened to lots of mystery things people still unsure and I am now being a watcher from far aside, amusing by their contemplating, concern and disbelief look written over their faces instead.
  
  Today, when I sensed my love has come home and saw another woman instead, I clearly believe that we all have to be reborn once we die from past life to survive another new life again since I sense her same soul miles away, however in different physical attire. It is a guarantee what Buddha told us people isn’t just a myth anymore. Well, at least not for me.
  
  Suddenly, I feel my depression arise. I should have known better to prevent her from the death, the too much early death. I should have never let her go that day. If so, I would have spent so much more time with her both in her past and present time. And damn it all, I wish I was in human form to at least hold her in my arms and fulfill my long lost time.
  
  If only I had a second chance, I wou-
  
  “Oh! Is it..really?!”
  
  I whip my head to the direction of her voice. Totally snapped out of my reverie. Wondering “What the hell is that?” as she sounds surprised and again, excited with curiosity written all over her face on object she is holding. I scoot behind her and look over her shoulder to see what it is.
  
  A dim light from chandelier outside doesn’t help much. Not to mention she doesn’t even bother to open some windows. I have trouble focus on the writing each page she flips by.
  
  My dear, you read too fast! I can’t keep up!
  
  Anyway, I get a glimpse of something familiar. It is written, not printed, on the old age paper. Obviously it is someone’s writing and not a book. And who the heck can it be if it’s not me? The notebook is in my study, it should belong to me, isn’t it? Why I can’t even remember my own belonging?
  
  Oh, I forgot. It’s been too long since I last spent time in this room. Who in the right mind can remember the whole thing, yeah?
  
  As I debate with myself, she turns around, opens the nearest window and sinks into the comfy coach which strangely I still remember she loves, no, I mean, loved to tuck in whenever she came here to just be close to me while I was working. I follow suite and sit down as well as scoot near her to read what she’s reading too.
  
  Our shoulders touch slightly and I practically feel her warmness against my cool skin,  my imaginary skin, and for the first time in 120 years, I feel like I finally come home. After the long, endless road journey I’ve been wheeling on. She finally bring me back where I belong.
  
  “Interesting,” I listen to her whisper, she isn’t someone who’s extrovert in our time but maybe in her present life, she is a person who’s talking to herself. Whatever, I listen to her nonetheless.
  
  She flips some pages over and pauses a moment when she finds something that catches her eyes. I observe her for a while until I decide to find out what type of journal she’s been reading. I spare my glance to its cover which doesn’t help me define much as there are tons of the same moleskin journal I owned. Different in just colors.
  
  “19th February 1889,” My interest is back to her smooth voice again. What did I write on this brown journal? I curiously glance down on her lap and this time with much brighter light, I manage to make some written words out. I also find that the journal is well-kept but there are some smear spots of ink that might cause by teardrops.
  In a short moment, I have a flashback of why this journal is tear-stained.
  
  It is a journal I kept right after her unexpected death.
  
  “To my beloved Clara,” She whispered again. I straight myself up and listen to any more of her reading but none comes out. She happens to be reading intensively on that page. I follow her eyes to the phase she’s reading. It reads;
  
  “...miss you greatly, my heart aches with unfulfilled love and fresh wound of guilty and regret. I have failed you and Albert. I made him motherless in such tender age that he would never known how wonderful mother you could have been to him. As of my punishment to my greatest mistake which cause the death of yours, Clara. I shall live this place until the last breath I take to survive. I shall be here although I am just being a ghost to comply your wishes, Albert’s and our future line. I am ought to be in your command, Clara. Pray to Lord, I am begging for my second chance. To right the wrong thus you would never have tragically passed away from us...I shall wait right where I belong to you, Clara. I do promise you. I do believe you would come back to me in a matter of time.”
  
  “Yours, Andrew.” I hear her small sob along with her voice spelling the last line, my first name.
  
  Oh, how much I’ve missed her calling my name.
  
  “He must love her very much.” She says in the low voice.
  
  Oh, and how desperately I want to tell her “Yes, I do love you very much, much more than you would ever know.” but I can’t seem to find my voice and I know she would never hear it anyway.
  
  Her tears are threatening to roll down and I realize my words have that much impact to her. I honestly never like to be reason for her crying. I now just make her cry, even in her present life. I never meant for her to truly read this, after all she was dead at that time. By the way, it is too much despair to bear even for myself.
  
  But who knows, it might be a good thing she knows my intention to stay with her whether I live or die. Even though she would never really know this torn, old journey of my broken heart was written for her.
  
