Ghostly Attraction ((boyxboy))

Yep, He's Dead

To be honest, Oliver is not exactly sure when he died. Or how. All he really knows, is that he's dead. Pretty dead.

And what else he knows, is that he has no idea where he is. Or what he's doing.

The only thing to be seen for miles is a blank stretch of white, and the feeling that he's floating. Oliver couldn't tell if he was actually floating or not, seeing as everything was so blindingly white he didn't think he'd be able to tell if there was a distinct floor or ceiling. In fact, Oliver could hardly even move, save for his eyes, which were flickering around endlessly.

Bits and pieces of his life were the only thing he could remember, and what he saw wasn't nearly enough to tell him who he actually was. Maybe a name of a city, an address, anything that could indicate who he actually was and what he was like. All Oliver saw was a kind-faced woman, a tall man, and a cooing baby. He couldn't even tell what they looked like, for the memories were faint and faded like wisps of smoke.

How long had he even been here, floating in nothingness? Months, days, an hour, seconds? The concept of time had slipped from him. He could have been here for a century and he wouldn't have noticed. Nor cared. Actually, maybe Oliver would have cared. If Oliver had even the slightest idea of who he was.

But what exactly am I even doing here? Oliver thought to himself. What if this world wasn't even white, but I'm just blind? I see no color, I'm probably-

And, just like that, that single thought alone, brought the world into color.

It was snowing. Dustings of white lay atop of little cabin houses and tall, creaky-looking houses that were cramped together on a small street. There were no stars in the sky, and the temperature was freezing. The dull lights stationed all around gave faint yellow glows.

Absolutely shocked, Oliver blinked several times to make sure he was not just seeing things. Everything had been white and lifeless seconds ago. How could all this just spring into existence the moment he thought of color? And where exactly was he? He didn't recognize this place at--

Sutton.

Oliver blinked as the word formed in his mind, and made a link to the scenery around him. Everything suddenly seemed familiar, homely, but why? Oliver was sure he wasn't from around here. None of the memories he had and the little he remembered of them indicated that he lived in a town called Sutton. In fact, Oliver could almost remember where he was from. He just had to focus, grasp on the strings that were there....

But in an instant, any inkling of where Oliver was from was driven from his mind. Giving a frustrated sigh, Oliver decided nothing was going to be solved if he just stood there all night. Taking a few cautious steps forward, Oliver glanced around, trying to see if anyone was there watching him. Nobody was around, and everything was deathly silent.

The walk through town was silent and lifeless, and Oliver wondered if everyone was either asleep or away. Surely the town couldn't be completely empty, could it? There must be some sign of life.

Turning the corner, Oliver eyed each of the houses on the street. Every couple of houses there was a shop, nestled neatly between them. Catching movement in a store window out of the corner of his eye, Oliver stopped abruptly. He was sure he had seen a flurry of movement, just now, in the store opposite of him.

Racing towards the store window, Oliver pressed his face against it, eyes scanning the shop for a sign of life, desperately searching for a sign that someone, anyone, was here.

There! Right there, picking up a few items he must have dropped, was an elderly man, hair graying and clothes wrinkled. Oliver waved, trying to get his attention, but the man did not notice. Getting frustrated, Oliver rapped his knuckles against the glass, but received no response either.

"Hey!" Oliver shouted, glaring at the old man, "Please let me in! It's cold!"

The man didn't notice. Giving a shout of frustration, Oliver backed away, prepared to ram into the window if he had to, but his reflection stopped him.

Staring back at Oliver, looking angry, was a boy of about seventeen with tousled, fluffy blond hair and green eyes, freckles dotting his face here and there. He was fully clothed, dressed in a dark jacket and boots, light colored trousers and a scarf wrapped tightly around his neck. And the only thing Oliver could think was-

Wow, I'm hot.

And then he laughed.

He laughed at his own stupidity, his own self, for thinking such a thing in such a situation. Here he was, looking for life, trying to get into warmth, and the only thing he thought was 'Wow, I'm hot.'

By now, the man had disappeared, and when Oliver stopped laughing and noticed this, he stomped angrily away, renewed with a determination to get inside, anywhere. Perhaps the old man had been deaf. Whatever the reason, Oliver didn't care. He was sure his bum would freeze off at this rate.

Going deeper into town, Oliver began peering into each and every window on the street, disappointed when he could hardly see anything inside. Wasn't anyone awake at this time?

Leaping onto a park bench, he scanned the entire area, looking for a sign of a life. Hell, even seeing a cat would be great. But no such luck.

Jumping down, Oliver groaned and began trudging through the area, questions poking at his mind. He was in Sutton, but exactly where was Sutton? What significance was Sutton to him? What was his last name? How old was he? When was his birthday? Was he really dead?

By now, Oliver was getting tired, and he could hardly feel his face. Coming to a stop at another park bench, Oliver sighed as he sat down on it, feeling exhaustion seep through him. He hadn't even been walking for that long, and he was so tired. Maybe it was the cold that was making him as tired as he was, but he doubted it.

Sitting back, Oliver closed his eyes and tried to remember something. Anything. Who was he? He was a boy, named Oliver, was all he knew. Yes, but there must be something more than that, right? He must have a surname, he must have come from somewhere. Perhaps, if he just thought long enough...

Oliver Klein.

Yes, that was his name. Now, where was he--

And then he heard it. A low rumble, a slight crunching sound, the light purr of an engine.

A car....

A car!

Oliver leaped to his feet, nearly slipping on the snowy floor, but he raced to the road, looking for the car. Where was it? Was it the next street over?

Spinning around, Oliver began jogging to the source of the noise, going to round the corner and perhaps ask the person driving where he is, where's the nearest hotel, who--

And, rounding the corner at the same time as Oliver, was a car.

The impact made his teeth rattle.

Flying backwards, Oliver slammed onto the ground and gave a gasp, having the breath knocked out of him. The car stopped, and someone stepped out. Blinking the spots out of his vision, Oliver curled onto his side, clutching at his stomach, where the car had hit him. Groaning, Oliver squinted as he saw two feet approach, and then stop.

It was a woman with wispy brown hair and tired-looking eyes. She scanned the area, her eyes flitting right past Oliver, before shrugging and turning away, going back to her car.

"Hey," Oliver coughed, rolling onto his back and trying to sit up, "Hey, lady--"

She didn't look at him, and jumped back into the driver's seat. She drove ahead, narrowly missing Oliver.

"Wait!" Oliver shouted, before realizing something--he wasn't in pain anymore, or bleeding anywhere. Lifting his jacket and shirt up, he saw there weren't any bruises whatsoever.

Letting his clothes fall back into place, Oliver reached a stunning conclusion.

Either he was a god, or yep, he was definitely dead.