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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Teens
- Theme: Mystery
- Subject: Miracles / Wonders
- Published: 08/15/2013
The Unseen
Born 1997, F, from Edinburgh, United KingdomI get called different. Weird. Unique. I think differently from other teenagers. I’m an ordinary teen with an extra twist. I have a gift, yet to be revealed. A gift that no-one else can understand. Not a single soul knows about my gift. People might see it as a curse. A curse from God. Maybe a test, a test of courage, strength and determination. But now that’s for you to decide. I, Jason Hood, can see the unseen.
Yes, I can see ‘dead people’ as others put it. They may be dead, but I prefer the term ‘ghosts’ or ‘spirits’. I believe that souls remain on human earth after death because they have unfinished business. Hunting for their murderer or needing to desperately pass on a message. And that is why I was born. To be the messenger or person who helps to search for the murderer of such spirit. And quite frankly, I love it.
When I was just a child I used to see people around me with bullets through them, heads chopped off cradled in one arm, burnt kids, rope slung around their neck, and once…a man. A tall man, with a mask plastered to half his face. He was tortured; his face cut off and once he escaped his torturers, he hid his face beneath a mask to hide all past. Scary it was. I can be walking down a corridor at school and walk round a corner and see a spirit standing there, watching me. As if I know something they want to hear.
Anyways, about me, I’ve been told I’m good-looking; it’s definitely an answer for all the girls following me at school and flirting away with me. Sadly, I’m not interested. I’m tall; 6 foot maybe, brown hair with a fringe; I could put it up in a quiff if I want to, but that’s only special occasions. I wear a beanie hat slouched down the back of my head, my jeans hang from my arse (like most guys), and my hightops and thin t-shirts keep me comfortable too. I am popular, as I have been told. A bit of a class clown too, just to get me through my lessons. Can’t last a boring, dead-silent classroom.
Shutting the door quietly as I step into the house, my new shoes touching the soft, velvet carpet. “Son, son, is that you?” squeaks a voice from the kitchen.
“It’s Jason, mum, what’s wrong?” I ask confused as I walk in the kitchen. The sound of silent weeping attracts my attention. Mum is sitting in a corner weeping into a polka-dot handkerchief. “He’s gone!” she cries. “He’s gone! He’s gone!” she cries louder.
“Who’s gone, Mum?”
“DAD!”
I stand back, my shoulders drop and my mouth turns to a frown. “…Dad’s…gone...Did you just say?” my bottom lip quivers.
“He died this…morning” she chokes. “He was attacked, jumped…whatever, and passed away of fatal wounds…”
I knew it. Dad had been in debt for months and months. I told him to pay it off. But why listen to dumb old Jason. I’m his son. And he’s gone? Left me and Mum in a complete and utter rut. Like-wise we're going to get out of this shithole of a house, in death ridden Glasgow. Dad loved to gamble. Waste most of his earnings on gambling, and then losing it all. Leaving me and mum to starve, no new clothes, no money to pay the bills. And he then ran out of money. Then borrowed money, which he never paid back. Now you can picture where this lead to. His death.
Mum’s sobbing is making me feel sick. I’ve never seen her so upset. Dad and Mum got on so well, like the perfect couple. Dad did get grumping and drink, but don’t all Dads’ do when they’re stressed?
“Mum, look. It’s okay, we’ll work things out” I assure her. She puts her hand over mine and smiles sweetly as if things will be okay, when I know they won’t be.
A rough night’s sleep drags me to the morning; sleet has formed from my tears leaving my eye lids glued together. After stretching my eyes and wiping the slimy sleet away, I get washed and get ready for breakfast. I think I might just go to school today. Pass time by.
I grab my stuff and head out the door. The warm summer breeze hits me first, curling the sides of my smile up even further. I lock the door behind me and head down the street, through and alley way, and meet up with my friends. ‘Alright, mate’ they ask giving me thumbs up. ‘Aye’ I smile weakly.
‘What’s up?’ Kyle questions. He always knows when something’s bothering me.
‘Nothing’ I shrug, I’m going to put Dad’s death at the back of my mind for now. It can’t get to me, not now. We all walk down the street laughing like maniacs, sipping on energy juice. Not the best for the morning, but keeps me awake.
We approach the end of the path, to the rails at the side of the road where cars are zooming past me and coming to a halt at the zebra crossing. ‘Jason.’ a weak voice spits. I spin around to catch the person out. No-one apart a bunch of first years, which don’t even know me. ‘Jason!’ the voice says louder. I turn around again. No-one. I walk very quickly through a small alleyway between two houses reaching a car park, where I heard my name being called from. ‘Hello?’ I ask. ‘Who said my name?’
Someone tapped on my shoulder. I turn around. The can of energy juice drops from my hand landing with a crash to the concrete. My palms start sweating, my heart starts beating rapidly, and I’ve gone stone cold barely being able to move. With my heart racing faster than the speed of light and my eyes fixed upon who is standing before me, I step back. I breathe a giant gulp of air then exhale it through my nose. My fists unclench slowly. I open my mouth to speak. In a small, frightened whisper, ‘Dad?’