  
  Oh, My Clara.
  
  “You had your chance love
  You tried to stay strong
  You tried to let go
  Tell yourself you moved on...”
  
  I reach my hand to wipe away her silent tears which already fallen down. Not expecting any succession from doing so. But when my knuckle touches her flawless face, I freeze.
  
  I can feel her warm tears, rolling down along my hand, my wrist to my elbow then it drops on my trousers.
  She shivers a bit.
  
  I can feel the dampness over the fabric I never knew it is there before.
  She hiccups, breathes in and out very slowly, trying to gain control over herself.
  
  I brush her fallen hair lightly and tuck it securely behind her left ear. I can feel her silky locks slide through between my fingers.
  She sighs and closes her eyes.
  
  I carefully rub my thumb over her cheek, lightly, slowly, in the circle to dry her tears away.
  She seems to calm down now. She hugs my journal, opens her eyes then stares blankly at the somewhat torn cover of moleskin.
  
  I wonder what she is thinking.
  
  Just as I lean in to peck on her full rosy lips, as I wish to comfort her, in my ghostly way. She slowly looks up and I now can feel her hazel eyes bore into mine. I purposely lock my eyes with hers. Not that she could see me anyway.
  
  “...But then it comes back
  That feeling in your bones
  Like I’m right there...”
  
  I hear her sucks in her breath and holds my gaze. Her brown pupils starts to widen and she gasps loudly. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought she just saw a ghost.
  Next thing I know, I land on the rug-cover floor with a soft “thud” and find her back off behind the couch. How she managed to get there, I don’t know but right now she’s screaming at me, frighteningly.
  
  “Who are YOU?!”
  
  Oh. My. God.
  Just my luck.
  
  
  “...And all I need is you, and all I need is you.”
  
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  “Charlie! Wake up!”
  
  Charlie wakes up startlingly with the voice of his aunt screaming and pounding at his bedroom door. He jolts his head backward and accidentally bangs it against the headboard. He winces before shouts to his aunt.
  
  “Yes, Ma’am. I already woke up!”
  
  He swears he can hear her huff through the door before stomps off. He groggily push himself up in sitting position before proceeding to bathroom. He just intended to take an afternoon nap before leaving for holiday that night but he slept in for more than 3 hours!
  
  Fortunately, he already packed things up, or else his auntie Anne would have torn him down piece by piece. She hates it when children, especially the grown-up one like him, being late for any appointment.
  
  While he is brushing his teeth, he stares confusingly and thoughtfully in the mirror as he recalls the dream he has been dreaming for the whole afternoon.
  
  “Whoa, that is the weirdest and most vivid dream I ever have!” He thinks.
  
  He still wonders why he was in the role of his great-great-grandfather’s ghost in that dream, not himself.
  
  And who is that girl in his dream that Andrew claimed she was his great-great-grandmother from past life? What was she doing there in his ancestors’s house? How did she manage to get access there?
  
  Moreover, is she even real or it was just his mind playing trick?
  
  Finally, after taking shower and getting dress, he comes into the only conclusion: he’s going insane or else he would never have dreamed of a girl he never knew before along with his ancestor house where he is about to pay a visit for summer holiday.
  
  Maybe he is just a bit anxious to meet the rest of his family and his consciousness made up something to occupy his mind with while asleep.
  
  Giving up at last, he throws his bag over his shoulder then drags his wheeled-luggage out of his bedroom.
  
  It was just a dream after all.
  -------------------------------
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Hours of flying across the Pacific Ocean, practically half the world from Sydney, Australia to Heathrow Airport in London, comes to the end when the plane lands onto the runway. Charlie, his little sister Avery, his cousins Julian & George who are his aunt Anne’s children tag along together with aunt Anne leading the way professionally to their awaiting van. They are greeted with Will, their English relative who is a lawyer and still resides within UK.
  
  When they finish loading their belongings, Will announces they should get going and they all drive and enjoy a road journey to their destiny in Chesterfield, Derbyshire.
  ----------------------------------
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’m in the background on the radio
  I’m in your car, in your house, waiting at your door...”
  
  I am standing outside her room. I don’t know what happened nor how I ended up here after my encounter with her previous time. I felt like I was just vanished into thin air when I heard her terrified scream at me. When I gained my consciousness again, I found myself standing here in front of the oak door with the “Do Not Disturb” sign. I know she is in there but even when I am just a mere ghost, I still respect her wish to not just waltz in her sanctuary.
  
