Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-25558572-20140731084242

Carlos was wearing only a shirt and jeans, but he wasn’t cold even though it was January. Few people in the neighborhood were out to see him as he walked down the street, glancing around himself constantly. When the wind blew, Carlos would push back his red hair onto his forehead, but he did not shiver.

A loose dog trotted by Carlos, its breath coming out in a mist. The boy knelt down to stop it, but the creature turned tail and went the other way, waving its long tail nonchalantly. Puzzled, the boy continued only after a pause.

The wind picked up, prompting an occupant to close their open window with haste. Carlos glanced at it and called out a greeting, to no reply. Did they have loud music playing in there he wondered? Thinking about that, Carlos looked down the road and found that he recognized this place. It was close to where Cynthia lived.

He strode up to her door and tried the knob. It didn’t turn, but before he could get discouraged, the wood swung forwards and a heavily dressed young girl walked out. Carlos recognized her immediately.

Shouting her name cheerfully, the boy threw his arms around the girl’s body. But she ignored them completely; in fact, not a bit of alarm sparked in those lovely blue eyes she had. Confused, he tried to stand in her way, with the same result of Cynthia pushing past him as if he were not there.

“Cynthia?”

The girl did not answer. She was walking down the sidewalk with her eyes vacant, her hands tightening the small scarf around her neck. Discouraged, the boy called after her once more, although he was already starting to grasp the truth.

With a loud sigh that blew mist in the winter air, he opened the unlocked door and entered the house. The hall was warm and well-lit. The boy could hear sounds from the kitchen and guessed that Cynthia’s mother was probably preparing dinner.

<span style="font-family:"Constantia","serif"">The television was playing softly in the corner of the living room. The boy plopped down on the large, squashy couch, a little ways away from Cynthia’s grey tomcat. The animal snoozed, undisturbed, as the boy lay down and stared at the television.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Constantia","serif"">His face was on the late-night news. It was the smiling photo of him from eight grade, taken just a few months ago. As he reached to stroke the cat, he gasped as the picture on the television cut back to a field, walled off with yellow tape.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Constantia","serif"">“…Thirteen-year-old Carlos Young was found in the school’s playing field early yesterday morning. He been shot twice and was pronounced dead minutes less than an hour after entering the hospital. Police are investigating who fired the shots, and the school is temporarily closed until the shooter has been identified.”

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<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Constantia","serif"">  I used a writing prompt as inspiration for the general premise. If I didn't make it clear in the story, Carlos is simply a ghost, which is why none of the characters notice him. (He died when he was walking across a school field and someone, mistaking him for an animal, shot him.) I would like to know what I can fix here and if you think the story is unnerving. This is just a draft so I can make a lot of changes, <ac_metadata title="Short Pasta (No Title Yet)"> </ac_metadata>