Ghost Boy (Lams)

The Accident

John rode down the street, his hair cracking like a whip behind him as houses and cars passed in a furious blur of colour. He knew this route like the back of his hand, there was no need to take his time.

As John rode his thoughts drifted back to Alexander. He needed a plan, a way to get him to notice him for real, not a sideways glance when he accidentally brushed him in the hallway or rode past him at a ridiculously fast speed. He was even expecting maybe a 'slow down Jerk!' but there was literally nothing. And that was nothing like Alex, as he never stopped talking. He had heard about the roasts that went down in debate, Alex was ruthless.

And it's not like he wasn't into guys, John knew he was bi, everyone knew he was bi. He had a fling with John Andre last year. That made John's blood boil, he was dating the wrong John.

John reached his turn off and swiftly glided off the path and onto the road.
BEEEEEP
In an instant he heard the deafening blair of a car horn, tires screaming against the road as they tried to break. John's head whipped to the side and he cried out as the hood of a bulky four wheel drive slammed into his side. A sharp gasp barely escaped his lips before he was thrown into the road, the bike twisting over him. The last thing he heard was his own neck snapping, then there was nothing.

No pain. No feeling at all. Nothing.

Ahead of him the car skidded to a stop, a young woman screaming in horror as she leaped out of the driver's seat and bolted towards John. John looked up at her with wide eyes, panting with adrenaline sparking through him like electricity as she abruptly stopped, gasping with no warning before she turned and puked on the side of the road.

"What the fuck lady?!" John exclaimed, slowly standing up and brushing himself off. "What's your issuuUE-" he began to ask before realising what was at his feet. His own body was grotesquely bent underneath his crushed bike, a pool of blood welling on the road under his head. "No."

The lady retrieved her phone with shaking hands, sobbing in horror at what she had done as she dialled 000. John slowly stepped away from his body, raking his hands through his hair with heavy breaths.
"No, no, no," he kept repeating, shaking his head slowly. That was most certainly his body, and it was most certainly dead. There was no bringing that shit back, his neck was fucked.

John jogged to the lady's side, standing in front of her and reaching forward. "Hey, hey lady, c'mon say something!" He pleaded, just praying she would see him, praying she would say something, but she looked right through him back at the body. "Hey!"

John reached his hand out to grab her but his hand passed straight through her. She suddenly shivered as a chill buzzed up her spine and John pulled his hand back, trembling.

He was a ghost.

At first, he was horrified, he was dead, his life was over, finished, done-
But soon John realised, it wasn't all that bad.

His homophobic father wouldn't care, it's not like anyone at school cared, this lady would get over the trauma, eventually.
Being dead could have it's perks right?

He was a ghost now. This was the new John. In movies he'd seen, ghosts could walk through shit, fly, scare the fuck out of people. He had basically just been signed up to fuck with people's heads and spy on whoever he wanted whenever he wanted.

And let's be real, Alexander Hamilton fell under the spectrum of whoever.

It was time to have a little fun with his new found form.