  Firstly, I don’t even know where I am. This place is so unfamiliar. So I take a stroll to glide around here and there. Then I look over the neighbor, I find my home next to where I am standing. I look back to where my Clara is resting again and find it is odd. I can’t recall there is a house next to mine before. And obviously, the architecture is different from my own one. It seems almost strange for my liking but not in the bad way. I rather like it with somewhat simple structure and design in plain goose’s eggs white. Lots of see-through windows I always smack myself into and weird-looking objects around.
  
  I observe my home over the natural fence of ivy. There are two people, one is a man and other is a woman, talking quietly to each other then part way. When I get closer look at them, I recognize a man. He appears to be one of my great-grandson. He looks older than the last time I recall seeing him when he was in his twenties. Now he looks around in his fifty-something. I wonder what he is doing here with some lads and maids moving and cleaning things around the house.
  
  Then I come to conclusion that there must be someone moving in soon. He looks carefree though while bossing them to do this and that. His attire seems to be some fine material and he has that strange accessory he always bring it over his ear and talks to it. I begin to worry if he started some symptoms of insanity. It is not healthy to just talk to himself or inanimate object.
  
  But well, I think I just see a woman he previously talked to talk into that object and even laugh to it, too.
  
  I hope it’s not what I think.
  Or I’m the one who’s going to insane.
  Just my luck.
  
  My thought comes back to my home. I decide to go inside and take a look of what they have been doing in there. I glide and when I think of living room, I too appear into the said room without having to glide like previous time. What I witness makes me awe in pleasant. The dull, white sheets are removed, reveals the marvelous furniture underneath. The glass windows and everywhere with glass have been polished and looks almost as clear as crystal. The couch and armchairs look comfortable again and the carpet looks very clean, even if in my time it is never been this clean before. I think it’s because of that noisy, hilarious-looking with a rubber trunk and duck alike mouth that keeps steaming water over my carpet. It is amazing invention indeed.
  
  I ghostly appear here and there almost every room in my home. I feel more freshening than ever with the sight of renewal home. Most of thing doesn’t change but all bedding and mattress and some electricity cords around which looks a whole lot different from 1930, a year I died. After I feel very please with the new change. I move on and appear at the same oak door of my Clara’s again.
  
  This time I am unable to resist the urge to go inside. I breath in and out before reappear inside her room. I look around and have to admit I am not quite delight with how small of her supposed bedroom. Her old room in our home is like 3 times larger than this. However, she still manages to organize and use the most of it very cleverly though it seems like she’s not entirely done with decorating and putting her belonging away as I see some unopened boxes and trunks.
  
  One of the wall is covered with new invention that can hold a great deal of books and small things by attached a wood itself with a wall in many rows and there’s a comfy cushion armchair next to the floating bookcase. Well, I think she would be happy to fill this row and enjoy them in that armchair before this week ends for sure.
  
  Typical you, Clara.
  
  I smile at the thought then look over to where her lavender sheet-covered bed is placed on.
  
  Her bed is tucked just beside the window that can look over to the nearby bay when she sits up against the headboard. The bed is still not made and there are some books and stationary I have never seen before. Very fancy style, I must say. Next to the bed is small desk, too small for my liking that I frown. She deserves more than this. I walk over and observe on the desk.
  
  There’s very foreign-looking object in which I believe it should be gramophone because I can hear a sound of music out of it. Very strange gramophone it is as it has the glass screen just like a thing called television I saw in Albert's house and a pad that looks so much like typewriter. Maybe this can be typed on? I hesitatingly touch on one of alphabet buttons, unsure if I can touch it as I can touch her in some moment.
  
  I touch on the button and find out that I can actually touch it, so I push it further. Unbeknown to me, the splash of bight light flashing on the screen. I am taken aback and jump off it immediately. Shocked.
  
  When I recover again, I take a closer look on screen. It is very vivid color I never seen on television before. It is almost surreal. There is a painting on it, not the animated picture like I’ve seen. Just a still painting that looks surreal to be in screen. It is a painting of unknown beautiful sea and beach at sunset. How can people in this era do that is beyond my limited knowledge but I can see this is for the better. Something that is offspring of electricity and revolution of industry, certainly.
  
  As I am leaning, drinking on the seaside painting on screen. I hear a faint sound of a door closing quietly. I spun myself around and is met with a very explicit sight of my present Clara.
  