The Unseen(Aneesah Sher)
I get called different. Weird. Unique. I think differently from other teenagers. I’m an ordinary teen with an extra twist. I have a gift, yet to be revealed. A gift that no-one else can understand. Not a single soul knows about my gift. People might see it as a curse. A curse from God. Maybe a test, a test of courage, strength and determination. But now that’s for you to decide. I, Jason Hood, can see the unseen.
Yes, I can see ‘dead people’ as others put it. They may be dead, but I prefer the term ‘ghosts’ or ‘spirits’. I believe that souls remain on human earth after death because they have unfinished business. Hunting for their murderer or needing to desperately pass on a message. And that is why I was born. To be the messenger or person who helps to search for the murderer of such spirit. And quite frankly, I love it.
When I was just a child I used to see people around me with bullets through them, heads chopped off cradled in one arm, burnt kids, rope slung around their neck, and once…a man. A tall man, with a mask plastered to half his face. He was tortured; his face cut off and once he escaped his torturers, he hid his face beneath a mask to hide all past. Scary it was. I can be walking down a corridor at school and walk round a corner and see a spirit standing there, watching me. As if I know something they want to hear.
Anyways, about me, I’ve been told I’m good-looking; it’s definitely an answer for all the girls following me at school and flirting away with me. Sadly, I’m not interested. I’m tall; 6 foot maybe, brown hair with a fringe; I could put it up in a quiff if I want to, but that’s only special occasions. I wear a beanie hat slouched down the back of my head, my jeans hang from my arse (like most guys), and my hightops and thin t-shirts keep me comfortable too. I am popular, as I have been told. A bit of a class clown too, just to get me through my lessons. Can’t last a boring, dead-silent classroom.
Shutting the door quietly as I step into the house, my new shoes touching the soft, velvet carpet. “Son, son, is that you?” squeaks a voice from the kitchen.
“It’s Jason, mum, what’s wrong?” I ask confused as I walk in the kitchen. The sound of silent weeping attracts my attention. Mum is sitting in a corner weeping into a polka-dot handkerchief. “He’s gone!” she cries. “He’s gone! He’s gone!” she cries louder.
“Who’s gone, Mum?”
“DAD!”
I stand back, my shoulders drop and my mouth turns to a frown. “…Dad’s…gone...Did you just say?” my bottom lip quivers.
“He died this…morning” she chokes. “He was attacked, jumped…whatever, and passed away of fatal wounds…”
I knew it. Dad had been in debt for months and months. I told him to pay it off. But why listen to dumb old Jason. I’m his son. And he’s gone? Left me and Mum in a complete and utter rut. Like-wise we're going to get out of this shithole of a house, in death ridden Glasgow. Dad loved to gamble. Waste most of his earnings on gambling, and then losing it all. Leaving me and mum to starve, no new clothes, no money to pay the bills. And he then ran out of money. Then borrowed money, which he never paid back. Now you can picture where this lead to. His death.
Mum’s sobbing is making me feel sick. I’ve never seen her so upset. Dad and Mum got on so well, like the perfect couple. Dad did get grumping and drink, but don’t all Dads’ do when they’re stressed?
“Mum, look. It’s okay, we’ll work things out” I assure her. She puts her hand over mine and smiles sweetly as if things will be okay, when I know they won’t be.
A rough night’s sleep drags me to the morning; sleet has formed from my tears leaving my eye lids glued together. After stretching my eyes and wiping the slimy sleet away, I get washed and get ready for breakfast. I think I might just go to school today. Pass time by.
I grab my stuff and head out the door. The warm summer breeze hits me first, curling the sides of my smile up even further. I lock the door behind me and head down the street, through and alley way, and meet up with my friends. ‘Alright, mate’ they ask giving me thumbs up. ‘Aye’ I smile weakly.
‘What’s up?’ Kyle questions. He always knows when something’s bothering me.
‘Nothing’ I shrug, I’m going to put Dad’s death at the back of my mind for now. It can’t get to me, not now. We all walk down the street laughing like maniacs, sipping on energy juice. Not the best for the morning, but keeps me awake.
We approach the end of the path, to the rails at the side of the road where cars are zooming past me and coming to a halt at the zebra crossing. ‘Jason.’ a weak voice spits. I spin around to catch the person out. No-one apart a bunch of first years, which don’t even know me. ‘Jason!’ the voice says louder. I turn around again. No-one. I walk very quickly through a small alleyway between two houses reaching a car park, where I heard my name being called from. ‘Hello?’ I ask. ‘Who said my name?’
Someone tapped on my shoulder. I turn around. The can of energy juice drops from my hand landing with a crash to the concrete. My palms start sweating, my heart starts beating rapidly, and I’ve gone stone cold barely being able to move. With my heart racing faster than the speed of light and my eyes fixed upon who is standing before me, I step back. I breathe a giant gulp of air then exhale it through my nose. My fists unclench slowly. I open my mouth to speak. In a small, frightened whisper, ‘Dad?’
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