September 1939
A pencil flew up to the ceiling, poked a small hole in the plaster, and clattered back to the table.
Imogen looked up from her book. “What in the world are you doing?”
Across from her, a brown haired boy reclined in his chair, feet propped on the table, balancing himself precariously. Sticking out his tongue ever-so-slightly, he pinched his pencil like a throwing dart and let it fly. “Trying to get the pencil stuck in the ceiling, what’s it look like I’m doing?”
“Not reading Plato like the rest of us.”
“You mean the two of you?” Charlie dropped his feet to the floor, sitting up. “Besides, Plato’s all rot.”
Imogen primly tossed her head, gentle waves flouncing against her shoulders. “I happen to like Plato, thank you very much.”
He wrinkled his nose. “You like that? About the forms and the soul and the universals?”
“I think it’s interesting. And, if he’s right, it would explain a lot about the human condition.”
“Oh, come of it,” Charlie moaned. “There’s no such thing as a ‘realm of the forms’. What’s real is what’s here, and if you can’t see that—well, I can’t help you. We’re all just packages of meat waiting to expire.”
She quirked an eyebrow. “How nihilistic of you—”
Charlie resumed his game of pencil-dart. “I’m not a nihilist,” he said, “I’m a realist. A materialist, if you will.”
Imogen sighed. “Nick, do you hear your best friend?”
Nick raised his gaze from his book. “Hmm?”
“Charlie. He thinks Plato’s rot.”
“I’m more of a Hobbsian myself,” Charlie amended.
“Fascinating.” Nick snapped his book shut. “I’m going for a walk. Timaeus has my head spinning.”
“Weren’t we assigned Gorgias?” Imogen asked.
Nick stretched as he stood up. “Already read it. I’ll be back in half an hour.”
He headed down the marble-floored corridor, the dull orange light from chandeliers reflecting off the molding of the dark wood walls.
A hand slipped into his.
“What do you think of it?” Imogen asked, leaning her shoulder against his.
“Think of what?”
“What we were talking about—the forms and the soul and all that. Do you agree with Charlie?”
Nick laughed. “I wasn’t really listening. But no, I can almost guarantee I don’t agree with Charlie.”
“So, then what do you think?”
“Imm, I said I was going on a walk for a brain break, not to be questioned about metaphysics.”
Imogen caught his subtle smirk. “I’m not asking you for a thesis. I don’t want what you academically think— I want what you think. Do you believe we have souls?”
They cut through the back courtyard, heading to the meadows behind the school. A large pond created the favorite walking path of students, looping endlessly around the still waters, watching as the ducks dove for bread crumbs. Halfway through their first loop, he answered.
“I don’t know.” He said. “I mean—if we have souls. Or if the forms exist. Or even if there is a spiritual realm at all. But I’d like to think there is something more than this.”
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House of Ghosts: A Collection of Jill Pole Oneshots
FanfictionA collection of oneshots about Jill Pole, her family, and her backstory. Jill doesn't talk about her family. She doesn't talk about her large house or her father's white-collar job. She doesn't talk about the lavish vacations she has been dragged t...