  Her golden brown long hair and entire body is wet from bathing. Furthermore, she is only clad in violet fluffy towel with the yellow duck trimming over the edge. Her long legs are very delicious sight just as she used to be in her past life, just a bit tanner than her usual self long ago. The droplet of water dripping along the smooth skin and I have to swallow. It’s been too long since I had witness any female body this close and clear.
  
  She is now drying her hair with another violet towel matches with the one on her body. I think she likes purple shade the most as seen on her bed cover. Her long lashes close and she sings along the music in the air. I am so in awe with how her beauty never cease to stop me from breathing. I always get lost in her charm and everything.
  
  How long I am standing there, I cannot be sure. But all in sudden I hear the squeak which unmistakeably to be her voice. I stare at her, gobsmacked.
  
  
  I blink twice before focus on her again.
  
  My ears are ringing with her scream.
  
  
  Then the realization hits me, hard.
  
  She sees me, again!
  
  Should I be offended she screams at me or it was just my luck that she sees me?
  
  I am not certain at the fact at all.
  
  “...Under your footsteps, I’m everything you know
  Just let me haunt, Let me haunt, Let me be your ghost
  Let me be your ghost, Just let me be your ghost”
  
  “Don’t you hear me? GET.THE.FUCK.OUT!”
  
  That’s all I hear before I feel a strong tuck and everything goes black.
  
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  Charlie groans as he slowly opens his eyes and adjusts to the sunlight that beaming to his sight. He gains his consciousness and becomes aware of the surrounding. His two cousins are still snoring and his sister is playing with her custom Teddy bear from Will.
  
  He shifts to more comfortable position and watches as the hill after hill, tree after tree fading away from his sight by speed of a car. It is going to be sunny day and he couldn’t wait to spend time outside, albeit it is Derbyshire and no Manly or Dee Why beach to surf like in Sydney, his hometown.
  
  Then his mind wanders back to what he just dreamed about. He rests his head on a car window and thinks it through. It is almost surreal to see everything that colorful and vivid. He almost remembers everything that occurred in his strange dream. He is sure he has never been in that off-white house before and there was no way he could ever dreamed of inside of that girl’s room with many detail like he just experienced.
  
  Let alone dreaming of her in towel, freshly out of bathroom! No doubt he is being in a state of sexual frustration.
  
  Not only that, he even saw another uncle ordered people around to prepare the house for them!
  
  It could have been something like Deja Vu or so he thinks.
  
  It is also very amusing on how himself, or his great-great-grandfather self to be very amazed and curious by mobile phone, laptop or even the ordinary built-in shelves that much. He chuckles before his mind drifts off to the same girl he found his ancestor ghost following her twice now.
  
  Not to mention she already saw his ghost twice now, real or not. How the heck she could see him was still unknown. In fact, he is not sure who she saw anyway. It might be Andrew the Ghost or himself but it is impossible that his soul could drift from his body to another place just to be another man, right? But from the dream, it was evidently not himself. If it was his, he would have been recognized mobile phone, vacuum cleaner and a laptop the second he laid eyes on them, not feeling amazed!
  
  This is unbelievable, what he has been imagining for two times straight.
  
  Maybe, after this trip, he should check himself in mental ward. Obviously.
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  “Ah, wake up, wake up, kids! We’ve arrived, finally! Get yourself out of here and help yourself some luggage!”
  
  Aunt Anne speaks loudly and they all grumpily get off the van and bring some personal things with them. Leaves some heavy ones to Jimmy the Hulk as they calls him, a young man, son of a housekeeper from his uncle Alex’s house to manage to their respective rooms.
  
  Charlie walks silently and stops to admire the house that was once a residence of Colledge family since the early of 1820s period. It is a simple Georgian style that stood strong and proud with 3 story, chimneys on both sides of the home, various shade of red brick and pitch black roof. The white panel front door centered and capped with a simple elaborate en tablature supported by matched decorative pilasters. Above the front door is a balcony that can accessed from second floor. There are totally fifteen front windows, all in white and made the house look like it had many eyes and one mouth which was hilarious to Charlie somehow. In front of the house is a simple well-mown yard, two big trees and several plants and flowers.
  
  The home itself is warming and inviting all the time. He thought it is always a great place to relax in peace for once.
  
  Yes, Sydney had many place to relax but it was different. The silence and atmosphere are just that, different. And he rather likes it here when it comes to peaceful vacation, not a wild, outgoing like the one in Sydney.
  
  He drinks in the sight of the old but simply beautiful house before heads to his arranged room.
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  When he finishes putting things away. He decides to take a stroll around. It has been over 7 years he didn’t visit their ancestors’ home. The last time he was in England around 3 years ago, he was with his parents in London for their countless honeymoon trip in Christmas time so they didn’t pay a visit here.
  
  He walks to the kitchen, finds some snacks and talked a bit with Jimmy The Hulk. Then he strolls out of the back door to the terrace and relaxes himself with a garden.
  
  As he rounds up to the front yard, he hears someone talking animatedly thus he gets curious. He looks over and finds they were about to enter the front door with Alex. He only makes out two other were female. He swiftly caught up with them to greet.
  
  “Oh, there, Charlie is on his way. Hey, Charlie!” Uncle Alex waved and urged him to come over so he did. Women already disappeared into the door.
  
  Charlie follows shortly and finds the first woman who looks about in her thirty and introduced himself. He later discovers she was Professor Sandra Smith from nearby university, friend or Alex’s potential girlfriend as he guesses from giddy expression from his uncle. She bought estate next to his family by her family trust and built a modern home on it. She teaches about economic and is here for her summer break too.
  
  He finishes a small talk with Professor Smith then just as he about to turn away, he catches the sight of familiar golden brown wavy lock. A moment later, he just stands there, gawks her like she was some weird creature. Charlie can’t hear anything Professor Smith is saying to him and he only sees her feature as if it was only thing his eyes could see.
  
  
  That golden brown wavy lock.
  
  That hazel eyes with long brown lashes.
  
  That rosy lips with a little glossy on.
  
  That tan body with a curve-hugging white summer dress.
  
  And, oh god, those long, lean legs and white Mary-Jane pumps!
  
  “It can’t be...it can’t...” He murmurs under his breath. Locking his green eyes with her hazel one.
  
  His ears are ringing and he feels his pulse pounding rapidly at her sight. He saw her twice in his dream! It was her, who Andrew claimed she was Clara in new figure!
  
  
  IT.CAN’T.BE!
  How is it possible?!
  
  
  “Hey, is anyone there?” He hears the now familiar sound at his direction again. He snaps out of his trance and focuses on her face once more. He mouths “Sorry” as he recovers quickly from shocking realization and she just smiles like she was acclimatized with a “Stop & Stare” thing until she couldn’t care less.
  
  “Oh, by the way, I’m Monique Rosen from Santa Clara in California. Nice to meet you.”
  
  “I’m Charles Colledge from Sydney but please call me Charlie. It’s pleasure to meet you, Miss Rosen.” She offers a hand for shaking, he takes it and instead of shaking hands, he brings her hand and kisses on back of her hand gently. Little does he know what possesses him to do so. He feels a rush of electric shock all over his body as his lips presses lightly on her soft skin. He notices she is blushing as well as he looks up, still kissing.
  
  “Gentleman you are, Charlie.” She smiles coyly while retreating her hand back. “Do call me Monique.” He nods curtly then smirks and with a flash of countless memory from past life, Charlie feels like he was pulled into a whirling space, his past and present are merging violently and becomes one. Just another blink of his eyes, Andrew’s voice is echoing in his throbbing head.
  
  “Here comes my second chance. Just my luck, ultimately.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’m in the background on the radio
  I’m in your car, in your house, waiting at your door
  Under your footsteps, I’m everything you know
  Just let me haunt, Let me haunt, Let me be your ghost
  Let me be your ghost, Just let me be your ghost”
  
  ~Fin~
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  Like it or not? Grammar Errors/Misspelling? Review away in comment box!!
  

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  Disclaimer: Copyright©2009 by Wachasan Na Ranong. My short story is original work so all plot and character, except for Ghost lyrics by Parachute band, is mine. To use/distribute/edit/sell/alter/modify/copy or anything to this story in any way to anywhere without the proper right and permission from me are prohibited.
  
  There is no intention to use Ghost lyrics by Parachute band in this short story posted on my Xanga blog for commercial use. I'm not making money from including the lyrics with my short story in any way. The lyrics are property and copyright of their owners, and provided for educational and personal entertainment purposes only. The lyrics are not part of my original work and just merely an inspiration and it will not be included to the story in case I have intention to use my work for commercial purpose unless I get their permission from their owners to do so.
  
  If the owners of the lyrics do not wish to have it included in this story posted here. I'll immediately remove all lyrics part from the story as they wish, please, just email me to do so!
  
  I hope I make myself clear about copyright issue. Thank you!
  

  
  

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